“Freedom, just around the corner from you…” - Bob Dylan Jokerman
“Holy shit, you actually came back,” he said.
I said, “yeah, of course, you played Woody Guthrie for me.”
The scene was warm, but wiry. I was in New Orleans. The city I love best. I spent a lot of time loafing around the streets, seeing what there was to see. I met a lot of characters. I used to carry a guitar and a magic show with me just about everywhere I went. Down there you can just grab a seat on the curb and start wailing and someone will throw you a few bucks. On a good day you’ll make more money than if you actually booked a show.
My good friend, a writer, was leaving town the next morning and I wouldn’t see him again for a while. We were walking back toward his place and saying our goodbyes.
We saw a group of self-proclaimed “dirty kids.” They were railroad hoppers mostly. They slept on the ground and followed the birds. South in the winter, north in the summer. They all had instruments and played simple chords and simple songs. It was clear they’d been around each other for a while. If you were feeling unscrupulous you could get them to do anything for a couple of bucks. A dangerous bargain.
I told my friend we had to stop and listen. I tossed the kids a couple dollars and asked if they knew any Woody Guthrie songs. I love Guthrie and they were essentially just the new wave of that whole lifestyle.
The guy said “wow, nobody knows Guthrie. I only remember how to play one song…”
He started singing and strumming on his guitar.
“Go to sleep you weary hobo Let the town drift slowly by Listen to that steel rail hum That's the Hobo's Lullaby"
Transfixed. Cold. I loved it. On the nose, but what other Guthrie song makes sense for a cat like him. We talked, but briefly, my friend still had to go. It was near midnight.
I told the guy I’d come back and we could jam and sing. He said he hoped I would… it was clear he didn’t believe me though.
My friend and I left, then parted ways. I went to the place I was staying and grabbed my guitar and harmonicas and headed back out to the homeless encampment curbside.
When I got there he said “Holy shit, you actually came back.”
I said “yeah of course, you played Woody Guthrie for me.”
He said “people always say they’re going to come back, they never do.”
I put on my harmonica holder, my guitar, and started thumbing it. I said “you know any Dylan.”
He said “Just Knocking on Heaven's Door.”
I said “I got one, you can follow along, it’s only a few chords.”
He followed along. Turned out some of the other dirty kids knew the track. At least some of the words anyway and they sing loud.
The other day I saw an article, I think it was in the Atlantic. It was about some scientific research into what happens when people sing in groups and how good it is for you. I didn’t need any science to back it up. I had real life experience.
That’s what makes folk music so beautiful, the idea that everyone knows the words. It’s a spiritual feeling, a connection to something else, you should always go out of your way to sing with anyone and everyone. It’s sad people don’t listen to folk music anymore. The beauty is in the simplicity.
After the song I talked with the people and hung out. We talked about their travels. Hard times on the road of life. Other sorts of sense and nonsense. One guy went by the name Pizza Mike. I always thought that was interesting. He played the click clacks on his fingers. I can’t remember the woman’s name, but she seemed to like me. She sure talked a lot. She also seemed like she was romantically entangled with at least two of the guys there.
At one point I said, “I bet I know a Guthrie song that you all know too, even if you forgot about it.”
The man with the other guitar said “what is it?”
I said “it’s three chords, just sing along”
“This land is your land, this land is my land From California to the New York Island From Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream Waters This land was made for you and me"
For my money, that’s the best song ever written. Nobody ever tells you the last three verses though. Because they call it America’s Other National Anthem. But it’s actually a protest song. I get a tingling sensation in my brain every time I sing the last two verses. It never hit harder than when I was roadside with Guthrie type rejects singing loud and together.
“On a bright sunny morning, in the shadow of the steeple By the relief offices, I saw my people They stood there hungry, I stood there wondering Is this land really made for you and me? Nobody living can ever stop me As I go walking my freedom highway Nobody living can make me turn back This land was made for you and me
Guthrie could do that. Change your worldview. Not a lot of artists now can do that. Not a lot of artists ever could do that. These kids could do that too, in their way. Really make you feel something. Even if you don’t understand the feeling.
I’ll never forget singing This Land is Your Land with a bunch of people who really knew what it meant. A bunch of people who really knew how to sing it. A bunch of railroad hoppers who followed the birds. Who sang the Hobo’s Lullaby and probably knew more about America than most of America’s political leaders.
They knew it because they’d seen it, all of it. They’d slept on the ground in the vastness of her diamond deserts. They’d walked that ribbon of highway and through the golden valleys. Nobody living could make them turn back. As they went walking their freedom highway. Nobody living could ever stop them. This land is their land. It was made for them. Just like this land was made for you and me.
Freedom… just around the corner from you.
That's awesome. I spent a summer with some Carnies in Kent Washington and we sang that song too.
Special friends, special times :)
Even though Im now in a pampered suburban hellscape - I escape to the true road a few times a year....
Never forget your roots...