THROWBACK THURSDAY: An All-You-Can-Eat Buffet of Shortnin' Bread

Did a happy, snappy American standard start out as a song about malnutrition among rural African Americans?

I'm talking about "Shortnin' Bread," that favorite of Mammy's little baby, about a tasty treat with strange medicinal power that can heal the sick and the half dead. This tune has been sung and recorded by some of the country's best known musicians, black and white, representing a number of styles and genres.

In her blog Pancocojams, dedicated to "the music, dances, and customs of African Americans and of other people of Black descent throughout the world," Azizi Powell writes.

Although "Shortnin Bread" is now considered a light hearted children's folk song, its beginning verses reflect the fact that Black Americans often lacked adequate food.

In contemporary versions of this song, the first verse is given as "two little boys/laying in bed/one was sick/and the other almost dead". The reason why the boys were in those conditions was because they were suffering from malnutrition because of the inadequate food rations that enslaved families were given. 

In this song, the doctor was called to examine the children. His prescription was that the children be given some food. However, in actuality, enslaved Black people rarely saw any doctors. Also, shortnin bread and coffee were rare treats for enslaved Black people. 

James Whitcomb Riley

Even so, throughout the song's history, "Shortnin' Bread" has been played as a happy good-time tune -- often as a children's song. That's a frequent thread in blues, hillbilly music and other types of songs sung by poor people in this country -- finding humor and ultimately hope in terrible situations.

Some argue that "Shortnin' Bread" is a true folk song, coming from slaves on southern plantations or their immediate descendants. But some say it could have come from the minstrel shows, in which white performers parodied blacks. (Check out this discussion over at Mudcat.org)

Apparently the first known written version of the song was a poem, published in 1900, by James Whitcomb Riley, written in black dialect.

The chorus goes:

Fotch dat dough fum the kitchin-shed—
Rake de coals out hot an' red—
Putt on de oven an' putt on de led,—
Mammy's gwineter cook som short'nin' bread

Nowhere in the poem is anything about those two little children lyin' in bed, or the doctor who prescribes shortnin' bread for them. While Riley took credit for the poem, it's possible that he based the various (seemingly unrelated) verses on songs or stories he heard from folk sources (i.e. plantation workers and the descendants of slaves).

Powell points out that several folklorists, beginning in the 1920s, documented versions of "Shortnin' Bread" -- who do have the familiar elements of the ailing children and the doctor.

In 1924 country singer Henry Whitter recorded a harmonica-led instrumental medley of "Hop Out Ladies & Shortenin' Bread." Gid Tanner & His Skillet Lickers recorded it -- including lyrics -- a couple of years later. Both J.E. Mainer, a proto-bluegrass artist, and Sonny Terry did versions in which the Jew's harp was prominent.

Mississippi John Hurt didn't actually record it until the early '60s, but his timeless style sounds like it could have been recorded decades before.



The song made it's way into the city. Paul Robeson lent his baritone to it in 1933.  Nelson Eddy sang it in the 1937 film Maytime. 

And Fats Waller had a lot of fun with it in 1941. (Powell points out that Waller sang about two "Senegambians" lyin' in bed. That's a reference to a region in West Africa, though Waller seems to be using the word to describe African Americans in general.)



The Andrews Sisters also sang it in the '40s.



The song found new life in the 1950s. Dave Brubeck did a drum-heavy jazz version called "Short'nin' Bread Gone With The Wind" in 1959. And there was a new audience in R&B and rock 'n' roll. The song mutated into "Shortnin' Bread Rock," which sounds heavily influenced by Big Joe Turner.  Etta James did a rocking version, as did Tony Crombie & His Rockets, who recorded it in 1956. But it's tough to match the crazy energy of The Collins kids, who sang it on this TV appearance, introduced by country great Tex Ritter.



Several early '60s "garage" bands recording the song in the early '60s. Paul Chaplain & The Emeralds recorded it in 1960. There also were fine rocking renditions by The Bell Notes, Johnny & The Uncalled Four. But my favorite of this style was the ferocious version by The Readymen. Their wild arrangement appears to have inspired the cover by The Cramps on their Stay Sick album.



There was a do-wop version in 1962 by a group called The Blisters.



And a tasty '60s soul version by Lee Dorsey



And in the early '90s The Residents found every ounce of weirdness in the tune and, as they love to do, turned it into something bizarre and nearly unrecognizable.





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

WACKY WEDNESDAY: Music to Drive Your Neighbors Nuts

Last week a Facebook friend of mine posted the following on her page:

Anyone have a superloud playlist of jams for me to drown out this fucking ASSHOLE doing his homework loudly on Facetime?

I'm not sure where she was where a jerk using Facetime would bother her like that. But everybody can relate to the being bugged so much by some noisy fool you just want to BLAST THEM OUT!

Now this lady is in the music biz, so lots of her music nut friends, including me, began suggesting loud and obnoxious songs The thread took on a life of its own.

So I decided to put a list together including some suggestions from the thread. And thus my latest Spotify list: Music to Drive Your Neighbors Nuts.

Metal Machine Music was one of the first suggestions there. Someone else suggested some Tuvan throat singing (I chose something by Huun-huur-Tu).

Another contributor offered Shooby Taylor's weird version of "Stout-Hearted Men," I know that one from Irwin Chusid's Songs in the Key of Z Vol. 2. I couldn't resist adding another classic from that album, "Cousin Mosquito" by Liberian Congresswoman Malinda Jackson Parker.

Added some Skinny Puppy, Butthole Surfers, Zappa, Residents, a song with T. Valentine being T. Valentine, some Smile-era weirdness from The Beach Boys, a sinister little Charlie Manson tune and some supreme tackiness from David Hasselhoff that will make you want to commit unspeakable crimes.

You can use this to harass your neighbors, force ousted dictators out of their sanctuaries, torture prisoners ... lots of possibilities. Hey and since it's Spotify, chances are a couple of those obnoxious ads they run will pop up. These will fit right in.

For the record, I like my neighbors. I hope I didn't play this too loud when compiling this list.

Have fun ...

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