coolrun
March 4th, 2004, 03:37 PM
New York Daily News - http://www.nydailynews.com
Salable pop
By DAVID HINCKLEY
Thursday, March 4th, 2004
Even to close friends, the Weavers' 1950 recording of "Goodnight Irene" was as puzzling as if Soviet dictator Josef Stalin had picked up a fiddle and done three minutes of "Turkey in the Straw."
The Weavers were a quartet of New York folk singers united by allegiance to progressive causes, which by 1950 was problematic turf. Amid widespread fear that America was locked in an us-or-them death match with international communism, standing even a few baby steps left of center was dangerous, brave or both.
If the Weavers aimed to champion a besieged point of view, however, "Irene" was an odd way to do it.
Released on Decca Records, hardly a radical enterprise, "Goodnight Irene" was the gentlest of sing-alongs, a melodic lullaby on a lush bed of strings.
"Joe Hill" it was not. It wasn't even "This Land is Your Land." It was pure pop, and it behaved that way in the pop market, rising to No. 1 in the late summer of 1950 and staying there for 13 weeks.
In the process, it made the song into an American standard and set in motion a disturbing chain of reactions that would within two years break the Weavers up and yet at the same time set them up for a remarkable comeback that would cement their widespread musical influence and ultimately turn them into a beloved American institution.
The roots of the Weavers go back to a loose ensemble of singers who, in the New York City of the late 1930s, coalesced around Woody Guthrie and at times included the likes of Josh White, Burl Ives, Sis Cunningham, Pete Seeger, Brownie McGhee, Sonny Terry and Leadbelly.
The Almanacs aimed to deliver a progressive message, but what they carried in spirit they lacked in organization, and by the time Guthrie and many of the others went off to fight in World War II, the Almanacs were history.
After the war, Seeger revived the concept in the basement of his Greenwich Village home with a new group of union and social activists called People's Songs.
Meanwhile, progressives took a big hit in the presidential election of 1948, when their man Henry Wallace finished last in a four-candidate race. So People's Songs member Lee Hays suggested keeping the faith with a singing group, in which the Arkansas-born Hays would be joined by New Yorkers Seeger, Fred Hellerman, Ronnie Gilbert and Jackie Gibson.
Gibson dropped out, but by Thanksgiving 1948 the others were performing at city clubs and joining fellow folk singer Oscar Brand on WNYC radio.
They called themselves the No-Name Quartet until they lifted the name "Weavers" from a Gerhart Johann Robert Hauptmann play, and for the next year that was as far as they got. In a climate not only hostile to progressives but dangerous for those who hired or recorded them, the Weavers couldn't buy a gig.
Finally, they decided to play the one joint that would take them - the Village Vanguard, Max Gordon's jazz club - and then pack it in.
So that was where they spent Christmas week in 1949, and to their surprise the place started filling up with folk fans who liked the Weavers' straightforward harmonies better than the increasingly artsy style of other folkies.
Christmas week turned into six months, at $250 a week, and it also caught the attention of a young music publishing executive named Harold Leventhal, who would become their manager and helped steer them to Gordon Jenkins of Decca.
After cleverly letting his bosses know that Mitch Miller at rival Columbia was also interested, Jenkins got the Weavers signed and recorded - on the tacit condition they sound like a salable pop act rather than a twangy folk act.
Just to be safe, they first cut some Christmas songs, then a Jewish dance tune, "Tzena Tzena Tzena." Then "Irene."
The Weavers didn't mind Jenkins' strings. In fact, as they were not musical purists, they loved the idea of bringing different sounds under the folk umbrella. Over the next few years, they would record cowboy songs, gospel songs and "world music" songs like the South African chant "Wimoweh" as well as tunes from their old comrade Guthrie.
They picked up "Irene" from Leadbelly, who most likely assembled it from earlier songs. While Leadbelly family lore has him composing it as a lullaby for his young niece Irene around 1908, a similar "Irene Goodnight" song was published in a minstrel songbook as early as 1888.
Leadbelly died in 1949, just before "Irene" secured his spot in the American musical mainstream.
It landed the Weavers in the same spot, which turned out to be a mixed blessing. Their records sold millions, but even though their songs were so benign that some lefty friends threw up their arms in exasperation - "On Top of Old Smoky"? "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine"? - their visibility and track record made them prime targets for Commie hunters.
They were offered a TV show that disappeared when the anti-Communist sheet Red Channels complained. Bookings were scarce. The FBI tailed them. Record stores were pressured not to carry their records, and by mid-1952 Decca stopped recording or promoting them.
By the end of 1952, the blacklist had won. They quit.
Then, in 1955, with the Red Scare in mild recession, Leventhal decided to try to reunite them.
He inquired at Town Hall, the progressive theater, and was told the Weavers were still too controversial. So he asked Carnegie Hall, whose management had never heard of them and said sure, we're available on Christmas Eve.
The show sold out, spawned a hit album and propelled the Weavers into a new run that lasted well into the '60s even though Seeger went solo in 1958. In 1981, they reunited one last time, with a seriously ailing Hays, and said good night to Irene for good.
Salable pop
By DAVID HINCKLEY
Thursday, March 4th, 2004
Even to close friends, the Weavers' 1950 recording of "Goodnight Irene" was as puzzling as if Soviet dictator Josef Stalin had picked up a fiddle and done three minutes of "Turkey in the Straw."
The Weavers were a quartet of New York folk singers united by allegiance to progressive causes, which by 1950 was problematic turf. Amid widespread fear that America was locked in an us-or-them death match with international communism, standing even a few baby steps left of center was dangerous, brave or both.
If the Weavers aimed to champion a besieged point of view, however, "Irene" was an odd way to do it.
Released on Decca Records, hardly a radical enterprise, "Goodnight Irene" was the gentlest of sing-alongs, a melodic lullaby on a lush bed of strings.
"Joe Hill" it was not. It wasn't even "This Land is Your Land." It was pure pop, and it behaved that way in the pop market, rising to No. 1 in the late summer of 1950 and staying there for 13 weeks.
In the process, it made the song into an American standard and set in motion a disturbing chain of reactions that would within two years break the Weavers up and yet at the same time set them up for a remarkable comeback that would cement their widespread musical influence and ultimately turn them into a beloved American institution.
The roots of the Weavers go back to a loose ensemble of singers who, in the New York City of the late 1930s, coalesced around Woody Guthrie and at times included the likes of Josh White, Burl Ives, Sis Cunningham, Pete Seeger, Brownie McGhee, Sonny Terry and Leadbelly.
The Almanacs aimed to deliver a progressive message, but what they carried in spirit they lacked in organization, and by the time Guthrie and many of the others went off to fight in World War II, the Almanacs were history.
After the war, Seeger revived the concept in the basement of his Greenwich Village home with a new group of union and social activists called People's Songs.
Meanwhile, progressives took a big hit in the presidential election of 1948, when their man Henry Wallace finished last in a four-candidate race. So People's Songs member Lee Hays suggested keeping the faith with a singing group, in which the Arkansas-born Hays would be joined by New Yorkers Seeger, Fred Hellerman, Ronnie Gilbert and Jackie Gibson.
Gibson dropped out, but by Thanksgiving 1948 the others were performing at city clubs and joining fellow folk singer Oscar Brand on WNYC radio.
They called themselves the No-Name Quartet until they lifted the name "Weavers" from a Gerhart Johann Robert Hauptmann play, and for the next year that was as far as they got. In a climate not only hostile to progressives but dangerous for those who hired or recorded them, the Weavers couldn't buy a gig.
Finally, they decided to play the one joint that would take them - the Village Vanguard, Max Gordon's jazz club - and then pack it in.
So that was where they spent Christmas week in 1949, and to their surprise the place started filling up with folk fans who liked the Weavers' straightforward harmonies better than the increasingly artsy style of other folkies.
Christmas week turned into six months, at $250 a week, and it also caught the attention of a young music publishing executive named Harold Leventhal, who would become their manager and helped steer them to Gordon Jenkins of Decca.
After cleverly letting his bosses know that Mitch Miller at rival Columbia was also interested, Jenkins got the Weavers signed and recorded - on the tacit condition they sound like a salable pop act rather than a twangy folk act.
Just to be safe, they first cut some Christmas songs, then a Jewish dance tune, "Tzena Tzena Tzena." Then "Irene."
The Weavers didn't mind Jenkins' strings. In fact, as they were not musical purists, they loved the idea of bringing different sounds under the folk umbrella. Over the next few years, they would record cowboy songs, gospel songs and "world music" songs like the South African chant "Wimoweh" as well as tunes from their old comrade Guthrie.
They picked up "Irene" from Leadbelly, who most likely assembled it from earlier songs. While Leadbelly family lore has him composing it as a lullaby for his young niece Irene around 1908, a similar "Irene Goodnight" song was published in a minstrel songbook as early as 1888.
Leadbelly died in 1949, just before "Irene" secured his spot in the American musical mainstream.
It landed the Weavers in the same spot, which turned out to be a mixed blessing. Their records sold millions, but even though their songs were so benign that some lefty friends threw up their arms in exasperation - "On Top of Old Smoky"? "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine"? - their visibility and track record made them prime targets for Commie hunters.
They were offered a TV show that disappeared when the anti-Communist sheet Red Channels complained. Bookings were scarce. The FBI tailed them. Record stores were pressured not to carry their records, and by mid-1952 Decca stopped recording or promoting them.
By the end of 1952, the blacklist had won. They quit.
Then, in 1955, with the Red Scare in mild recession, Leventhal decided to try to reunite them.
He inquired at Town Hall, the progressive theater, and was told the Weavers were still too controversial. So he asked Carnegie Hall, whose management had never heard of them and said sure, we're available on Christmas Eve.
The show sold out, spawned a hit album and propelled the Weavers into a new run that lasted well into the '60s even though Seeger went solo in 1958. In 1981, they reunited one last time, with a seriously ailing Hays, and said good night to Irene for good.