nightmayer

Jottings from a pop culture junkie

Love Tanya Tucker’s new album “While I’m Livin’,” produced by Brandi Carlile and Shooter Jennings, with Carlile and bandmates Phil and Tim Hanseroth providing backup and writing many of the songs evoking Tucker’s story. Her vocals are as evocative as they were (in a different way) when I got to meet her and review “Would You Lay With Me In A Field of Stone” for Record World magazine in 1974. I was 22, she was 15. Even crushes were off limits!

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NEW YORK, NY; AUGUST 5, 2019—Let me say right off the bat (duh; that would pass for quality dialog here) the theatrical spectacle Bat Out of Hell was worth every penny (I paid under $50 a seat). I haven’t heard this much laughter at City Center since I saw Richard Pryor there in 1978.

Listen, folks, no one ever accused Jim Steinman of writing anything that wasn’t overblown, so it’s fitting that everything about this Bat Out of Hell is over-the-top. The sets, the slo-mo motorcycle, the awful video-verite…

However, these must be some of the best actors in the world. They go on stage night after night sometimes playing it straight, sometimes playing it for laughs, sometimes not clear which way they’re playing it — giving their all for what they clearly know is the worst show they will likely ever be paid to appear in.

The songs carry themselves in arrangements that, for the most part, pay due respect without purely imitating the classic originals, be the originals from the iconic Todd Rundgren-produced Meatloaf Bat Out of Hell album or the Celine Dion hit bag. As my son pointed out, the audience seemed even more confused than it had been when Steinman’s It’s All Coming Back to Me Now started up, probably not realizing the same man wrote both.

The audience giddily bopped along and cheered the songs, and hooted, howled and “What the hell are they doing”’-ed the rest of the time. Literally. “Oh, my god, what are they going to do next?” asked the incredulous couple behind me. Several times.

The choreography was pedestrian at best. And when I say pedestrian, for the leads who couldn’t dance that meant being relegated to dropping to their knees and pushing their way along the stage floor. Several times.

It’s definitely a night’s entertainment, just maybe not how the creators intended.

 

NEWPORT, RI; July 31, 2019—If there is one musician who embodies the spirit of the Newport Folk Festival today it is Brandi Carlile. Within a one hour span on the opening day of this 60th anniversary festival Friday she sat (really sang) in with Amy Ray on the Harbor stage, with Sheryl Crow on the Fort stage, and then as one fourth of the most anticipated group at the three-day event this year: the supergroup The Highwomen — Carlisle, Amanda Shires, Maren Morris, and Natalie Hemby.

And no band in recent memory so overdelivered on already high expectations as The Highwomen did following an ovation that was by far the loudest I remember to greet a band here. In this first public appearance they previewed their forthcoming (this fall) album in order. Their four-part harmonies are richly textured. All are outstanding songwriters individually and every verse of every song had a memorable lyrical hook. Their joy working together was celebratory.

Theirs are strong messages packaged in tightly-written melodies about the roles they see for themselves in the context of the civil and women’s rights movements; motherhood — these are four distinctive voices writing a verse each for a song about discovering “the kids don’t care” when you have a hangover and a few songs later a melancholy song about having an only child; and relationships across the rainbow spectrum. And from a purely musicianly perspective their cover of Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain was stunning.
The Highwomen are progressive country at its absolute best.

Other first day highlights:

Sheryl Crow bringing on Jason Isbell (perfect pairing on Dylan’s Everything Is Broken) as well as Maren Morris and Carlile for a song each.

Yola, a Nashville-based country soul singer with a big voice ready to unleash who showed up during many sets throughout the day.

Cooks In the Kitchen’s Phil and Brian Cook hosting an array of singers and songwriters including Hadestown mastermind Anais Mitchell and Amy Ray during their set.

Lukas Nelson (the vocal resemblance to his dad at times uncanny) stepping out forcefully from sideman and production.

Day 2: Past, Present, Future

I wrote too soon singing Brandi Carlisle‘s praises after the first day of the Newport Folk Festival this past weekend. Producing the end-of-second-day set, Carlile gifted this 60th anniversary festival (take that, Woodstock 50) with a triumph steeped in its history, completely of the moment, and focused on the future.

Citing landmark events involving women at the festival, including Judy Collins introducing Joni Mitchell to Leonard Cohen in 1967, the show Carlile curated was all women on the frontlines — the backing band being male. We’re talking Collins dueting with Carlile on Mitchell’s Both Sides Now and a group arrangement with Carlile’s latest group, The Highwomen (see the earlier report), Molly Tuttle, Courtney Marie Andrews, and others of Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi; and Sheryl Crow sharing the stage with (in different combinations) Lucy Dacus, Amy Ray, Yola, Maggie Rogers, Jade Bird, Linda Perry and others. All of those artists had performed (or in Collins’s case were to play day 3) in the course of the prior two days. The surprise addition, who had never been to Newport, was Dolly Parton, who performed a five song set of her hits around the theme of women’s strength (“Though I like my men too!”). Here’s the whole cast on an exuberant 9 to 5 closing the night.

The energy, with Carlile the binding voice literally and figuratively, was exciting, uplifting, and powerful. Said Crow, “There’s so much estrogen up here I feel my ovaries getting younger!” If Fort Adams State Park, where the festival is held, could have levitated, this would have been the night.

Carlile warned early on, “If you leave early to avoid the traffic getting out of here, I promise you you will spend the rest of your life regretting it. Don’t worry, I’ll be in the same traffic as you!”

This was 90 minutes of progressive pop-country-folk perfection.

Also day 2:

Songs for Beginners, a substitution for an unannounced act that didn’t make it last minute, during which different artists (Rachel Price, Milk Carton Kids, Tallest Man On Earth, Anais Mitchell, and more) each performed a song from Graham Nash’s 1971 solo debut.

Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, turning 88 in a few weeks, reminiscing about his first Newport appearance in 1963 (“They tell me I had a very good time.”) and demonstrating he is still the raconteur nonpareil with a 10-minute shaggy dog lead-in to Don’t Think Twice that he’s told no doubt thousands of times. The Museum Stage, a small indoor venue that probably holds 100 people, was packed mostly with young people who had never seen Elliott, in fact many who didn’t know who he was but had been told by friends to take advantage of the opportunity to hear him. I stood to the side watching faces intently paying attention as though this story was going to reveal the secrets of the universe; there were but a handful who were grinning and clearly got it early in that they were in the presence of a master story-teller. Happy birthday, Jack!

Day 3: Did They Ever Have Songs to Sing!

Cumulatively this was the day with the most fun, interesting music-making culminating with If I Had A Song, a tribute to what would have been Pete Seeger’s 100th birthday. If that closing set couldn’t match the prior night’s non-stop excitement with its focus on the women of this year’s Newport, this tribute still offered plenty of highlights:

Kermit the Frog (who else?) opening the set with Jim James on a duet of Rainbow Connection.

Judy Collins and Robin Pecknold together singing Turn, Turn, Turn.

Our Native Daughters (Rhiannon Giddens, Amythyst Kiah, Allison Russell, and Leyla McCalla) sending chills with If You Miss Me At the Back of the Bus.

Mavis Staples with Hozier and Jason Isbell delivering passion to spare on Keep Your Eyes On the Prize (Hold On).

A few favorites from earlier in the day:

EB The Younger, Texas singer-songwriter, ex- of the band Midlake. Take a little Beatles, a little Jimmy Buffett, and some Texas prairie dust…solid songwriting with unusual melodic twists. Fun video I came across (not from Newport) here.

The Infamous Stringdusters, who were joined by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band horns during their main set of old-timey and bluegrass, in this case creating a kind of marching band swampgrass amalgam.Newport 2019 Infamous Stringdusters w-Pres Horns

Also, the Bonny Light Horseman, specializing in seafaring songs; Billy Strings & Molly Tuttle, transcribing fiddle tunes for dueling guitars; Our Native Daughters, essentially performing their album but, my — as beautiful and moving as the album is (and it is stunning), hearing those soaring voices live is an experience in its own right; the Milk Carton Kids, combining their sad, melancholy songs with existential angst and humor; and Alice Gerrard, once half of Alice & Hazel (the late Hazel Dickens), with her mournful songs of mines and miners, accompanied now by two young women, Tatiana Hargreaves and Alice Degroot.

In all, this was the 60th anniversary for the festival, and the 50th anniversary of my first attending at 17 in the summer of 1969 with my friends Howard and Loring (see separate post about the night of the Apollo 11 moon landing and the song Len Chandler sang that night). Riva and I took the kids in 2005, and six or seven years ago, the kids (by then including our daughter’s husband) and I turned the festival into an annual pilgrimage. Riva didn’t cotton to the more indie rock thrust of the music (“It’s not ‘folk music’ as I think of folk music.” And it isn’t.), so she dropped out a few years ago.

But this year may have been the most musically satisfying of this last few years. Yes, Brandi Carlile balanced the old, the new, and the future — but that’s what overall producer Jay Sweet accomplished for a three day event. No easy task.

What’s so different about Newport? It is a spirit of collaboration. That headline-level performers hang out for three days, sit in with each other even before they’ve had their big spotlight moments, and risk some things not working is clearly exciting for the performers and gives the audience a legitimate sense that they’re witnessing something genuinely special. Acts may “do their set,” but it’s the added bonuses of jams and backup support that are unique.

Trey Anastasio (of Phish) and Rachel Price (Lake Street Dive) singing God Only Knows was a rare mismatch this year. But Anasasio brought out his share of guests during his set, and Price was singing backup with any number of people and talking up the Institute of Musical Arts in Western Massachusetts, an organization she and Lake Street support (and to which the Newport Festivals Foundations contributed on their behalf) that teaches young girls and women everything from how to run a soundboard to how to play an instrument to songwriting. Price brought some of the students with her to perform in a two-song acoustic set at the Foundation tent as well as during Lake Street’s main stage appearance.

Newport 2019 Rachel Price in Foundation tent

Lake Street Dive’s Rachel Price singing at Newport Festivals Foundation tent

Whatever it is that festival producer Jay Sweet does to encourage such collaboration and risk-taking — well, to my experience, there is nothing comparable.

[Note: For more videos, just search Newport Folk Festival 2019 on Youtube; there were more than 100 as I posted this.]

BROOKLYN, NY; JULY 19, 2019—Len Chandler — folk singer, songwriter, actor, activist — walked on stage at the Newport Folk Festival late Saturday night July 20, 1969 with a piece of paper in hand. Chandler fumbled with the paper, trying to find a way to attach the lyrics on that sheet to the microphone stand. If memory serves, Pete Seeger came out, took some chewing gum out of his mouth, and pasted the sheet to the microphone stand and left the stage. Chandler laughs when I tell him my recollection of the night over the phone this week.

Ripped from the headlines topical songs weren’t as common in 1969 as they had been earlier in the ‘60s but Chandler was known for being a songwriting demon. That song, 50 years old this weekend, was about the moon landing, which he had just watched on TV backstage at the Festival.

“I wrote that in Newport but not backstage,” Chandler, now 84, told me from his home in Los Angeles. “CBS News asked me to write a song for a show on the moon shot. It never got much coverage, though, because Ted Kennedy drove off a bridge in Chappaquiddick with a woman [Mary Jo Kopechne] in the car.” Kopechne was killed in the accident, which happened the night before the moon landing.

CBS filmed him singing the song on a beach in Newport. “I made a mistake in the lyric and asked if they could record it again. They said no because they were already packing their gear to get to Chappaquiddick!”

Chandler doesn’t remember singing the song at the Festival, or exactly what its title is, but told that there are several references to his performing it the night of the moon landing (not to mention my very distinct memory of it), and to its title as “Moon Men,” he acknowledges it could well be that he sang it that night.

There is a brief silence on the phone and Len, whose voice sounds instantly familiar, starts to recite one of the verses.

Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria

Sailing o’er dark silent oceans

Armstrong, Aldrin, Collins follow fleeting new horizons

Moon men sailing dark sky silent oceans

Step first foot on heaven’s nearest shore

Say ‘In peace we come and in peace we should remain’

And our horizons will expand in light years more.

As reported widely in recent days, Richard Nixon’s speechwriter William Safire had prepared two speeches for the then-president — the one Nixon was ultimately able to give congratulating the astronauts, and another in case the Apollo moon mission failed. Had there been a disaster, Nixon would have said, “Fate has ordained that the men who went to the moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to rest in peace,” according to a copy in the Nixon Presidential Library & Museum. But Chandler could not have known of Safire’s speech and Safire would not have known the song.

Some of Chandlers best known songs include “To Be A Man,” “Roll, Turn, Spin” and “Beans In My Ears,” the latter a hit for the Serendipity Singers and remembered by many for the anti-Vietnam war lyrics Pete Seeger added to it.

Chandler doesn’t remember the rest of the lyrics of “Moon Men,” but says he has a recording of him performing it a few years after the moon landing. Asked if he might post it, he said he didn’t know how to do that, but maybe an assistant could find it and figure it out.

Chandler had a radio show in LA for about a year many years ago, writing new topical songs three times a day based on the news. Even he, who ran the Songwriters Showcase in LA for many years, seems surprised today that he kept up that pace. That was a lot even for a songwriting demon who contemplated the moon men in light years.

 

 

 

 

Ripped from the Headlines — NYC, 2019 by Ira Mayer

One baby goat, just one baby goat
Teenagers found him near the Bronx Zoo
Had gadya, had gadya

Goat Evan

Then came a sheep in Coney Island
Tied to a tree so it
couldn’t eat the goat
Had gadya, had gadya

Sheep in Coney Island

Then came a calf on the Major Deegan
She couldn’t cross the traffic to
shear the sheep or
eat the goat
Had gadya, had gadya

Cow on Major Deegan

Then came a lamb on the Gowanus Expressway
Taken to a sanctuary before she could
grab a veal chop or
shear the sheep or
eat the goat
Had gadya, had gadya

Lamb on Gowanus

Then came a steer escaping in Queens
Cornered in a yard where he couldn’t
snatch a lamb chop,
grab a veal chop [that would’ve made him a cow cannibal anyway],
shear the sheep or
eat the goat
Had gadya, had gadya

Steer in Queens

Then came TWO goats roaming the Brooklyn subway tracks
The “very baaaaad boys” were corralled by the NYPD before they could
grind a hamburger,
snatch a lamb chop,
grab a veal chop,
shear the sheep or
eat its brothers.
Had gadya, had gadya

Two goats on subway track

No zuzim were harmed in the writing of this song
And all the animals made it to gan-eden-like farms
Ensuring the two goats did not lure the steer
to free the lamb
to eat a veal chop
to shear the sheep
or let the first goat even visit the zoo
Had gadya, had gadya

For the names of the animals, the sanctuaries to which they were taken, which ones Jon Stewart helped corral, and more information, see https://www.amny.com/news/loose-animals-nyc-1.28697627

Chag sameach!

BROOKLYN, NY; February 6, 2019—Israel G. Young, founder and proprietor of the Greenwich Village Folklore Center from 1957-1973, and the Folklore Centrum in Stockholm from 1973 through the end of last year, died Monday at home in Stockholm. He was 90.

Izzy was a mentor to this budding writer even before I started contributing to the Village Voice in 1970. Before he left for Sweden, he entrusted his scrapbooks to me in part because he couldn’t afford to ship them to Sweden and in part out of hopes I could turn them into a book, find a publisher and split the income with him.

When the book project proved fruitless, I shipped the scrapbooks to him in Sweden around 1975. The American Folklife Center of the Library of Congress acquired the scrapbooks, Izzy’s journals, and other materials in December 2015.

The article below ran in the Village Voice about a month before Izzy left for Sweden.

Folklore Center loses its center

Izzy Young Looks to Sweden

by Ira Mayer
Village Voice — April 26, 1973

There are 19 tabloid-size volumes of scrapbooks which tell a good deal about the Folklore Center from 1959 to 1969. One has a copy of Bob Dylan’s 1962 composition, “talking folklore center,” copyrighted under the Folklore Center name, with a note in Israel Young’s handwriting underneath the sheet music page: “I published this originally to establish the Folklore Center trademark.”

There are hundreds of newspaper and magazine clippings throughout the books, along with birth and wedding announcements, drawings (usually by Izzy’s lady of the day), letters, poems by people who dropped in the store and felt like writing something, Izzy’s notes on the people who dropped in the store, and some of the “gossip off the street.” Most of the notes and gossip would eventually become Izzy’s “Frets and Frails” column in Sing Out!

The highlight of the scrapbooks is an entire volume devoted to the riots in Washington Square Park, when the city of New York decided that folksinging with stringed instruments was not for its parks. A Daily Mirror frontpage headline of April 10 1961, reads proudly, “3000 BEATNIKS RIOT IN PARK.” There is a 43-page official appeal to the New York Supreme Court, “In the Matter of the Application of Israel G. Young, Petitioner-Appellant against Newbold Morris, as Commissioner of Parks of the City of New York, Respondent-Respondent for an order pursuant to Article 78 of the Civil Practice Act to review his determination and to direct him to issue a permit.” By May 15, Mayor Wagner had intervened with a compromise suggestion that the singers and instrumentalists limit their activities to the hours between 3 and 6 p.m. IMG_1676

The books are representative of the folk music world as Israel G. Young saw it through the portals of the Folklore Center. The store did between $1000 and $1200 business a week at its peak in the mid-‘60s. Today, largely because of Izzy’s interest in more political matters, and because he didn’t pay the publishers and record manufacturers very regularly for the books and records he stocked, it operates at about a third of that amount. Oddly enough with Izzy leaving and Rick Altman taking the store full time, there is hope that it may rebuild its foundation as a real folklore center.

The scrapbooks, however, and Izzy’s autobiography (the latter a short paperback telling in words and pictures of Izzy’s Bronx childhood) look at the world around Izzy Young, not at Izzy himself. Why the interest in folk music? What purpose did the store and the concert series serve for him? And perhaps most significant at the moment, why is he now moving to Sweden? Recently we spent an afternoon together in Izzy’s apartment two flights above the store, talking of things we’d often started conversations about in the past. This time we ran through a stack of cassettes — Izzy being at his best in a generally free-form setting.

* * *

“I’ve been working in the United states for more than 20 years,” began Izzy, “working on this original idea that I picked up first from square dancing, and then from Margot Mayo’s group, that folk music is the heartbeat of a person. I followed that idea in mind, even though I never followed it completely in my work. I’ve never been a real scholar or a real ‘thing’ in the U.S. I just kept alive a certain idea – which everyone agrees with, but no one agrees with my practices.”

The practices in question, he says at first, are a matter of a lack of direct control. Yet Izzy is the first to admit that the Folklore Center has been a one-man show, run on a “cash-in-pocket” basis, so that the store could support the concert series which in turn could support the store, both of which could support him. The economic end is where he lost many of his supporters in the folk music world.

“If the folklore Center concert series was really economic, a lot of people would want to be attached to it, people who are concerned about security for themselves and their own names. Instead they work for the foundations or the folk festivals. Or they are scholars in universities. Or they join the Smithsonian Institute. or the go after grants.” For those familiar with some of the inner goings-on in the folk world, each of those alternatives has a name or two attached to it. As for grants, he himself received one from the New York State Council of the Arts this year, of which he says, “It was sort of like an accident — it wasn’t like it was planned. But I find myself being left a little bit out in the cold because of the way I work things.”

The concert series has been run on the basic premise of a 50/50 split with the artist. With a $2 admission charge most of the time, the majority of concerts attract an average of 100 people. A little bit of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor became the policy when one performer would draw 500 people and someone else at another time would attract six. “I’ve played that role in the field, not that I wanted to. It’s as if I’ve joked about it: I hit people on the way up and on the way down. In the middle the situation is that people don’t want to work on my terms.” Two names come up: John Cohen, of the Putnam String County Band, and John Herald.

“When John Cohen needs me to show a film, he calls me up. When he doesn’t need me for a film I don’t see him, even though he’s my friend. Last week he told me how he didn’t see why he should put the Putnam String County Band on in my series, while two months ago he thought it was very important . . . And I’ve asked John Herald for years to do a concert for me. At Gerde’s or the Bitter End there’s still a dream that you can make [it]. It’s a scene. The Folklore Center has not become a scene in 15 years.”

For a while it seemed as though there was a “scene,” a time when any new singer or songwriter needed New York City (and the Folklore Center as an outlet in the city) in which to grow up. “Dylan, Paxton, Ochs, Odetta all came to New York. At one time I was in a fortunate situation. The whole folk music movement was there. Pete Seeger, the American Square Dance Group, the leftists, and the conservatives.” Was there much of a conservative constituency? “Well I was pretty conservative myself. At first, when I took in the ‘People’s Song Book’ and ‘Lift Every Voice,’ I was against them. I felt I was being democratic by stocking them in the store. I felt there was no reason to change the country’s tradition for what you wanted to accomplish. I was against Joe Hill’s rewriting church hymns. But of course the people who wrote church hymns didn’t mind at all changing the text for their purposes. Everyone was using music to get their ideas across.

“I became a part of that scene with many others. The only difference between me and the others was that I wasn’t a musician. And yet, because of the way I acted, I was the only one who could go into meetings and conferences for folksingers and always be treated as a folksinger. I was usually the secretary or president of something, and nobody ever said, ‘Well Izzy doesn’t play guitar or banjo or sing. What right does he have to be in this room?’ . . . That was a screening out process. A few people making it and somehow the rest still digging in and saying it’s important. A co-op group or a protest committee. And then it fell out.”

The scrapbooks, too, drift off temporarily at that point. The civil rights movement had peaked with the March on Washington in August 1963. The marching was literally over for the time being, and most of those who had “made it” returned to the comfort and security of concert stages and coffee houses. “They got their medals when they went (down south),” says Izzy. “Phil Ochs would take a chance he might get killed when he went to Mississippi to sing . . . But he would go into a town, spend three hours, sing some songs, work up the populace, and then leave and maybe make it more dangerous than it was before.”

“But where were all these people from the civil rights movement in the vanguard of the anti Indo-Chinese war? Now if you talk about that to singers, they generally say. ‘There’s no communication.’ How come there was communication in ’63 but not in ’73? Because the artist now knows his place much better. Judy Collins is now on the cover of Ms. magazine, which is pretty wild. Ms. is a very false, cheap copy of any civil rights thing she might have stood for in 1964 and some rallies she sang at in 1969. And Mary Travers sings some protest songs. But she’s very clear to point out that it has nothing to do with real protest. It’s just a feeling of people that somehow things will happen without anybody having to give up any money or blood for it.”

The politics of folk music. We disagree fundamentally as to whether every singer is necessarily political, Izzy insisting that “every singer on stage is presenting a political opinion,” either as a “general premise,” as with Michael Cooney, or very directly, as with a Barbara Dane. Forcing the issue, as Barbara Dane does, or “antagonizing” people as Jane Fonda does, however, are no longer successful. “Even Joan Baez, who doesn’t have the political savvy to get her songs across. But somehow Mary Travers does, even if it’s the same songs. What people are saying is that they don’t want to hear real protest songs any more.”

For the last two years Izzy’s newsletters (which come out about every three weeks) have included a column of news and comment on Cambodia, a column to which he has gotten very little response, “except that Rick says some of the people at the concerts say it’s a shame I’m mixing up the concerts with Cambodia. I feel it’s a very unique box that Cambodia’s in and it hasn’t stopped the concerts. Though on the other side you can say that if a singer sings for me they’re in a sense approving the things I’m writing in my newsletter. But I’ve never heard a singer say that to me.”

To be sure, many of the singers do not feel as Izzy does, about Cambodia or music, as two cases illustrate very well. Prior to her first appearance in New York, Izzy had written a vehement attack against Joni Mitchell in the pages of Sing out! Joni Mitchell’s first New York concert took place shortly thereafter – for Izzy Young’s Folklore Center concert series. Then in 1965, when Sing Out! took a stand against the war in Vietnam, a dispute arose when John Cohen objected to Sing Out! people, specifically Barbara Dane, writing to Roscoe Holcomb about the war. “She said at the time,” Izzy recalls, “I think rightfully, that he’s as much a part of the war as we are. And he has thoughts about it.” All three of these people have appeared on Izzy’s stage at various times before and after this incident.

* * *

One of Izzy’s pet peeves of recent months has been the singer/songwriter syndrome, and the dozens of kids who come to the store every week seeking auditions. They all, he says, do only their own material, sound like James Taylor or Neil Young or Joni Mitchell, never come to concerts by anyone else and generally have no knowledge or regard for traditional music. To a large extent, he blames the major record companies for the situation:

“When Elektra was recording folksingers 20 years ago, they had a balanced idea of making a living out of the whole label. Some records sold better than others, so Theodore Bikel got more money than Cynthia Gooding, and Ed McCurdy had one album which sold very well and kept him alive for a long time. But everyone knew each other on the label. I’ll bet now that there are 20 times as many people on the label who don’t know each other . . . And it doesn’t make a difference anymore if you’re on Paramount or Columbia . . . At one time, all new records that came out on Elektra or Vanguard were automatically heard.”

That the audience is more diffuse now as a factor he wished to set aside. “As soon as they found out about hype,” Izzy continued, “and that they could sell a lot of records with hype, they gave up on the old idea that the artist is important by himself. And that’s when all these phony recording contracts came out where the artist wasn’t protected, where the artist paid the entire cost of the recording . . . The companies were in a position of laying out money in terms of investment, but they were willing to take the chance of putting out maybe 100 albums and waiting to see which one made it. When one did make it, they were still ahead.”

Folkways, Folk-legacy, Rounder and County, among other small record companies, have all been doing increasingly well in recent months, and I suggested that this, as with the rapid increase in the number of small folk music clubs and folklore centers (about 20 of the latter are spread throughout North America), is due to the personalized environment in which each operates. Izzy agreed, but saw the next necessary step in the live idiom as greater cooperation among those running things.

“Someone like Janet Schneider is coming in — with some big ideas that’ll come down soon — but she put together several thousand dollars worth of gigs for Aly Bain and his group. She did better than a commercial manager could do. Or the Philadelphia Folk Festival. I’ve arranged 10 concerts in 10 minutes through that. There can be more cooperation, but it should be better organised . . . Philly is going to have a musician from Gambia this summer, and we’re going to put him on and the Folk Music Society of Northern New Jersey is going to put him on, and altogether we hope to raise $3000 to $4000 through a tour so he can buy a house in Gambia and live with his family. When something special like that comes along we can do it. It’s when it’s a singer who’s not that special that people don’t call and say ‘Let’s get a tour going.’ And I’m included in that.”

At 45, Izzy is surprisingly objective about his own role in “the New York folk scene.” Though he’d like to see more cooperation, and a more socialized mode of operation, he is acutely aware of the need for one central figure in any organization. Internal strife among factions at publications such as Sing Out! and the Guardian, he points out, have held them back from their full potential, and true performers’ cooperatives have either failed completely or metamorphosed into large corporations. All of which is part of why he now wants to move to Sweden. “Originally it was this love of Swedish music, though that’s obviously not the reason for leaving the United States,” he says. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in Sweden. One of my plans is to be able to work more cooperatively there than I was able to here . . . I’d like to be part of something where the musicians control the dance music scene themselves rather than business people . . .

“At the moment I feel Sweden is a backwater place and that there’s a lot of good cultural things that come through which could make it in a few years much more exciting than New York — and much more healthy, because more people are really interested in what’s going on . . . I’ve gone to many new things in Sweden and have never seen something like here where there are 10 or 12 people at poetry readings. If you present a concert of foreign music in Sweden, you can be sure that there’ll be a decent amount of people to hear it, and that they’ll probably get on radio and TV and get paid for it, as well as get a certain number of concerts with musicians —easy gigs where they play for half an hour a night.

“Cyrelle Forman was here recently, and she told of three places to sing in Stockholm. She was there just a short time and she sang at all three clubs. I challenge a Swedish singer, or a French or Scottish singer, to come to New York City and sing at the Folklore Center, Max’s, Gerde’s and Gaslight after being there for three weeks. Even English singers can’t get heard here.”

* * *

We touched on a number of other things that afternoon. The third floor apartment is going to Ed Diehl, who’s been the guitar repairman in residence at the store for the last year and a half. Izzy will try to continue his twice-monthly radio show for WBAI from Sweden (“it’s one thing I still really enjoy doing in New York”). There were some not too kind words for The Voice (“The articles have been on the pains of middle-class people getting mugged or not getting mugged, of ‘lets get our thing together and get dog shit off the streets, and of more plants in windows . . . and pages of rock ads and barber ads for $18 a shot.”), and a few more well placed jabs at some of those who have at one time or another considered Izzy their friend.

Some of those friends he hopes to cover in “an alphabet book of American folklore,” something on the order of Lincoln Kirstein’s “Blast at Ballet.” “I was thinking of writing ‘A Fart at Folklore.’ I would write a paragraph about Kenny Goldstein for which he would never forgive me, and about Moe Asch for which he would never forgive me.” Some of those same people, however, are the ones who recently responded to Izzy’s cry for help when the City Tax Bureau padlocked the store.

“I think there’s a general understanding among people that you get $50 for an article here, and I get my $50 in subterranean ways, and meanwhile I won’t stop anybody from giving me money from whatever they’re doing. I’m forced to ask for handouts from people who have money now, which is something I’m ostensibly supposed to be against. Everyone’s supposed to earn their own way and everyone’s supposed to be equal.”

Israel G. Young is more of a realist than he’d like most people (and perhaps even himself) to believe. He’s even realistic about the fact that the Swedish government seems unlikely to issue immigration papers for Catherine and him before they leave this country, and they’ll have to fight for them once they’re in Sweden. But that opinion is no more “outrageous,” as he likes to put it, than any of the others offered above or over the last 17 years.

End of Village Voice article. Click here for Izzy’s obituary in The New York Times.