Make Music Santa Fe!

 

Big show coming to Santa Fe this Sunday. And it's free.

The Santa Fe Music Alliance is presenting Make Music Santa Fe 2015 at Santa Fe Railyard Plaza, featuring a boatload -- or maybe a trainload -- of Santa Fe musicians.

On the bill are a couple of siblings -- Tony Gilkyson and Eliza Gilkyson -- who lived and played here years ago but moved on to bigger towns and bigger things. Eliza has had a successful career as a singer-songwriter, while Tony has been a guitarist for Lone Justice, X, and Chuck E. Weiss' G-d Damn Liars. He's great as a solo artist too. His solo album Goodbye Guitar was near the top of my Best of 2006 list.

The show starts at 2:30 pm Sunday and goes on until 10 p.

For the complete schedule check out the Make Music Santa Fe website.

(Full disclosure: I recently became an advisory member of the Santa Fe Musical Alliance, which is a non-profit organization dedicated to fostering creativity and community by supporting a sustainable and vital environment for music of all genres in Santa Fe, N.M.)

 

THE SANTA FE OPRY PLAYLIST

Friday, June 12, 2015

KSFR, Santa Fe, NM

Webcasting!

10 p.m. to midnight Fridays Mountain Time

Host: Steve Terrell 101.1 FM

Email me during the show! terrel(at)ksfr.org

 

Here's my playlist below:

OPENING THEME: Buckaroo by Buck Owens

Who Do You Love by Ronnie Hawkins & The Band

Hot Dog by Rosie Flores

Crazy Heart by Augie Meyers

Wanted Man by Billy Barton

The Creeper by Al Duvall

Lampshade On by The Dustbowl Revival

Travelin' Mood by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

Eggs of Your Chickens by The Flatlanders

I Washed My Hands in Muddy Water by George Thorogood & The Destroyers

He's Biding His Time by Danny Dill

 

Lubbock in the Springtime by The Beaumonts

Too Sweet to Die by The Waco Brothers

The Old Man from the Mountain by Merle Haggard

Cold Comfort by Ed Pettersen

Kitty Cat Scratch by Suzette & The Neon Angels

Down By The Gallows Philip Bradatsch

Sam Hall by Tex Ritter

 

Back Street Affair by John Prine & Patty Lovelace

Beautiful Blue Eyes by Red Allen & The Kentuckians

High on a Mountain Top by Loretta Lynn

Thunder on the Mountain by Wanda Jackson

I Won't Go and He Won't Stay by Paula Rhae McDonald

Rescue Me by Amy Helm

Tall Tall Trees by Roger Miller

It Keeps Right. On a Hurtin' by Louie Setzer

The Crazy, Laughing Blues by Yodelin' Shorty

 

I Know You Are There by The Handsome Family

My Blue Tears by Dolly Parton

Storms Never Last by Waylon Jennings & Jessie Colter

I Wanna Go Home by Van Morrison, Lonnie Donegan & Chris Barber

Never Going Back by The Lovin' Spoonful

Going Home by Slackeye Slim

CLOSING THEME: Comin' Down by The Meat Puppets

 

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Steve Terrell is proud to report to the monthly Freeform American Roots Radio list

 

TERRELL'S TUNE-UP: Cambodia's Golden Age of Rock 'n' Roll

A version of this was published in The Santa Fe New Mexican 
June 12, 2015

For about a decade after the nation’s independence from France in the early 1950s, there was a great cultural bloom in Cambodia. The country was relatively prosperous. Phnom Penh, its capital, was alive and thriving. The ancient culture was strong — in fact, strong enough not to be threatened by encroaching modern Western culture. 

During this time, before the war in neighboring Vietnam spilled over and eventually engulfed the land, Cambodians joyfully welcomed the outside world: motorcycles, miniskirts, and long hair. They didn’t miss out on the ’60s in Cambodia. They loved the cha cha cha from Cuba. They loved soul music and rock ’n’ roll from the U.S.A. — and from France, England, and wherever else it drifted in from.

As shown in the new documentary Don’t Think I’ve Forgotten: Cambodia’s Lost Rock and Roll, by John Pirozzi, this was a sweet dream that ended brutally. Communist rebels known as the Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia in 1975. Led by a shadowy figure named Pol Pot, the new leaders forced mass evacuations from Phnom Pehn and other cities, and for the next four years, in their effort to build a socialist paradise, they basically turned the whole nation into a big agricultural prison camp. With grim vehemence the Khmer Rouge targeted intellectuals, professionals, artists, and, yes, musicians. They almost destroyed a nation, including its music.

Another terrible truth: Some of the biggest stars of Cambodian pop and rock — including Sinn Sisamouth, Ros Serey Sothea, Pen Ran (sometimes spelled Pan Ron), and Yol Aularong — apparently ended up in unmarked graves in the killing fields during the Khmer Rouge years. Nobody, not even their surviving family members, knows exactly when or where they died. 

Although Pirozzi certainly doesn’t pull any punches about the Khmer Rouge, fortunately the documentary is not just about slaughter, repression, and horror. The first part of the film deals with the good times, the crazy music, and the amazing musicians who made it.

My name is Prince ...

During that heady golden age, Cambodia was ruled by a prince named Norodom Sihanouk. He might be the closest thing to a benevolent dictator the world has seen in modern times. You might say he governed with a velvet fist. Not only was he the man in charge, Sihanouk was an artist, a poet, a filmmaker — and a musician. He sang, and he played sax. He was a prince, and he was funky! Sihanouk composed music, including a patriotic anthem called “Phnom Penh,” which appears in the documentary and on its excellent soundtrack album, performed by members of the Royal University of Fine Arts. (The song originally appeared in Sihanouk’s mid-’60s movie, The Enchanted Forest.) Sihanouk ordered government departments to start their own orchestras. His regime sponsored singing contests around the country. The national radio station moved away from focusing on dull government propaganda to blasting cool music.

It is true Sihanouk didn’t put up with much dissent. As the film points out, he cracked down hard on Commie insurgents from the rural areas. Watching the movie, it seems Sihanouk considered these rebels not only to be traitors but party poopers as well. He adopted a policy of neutrality during the Cold War. That became harder as the fighting in Vietnam escalated next door. The drums of war would eventually drown out even the loudest Cambodian rock bands and spell doom for Cambodia’s cultural oasis, but in the meantime, the kids there rocked out to those wild American sounds brought there by tin soldiers and Nixon’s coming.

Sihanouk was overthrown by a right-wing, U.S.-backed coup in 1970. He later joined forces with the very Communist insurgents he’d once repressed. But as soon as the Khmer Rouge took power, Sihanouk basically ended up under house arrest.

I’ve been listening to Cambodian rockers like Sisamouth (who Pirozzi has described as the Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley of Cambodia) and Sothea for nearly a decade, ever since I became a fan of Dengue Fever, a California band that was sparked by Cambodian rock from this era. But until watching Don’t Think I’ve Forgotten, I didn’t know anything about their lives — except that they probably were killed by Pol Pot’s bully boys.

Despite facing some obvious limitations, Pirozzi brings these artists to life. Unfortunately, not much footage of the musicians survived the great destruction. However, the filmmaker found tons of great photos, including an amazing colorful gallery of record covers. He tracked down surviving family members — Sothea’s sister and Sisamouth’s son, Sin Chanchhaya (who died earlier this year shortly after winning the legal rights to more than 70 of his dad’s songs).

He also found some musicians who survived the Pol Pot years. There is Mol Kagnol of the band Baksey Cham Krong — the group could play surf music as well as what sounds like a twangy country ballad (the song “Full Moon”). 

There is also an interview with a female singer named Sieng Vannthy, who recalls Nancy Sinatra in miniskirt and go-go boots in her star years. Vannthy, who died in 2009, tells how she avoided probable execution by lying and telling the Khmer Rouge soldiers that she was a banana vendor, not a singer.

I once wrote that Dengue Fever, by turning so many people on to long-forgotten Cambodian rock, represented “a sweet, symbolic triumph of freedom over totalitarianism; of rock ’n’ roll over the killing fields; of sex, joy, fast cars, and loud guitars over the forces of gloom and repression.” That goes triple for Don’t Think I’ve Forgotten. This story needs to be told, and this music needs to be heard. 

The film opens on Friday, June 12, at The Screen.

Here's the trailer:




And here's some Cambodian rock strating with Sinn Sisamouth doing the monkey

 Ros Sereysothea rocks!



On this next one by Yol Aularong, try not to think of "Pagan Baby" by Creedence Clearwater Revival

THOWBACK THURSDAY: The John B Sails Again

Reviewing the movie Love and Mercy last week sent me on Beach Boys kick. One of my favorite songs of theirs for decades has been "Sloop John B," the tale of a miserable sea voyage that started in the Bahamas.

Released first as a single in March 1966, then included a few months later on Pet Sounds, the John B story told goes way beyond cruising to the hamburger stand in your daddy's car:

We come on the sloop John B
My grandfather and me
Around Nassau town we did roam
Drinking all night
Got into a fight
Well I feel so broke up
I want to go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home. 
Let me go home
I wanna go home, yeah yeah
Well I feel so broke up
I wanna go home

The first mate he got drunk
And broke in the Cap'n's trunk
The constable had to come and take him away
Sheriff John Stone
Why don't you leave me alone, yeah yeah
Well I feel so broke up I wanna go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home,
I wanna go home
Why don't you let me go home
I feel so broke up I wanna go home
Let me go home

The poor cook he caught the fits
And threw away all my grits
And then he took and he ate up all of my corn
Let me go home
Why don't they let me go home
This is the worst trip I've ever been on

No, Brian Wilson didn't write this song. It was brought to him by Al Jardine, the Beach Boys' resident folkie, Jardine had picked it up from a version, titled "Wreck of the John B," by The Kingston trio.

Take a listen:



The Trio was not the only folk group that did this song. Cisco Houston recorded a version, as did The Weavers in the '50s.  Country singer Johnny Cash, who also moved around folk music circles, included it under the title "I Wanna Go Home" on his 1959 album Songs From Our Soil.

 

But the song goes back much further. It came from the Bahamas. It was transcribed by British author Richard Le Gallienne in a 1916 issue of Harper's Monthly in an travel piece called “Coral Islands and Mangrove-Trees” We should thank Le Gallienne for introducing the song -- under the title "The John B. Sails" --  to mainstream culture. And we should try not to puke at his condescending, racist tone:

 These negro songs of Nassau, though crude as to words, have a very haunting, barbaric melody, said to come straight from the African jungle, full of hypnotizing repetitions and absurd choruses,  which, though they may not attract you much at first, end by getting into your blood, so that you often find yourself humming them unawares.

Thank you, great white father.

Poet Carl Sandburg collected it a decade later in his 1927 book of folk songs  American Songbag. 

Roger McGuinn of The Byrds, who recorded his own version a few years ago, did a little research on the song. (Click that link. McGuinn has a nice, free MP3 for you.) On his website, he quotes Sandburg:

'John T. McCutcheon, cartoonist and kindly philosopher, and his wife Eveleyn Shaw McCutcheon, mother and poet, learned to sing this song on their Treasure Island in the West Indies. They tell of it, 'Time and usage have given this song almost the dignity of a national anthem around Nassau. The weathered ribs of the historic craft lie embedded in the sand at Governor's Harbour, when an expedition, especially set up for the purpose in 1926, extracted a knee of horseflesh and a ring-bolt. These relics are now preserved and built into the Watch Tower, designed by Mr. Howard Shaw and built on our southern coast a couple of points east by north of the star Canopus.'

Nassau singer Blake Alphonso Higgs, who went by the name "Blind Blake" (but was not the American bluesman!) did a calypso version in the early 50s. Another Bahamian, guitar picker Joseph Spence recorded it in his own peculiar way, on his 1972 Arhoolie album Good Morning Mr. Walker.



Van Morrison teamed up with skiffle king Lonnie Donegan at the turn of the century to do this mighty keen rendition. Donegan had recorded a lush version of it in 1960 under the title "I Wanna Go Home." I especially like his verse about the captain being a "wicked man.'



With all the drinking, fighting and other mayhem in this songs it's a wonder that there aren't more punk rock versions. But this Italian band, Devasted, had the right idea





For more deep dives into songs, check out The Stephen W. Terrell Web Log Songbook

WACKY WEDNESDAY: Let Al Duvall Creep into Your World

Al Duvall's latest single

This is a musician I stumbled across several years ago when messing around on the still wonderful Free Music Archive. 

I'll admit, what first drew me to Al Duvall was the fact that he'd actually teamed up with one of my other FMA discoveries, the lovely Singing Sadie.(Whatever happened to her? Someone lemme know!)

But soon I was lured to Duvall's own strange compositions like "Stuck on a Hat Check Girl" and "When Dorey's Behind the Door" (I find myself singing the refrain to this at the strangest moments.)

Usually accompanying himself on banjo, sometimes doubling on kazoo, Duvall seems like some medicine-show performer from some past century come to life. Vaudeville for the criminally insane. His pun-heavy lyrics are dark and wicked, in a Tom Lehrer sort of way. Not hard to imagine Lehrer and Duvall sitting on a park bench together poisoning the pigeons.

Not much is known about Duvall. There are a couple of interesting bios online. This one appears on his FMA page:

Born June 31, 1877 in Pahrump, West Virginia, Algernon Otmer Duvall began his musical career on the vaudeville stage as end-man in Lew Dockstader's Minstrels. He fought in a bicycle squadron in Ypres during World War I, where he received a crippling dose of the Hun's mustard. Returning home, he made ends meet working at a sausage factory in Harrington Delaware from 1921 until 1989. He took up the banjo in 1991 as physical therapy for his pleurisy. He went on to master the alto kazoo at the age of 118. "Al" Duvall attributes his remarkable longevity to a daily dram of Hamlin's Quinsy Balsam.

A slightly different version of the Duvall biography can be found at his Reverb Nation site.

Al Duvall, a grandchild of the Great Depression, was one of many unemployed musicians in 1932 who was sent via time machine into the future to find work, as part of the WPA program. His timing couldn't have been better, for IN TIMES LIKE THESE (SM) we could all use an entertainer whose charm and musicianship once made the Great Depression so great. Hopefully, Al will bring a little bit of Depression to you with his cloud-scattering mirth.

I don't know which one to believe.

Actually, I understand he lives in Brooklyn and might not really be over 100.

Here is a tune called "Bareknuckle Ballerina" There's a classic Duvall line in this one: "I still cherish that night in Paris / When you were in St. Paul ..."

 

Apparently Duvall found religion. In fact he's been washed in the "Blood of the Hog." (Warning: This melody might remind you of a Lovin' Spoonful song.)



Below is Duvall's most recent album, Insomnibus available at Bandcamp. You can listen to it for free. But if you like it, buy the darn thing. I just did.