It was over the hills and the valleys
I've been to Youth Traditional Song Weekend, and enjoyed it very much. Now I see what people were making a fuss about. I feel revived. It was a big deal for me: to sit and sing for hours on end with a big group of people, everybody bringing something different and important, and barely ever repeating a song. (And on the occasions we did, it was always in a good way--doing two radically different takes on "Riddles Wisely Expounded," for example.)
This is what I just posted to FB. I couldn't bear not to share it here, too.
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Ballads speak to a lot of us in the same way that medieval history, epics, legends, etc. appeal to us. I couldn't remember enough of this to quote it at the time, so here it is: Frank Proffitt on ballads. I've always thought that his words were wise and beautiful.
"To all of those who's mind reaches above the hard facts of Life does a Ballad have its meanings. With thease songs did our Forebears cheer their weary hearts in the New Ground Clearings. Life to them was not dull for in their amagination they had a world of their own. This world they built is not for thouse who see only the dull drab facts of their surrondings, but only for folk of kindred minds seeking to preserve and exault a people of undaunted spirit who excepted [accepted] Life in a singing spirit, reaching in their hearts for things to brighten the days and years. I may neaver see the Lochs or Braes of my people. But in my amagination I have this world of old castles, of high Lord Chieftans, of those who used the sword . . . To thouse who sleep in the soil far from the Bonnie Braes, my hope is they have not lived for nothing."
(I first saw this quoted in _Traditional Songs from the Anne and Frank Warner Collection_. I don't have my copy here at the moment, so not sure when he wrote this, but it's the introduction to one of his notebook collections of songs, which he gave to the Warners. Referenced from here.)
For those of you just joining us, Frank Proffitt was a singer, songwriter, banjo player, instrument maker, full-time farmer, and family man, he lived from 1913 to 1965, and he's the reason we know the song "Tom Dooley." It's a good thing our lifetimes didn't overlap, because I have a terrible crush on him and I wouldn't have known what to say if I'd ever met him, but I love everything he sang. The above link goes to a detailed obit/memorial piece on Frank Proffitt, with lots of quotes I've never seen before.
There are gems: Proffitt writes about visiting the Warners in New York. He was feeling nervous and "shy" by his own admission, but in the photo he looks calm and confident as an East Village trendster with his dapper hat and instrument cases. He talks about the fanboy who wanted to come down and work for him on the farm for free for a year, in exchange for being taught all of Proffitt's songs; Proffitt had a blissful fantasy of lying under a tree all summer while some starry-eyed kid did his work for free, but then wrote back and politely turned the chump down. He bemusedly mentions the many letters he gets from tacky people who want him to build them an instrument for free. I'm surprised he didn't get jerks wanting him to perform for "exposure"--or maybe he did get such letters and quietly burn them.
The man talked and wrote like an unusually skilled bard, and I would love to read an anthology of his letters exchanged with the Warners, though I am going to guess that if I want to read them I'll have to go to the Warners' collections of media at the Library of Congress or at Duke University. A short summary of his life and work is here.
This is what I just posted to FB. I couldn't bear not to share it here, too.
*
Ballads speak to a lot of us in the same way that medieval history, epics, legends, etc. appeal to us. I couldn't remember enough of this to quote it at the time, so here it is: Frank Proffitt on ballads. I've always thought that his words were wise and beautiful.
"To all of those who's mind reaches above the hard facts of Life does a Ballad have its meanings. With thease songs did our Forebears cheer their weary hearts in the New Ground Clearings. Life to them was not dull for in their amagination they had a world of their own. This world they built is not for thouse who see only the dull drab facts of their surrondings, but only for folk of kindred minds seeking to preserve and exault a people of undaunted spirit who excepted [accepted] Life in a singing spirit, reaching in their hearts for things to brighten the days and years. I may neaver see the Lochs or Braes of my people. But in my amagination I have this world of old castles, of high Lord Chieftans, of those who used the sword . . . To thouse who sleep in the soil far from the Bonnie Braes, my hope is they have not lived for nothing."
(I first saw this quoted in _Traditional Songs from the Anne and Frank Warner Collection_. I don't have my copy here at the moment, so not sure when he wrote this, but it's the introduction to one of his notebook collections of songs, which he gave to the Warners. Referenced from here.)
For those of you just joining us, Frank Proffitt was a singer, songwriter, banjo player, instrument maker, full-time farmer, and family man, he lived from 1913 to 1965, and he's the reason we know the song "Tom Dooley." It's a good thing our lifetimes didn't overlap, because I have a terrible crush on him and I wouldn't have known what to say if I'd ever met him, but I love everything he sang. The above link goes to a detailed obit/memorial piece on Frank Proffitt, with lots of quotes I've never seen before.
There are gems: Proffitt writes about visiting the Warners in New York. He was feeling nervous and "shy" by his own admission, but in the photo he looks calm and confident as an East Village trendster with his dapper hat and instrument cases. He talks about the fanboy who wanted to come down and work for him on the farm for free for a year, in exchange for being taught all of Proffitt's songs; Proffitt had a blissful fantasy of lying under a tree all summer while some starry-eyed kid did his work for free, but then wrote back and politely turned the chump down. He bemusedly mentions the many letters he gets from tacky people who want him to build them an instrument for free. I'm surprised he didn't get jerks wanting him to perform for "exposure"--or maybe he did get such letters and quietly burn them.
The man talked and wrote like an unusually skilled bard, and I would love to read an anthology of his letters exchanged with the Warners, though I am going to guess that if I want to read them I'll have to go to the Warners' collections of media at the Library of Congress or at Duke University. A short summary of his life and work is here.