Today, June 6th, is the 45th anniversary of the death of Robert Kennedy, shot down here in Los Angeles in the early morning hours of June 5th, mere minutes after winning the California Democratic presidential primary which solidified his status as the frontrunner for his party's nomination - and, as an opponent of the highly unpopular Lyndon Johnson and his even more unpopular war, a formidable adversary for Republican Richard Nixon. It is a melancholy anniversary on several levels. For those of us who remember that night, it seems impossible that so many years have passed since then, as time seems to speed by with increasing velocity as we move deeper into our decades. Kennedy's death was the next - but not the last - in a series of cataclysmic shocks that rocked the nation in 1968: the late January Tet Offensive in Vietnam, which though a major tactical loss for the insurgents was a public relations disaster for Johnson's administration; Johnson's subsequent announcement at the end of March that he would not seek re-election, though he was constitutionally able to do so; the assassination of Martin Luther King a few days later in April - and the violence and bloodshed at the Democratic Convention in August that was yet to come. It was a terrible year, judged by some historians the most pivotal in the nation's history since the Civil War, or perhaps even farther back to 1848.
Political murders are sadly not as rare in American history as we might wish or like to think they are, and happily those of us younger than 40 - more than half of our population - have no living memory of such acts. To them I would say that it matters not whether the public figure cut down thus was of your party or persuasion; the shock, the anger, and the outrage that we feel at political assassinations arise from their intrinsic evil and from the way that they tear at the fabric of American political life and institutions. You didn't have to like Kennedy at all to be appalled by his murder, or to be moved by the sight of his brood of now-fatherless children. Violence may play well in the cinema or in a video game, but in real life - it's a horror.
I am not at all sure at this distant remove how different the subsequent decades would have been had RFK lived. He might have been able if elected to end the war in Vietnam prior to its worst and bloodiest years - or not. "My fellow citizens," said Abraham Lincoln, "we cannot escape history," as both of our last two presidents have found to their dismay, and our chief executive has almost always been a prisoner of events beyond his control fully as much as he has been the architect of the nation's path and destiny. RFK did not have the ego, the natural leadership, and the personal charisma of his older brother, nor was he capable of the same soaring flights of oratory; he may have had some of LBJ's ruthless singlemindedness, but he lacked the Texan's intimate knowledge of the legislative process and Johnson's remarkable adroitness at manipulating it to his own ends.
However, Robert Kennedy had other qualities, not the least of which were the capacity to grow - out from under the shadow of his two more accomplished and more self-possessed older brothers, among other areas - and more importantly, the quality of a far deeper and more genuine compassion for the suffering and the dispossessed than most other politicians of his or any other generation ever truly felt or knew. This was especially clear in his interactions with children - which you would expect from a father of eleven - but more surprisingly so in his support of the causes of the California farm workers and of the African-Americans and their civil rights movement, neither of which were natural constituencies for a rich kid from Boston. And much of the energy that propelled his doomed presidential campaign forward emanated from those two groups; RFK was the last white politician to be able to reach across the nation's racial divide and to attract a kind of devotion from them until at least the time of Bill Clinton.
I was not in the RFK camp in '68 - I was a charter member of and card-carrying, button-wearing, neighborhood-canvassing recruit in Eugene McCarthy's derisively-named "children's crusade" of college students in support of the first senator (with Republican Mark Hatfield of Oregon) to come out and actively oppose Johnson's war. McCarthy's Middle Western directness, his poetry, his love of the People's game of baseball - these appealed to my younger self far more than what seemed to me to be RFK's carpetbagging opportunism, as he got himself elected to the Senate from a state in which he had never lived and as he waited to declare his own candidacy for the presidency until after McCarthy had proven LBJ's electoral vulnerability in New Hampshire and elsewhere. McCarthy seemed a white knight to Kennedy's soiled pol - silly to have thought so, perhaps, but the world always seems a clearer and more black-and-white place when we are young.
What I saw in McCarthy, though, was what singer-songwriter John Stewart saw in RFK. Stewart was a show biz veteran with serious credentials as a former member of the Kingston Trio during some of the years in which it was the top vocal group in the U.S. and as the composer of "Daydream Believer," a #1 hit for The Monkees in 1967 and an enduring pop-rock standard - but he was also 28 years old when he joined the RFK campaign as the troubadour who warmed up the crowds before Kennedy spoke, especially on the senator's whistle-stop tour through California. Stewart was young enough still to be captivated by RFK's idealistic vision of all that America could be, especially an America rid of the crushing weight and costs of a war that seemed to have neither a clear objective nor a foreseeable end. Kennedy's apparent natural diffidence also matched Stewart's own, and the two developed a close and personal bond, with Stewart remaining close to the senator's children for decades afterward.
Kennedy's murder had a profound impact on Stewart. Where RFK's compassion for the forgotten intensified Stewart's own and contributed to the deep emotional underpinning of wonderful Stewart songs like "Botswana" and "Reason To Rise," among many others, the assassination itself seemed to haunt Stewart for years and years, shaping songs like "The Last Campaign," "I Remember America," "The Last Hurrah" - and "Dreamers On The Rise." This last was composed and released in 1984, sixteen years after the last campaign in which Stewart would involve himself and when he was well into his forties. It is the reflection of a man in middle age looking back on the idealism of his younger years, and at the end, wishing that the time could come alive again. "Dreamers" is a simple song lyrically; its evocative power arises from Stewart's almost stream-of-consciousness imagery and from the poignant longing that the middle-aged often have for youthful ideals that have been abraded away by the harshness of life in the real world, both of which enable Stewart's song to escape from mere topicality. The song was first released on Stewart's aptly-named album "The Last Campaign":
It is that "turning back our lives" in the third verse in which Stewart most clearly expresses a kind of late-night feeling many of us get from time to time. You can't call it nostalgia, exactly; it is closer to regret for deeds undone, opportunities missed, words unsaid. Yet only a year after this recording, Stewart did turn his life back to a degree by recording an EP called Revenge of the Budgie with his former Kingston Trio bandmate Nick Reynolds, and one of the best cuts on the recording is the duet on "Dreamers" with Reynolds on high harmony:
Reynolds later said that this was his favorite of all the John Stewart songs he had heard and sung through the decades, remarking in The Kingston Trio On Record book that "When I first heard 'Dreamers On The Rise,' it just killed me. It was done so perfectly..."
Stewart performed the song throughout the remainder of his career, and there are fortunately a few videos of him doing so. This one is from 2002:
As JS mentions, he is accompanied by his bassist of 25 years, Dave Batti, who continues to perform with other Stewart sidemen as The John Stewart Band.
Joel K. presents an interestingly different take on the song in 2011 at Swallow Hill in Denver:
The piano accompaniment and slower rhythm make for a very different emotional coloring to the tune.
A few months after Stewart's passing, his widow Buffy Ford Stewart, herself an accomplished professional musician, and long-time Stewart collaborator Chuck McDermott presented a duet backed by the rest of the Stewart band at a tribute concert:
It is unfortunate that the video cuts off before the song ends; the thunder of the applause was a moment to remember.
We have several other high quality performances on YouTube done by people who knew Stewart to varying degrees. First, southern California singer-songwriter Tim Dismang, who frequently includes Stewart compositions in his own performances:
This is from 2003, and Stewart, who was in the audience and was captivated by Tim's rendition, can be seen congratulating Tim at the end of the video.
Finally, Nevada's Steve Cottrell in 2007:
As he usually does, Steve puts his own distinctive spin on the number, altering the speed, rhythm, and even the melody a bit to suit his own reflective take on the song.
"Dreamers On The Rise" is yet another John Stewart song that should be better known than it is. The tune has been virtually unheard by the public at large and has been buried, as Joel K. notes above, in the soundtrack of a minor and long-forgotten movie from the 80s. Yet it remains as one of the most articulate and heartfelt of the tributes to Robert Francis Kennedy yet written; it comes closer to capturing the spirit of Kennedy's campaign than works far better known. Like RFK himself perhaps, "Dreamers On The Rise" deserves a much better fate than time and national memory have dealt it thus far.
Appendix - July 2013
Courtesy of Chuck McDermott, a collaborator of John Stewart's for many years, we have an embeddable clip of that performance from the "minor and long-forgotten movie" mentioned above. Chuck explains in his FaceBook Posting:
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Songs often take strange journeys in their lives, changing sometimes in lyric and melody and meaning, often morphing into very different creations than they started their existences as. This is a fortunate fact, as far as I am concerned, because it is one of the aspects of folk music that has driven my lifelong love of the genre and, in fact, given rise to this site and its 184 articles. A few weeks back I took yet another look at what has come to be termed "the folk process" in ruminating about how a labor protest song by Uncle Dave Macon could be transformed into a pop-folk traveling tune and thence into an electro-pop folk-rock number - which employed Uncle Dave's original chorus. Far stranger stories appear in these posts - "Over The Hills And Far Away," in its various incarnations for example, "Hobo's Lullaby" emerging from a Civil War lament, murder ballad "Pretty Polly" turning into the protest "Pastures of Plenty," and many, many more.
Perhaps the most arresting of these transformations occurs when a secular song becomes a religious one (and the prototype for this process is Henry VIII's "Greensleeves" being adapted to the Christmas hymn "What Child Is This?") or vice versa - when a song that at its creation was intended for the often narrow confines of church use breaks out into the pop mainstream and becomes a commercial hit number. This has happened with more frequency in recent decades than you might at first think. Elvis Presley's gospel albums outsold most of his rock LPs, and the last 40 or so years have produced international hits like The Eddie Hawkins Singers' "Oh Happy Day" in 1969 at the height of political turmoil and division in the U.S., Cat Stevens' gentle "Morning Has Broken" in 1971, and Judy Collins' high-charting rendition of "Amazing Grace" also in 1971, among many others. This phenomenon is no doubt due in part to a kind of secularized Christianity that pervades much of American culture - but that same American culture also made a hit of John Lennon's aggressively irreligious "Imagine" and George Harrison's Eastern mysticism in "My Sweet Lord," so that's not the whole story. A good spiritual or gospel number often seems to speak to something that transcends doctrine or belief per se. Steven Turner said as much in his Amazing Grace: The Story of America's Most Beloved Song when he wrote:
Somehow, "Amazing Grace" expressed core American values without ever sounding triumphant or jingoistic. It was a song that could be sung by young and old, Republican and Democrat, Southern Baptist and Roman Catholic, African American and Native American, high-ranking military officer and anticapitalist campaigner.
Those core American values, of course, include the dream of a millennial universal peace and justice, and a redemption from our sins personal and societal, religious and secular - an absolution from our many failings as people and as a nation. And it doesn't hurt, of course, that the songs enumerated above were just plain old ripping good tunes performed by the artists with consummate professionalism. Redeemed or not, Americans have always loved ripping good tunes.
That prologue brings us to "Love Comes Trickling Down," a song which enjoyed a brief flurry of recordings in the 1960s by some pretty heavy-duty folk acts. I first heard it on a 1964 Kingston Trio album, attributed to one Jonathan Harris, and I assumed from the sound of the number and the arrangement that it was a relatively contemporary gospel number of the kind that the group had dabbled with before. Not so at all, it turns out. Whoever Mr. Harris was, he simply re-arranged a very old spiritual that likely pre-dates the Civil War and that first appeared in print in 1887 in a book titled Jubilee and Plantation Songs, as sung by the Hampton Student Chorus (pictured above). Hampton University, of course, with Howard and Fisk (whose students also performed with the Hampton chorus) was one of the country's first black colleges, founded in the old South where higher education was denied to former slaves and their children. The musical setting for "Love" appears like this in the original publication:
This first published version reveals two significant aspects of the song. First, the melody is roughly the same as the versions we will hear below, but not quite exactly; the chorus comes pretty close, but the verses are rather different. Second, the lyrics in many post-1900 hymnals cite the last line of the chorus as "love comes a-tumbling down," and there have been some heated discussions on a folk website or two as to whether "trickling" or "tumbling" is appropriate. The publication of the Hampton arrangement above pretty much settles that, at least insofar as the original intent goes.
As noted above, I first heard "Love" on the Kingston Trio album Nick, Bob and John:
Lead vocal and 12 string guitar here is by John Stewart. The chord structure in this arrangement is mostly why I mistook the song for more contemporary than it is. This track is in the key of A, and the guitar introduction moves from the A chord to an A with an added 9th (and a random G# thrown in by the second guitar)- not typical of 19th century folk tunes, even the often complex spirituals. Also, the third line of the chorus (repeated in the verse) hits a C#minor chord - again, atypical and not part of the harmonic structure of the Hampton arrangement above. This was a KT touch, one that makes up in part for the poor quality of the original recording as the Trio had moved from the excellent facilities of Capitol Records and its gifted production personnel (producer Voyle Gilmore, engineer Pete Abbott, and remixing engineer Rex Uptegraft) to Decca Records, which allowed the group to record in its own Columbus Tower studio in San Francisco. Abbot came north from Los Angeles to try to help out, but even he could not save the album from sounding flat and dimensionless. Fortunately, the track above is a fairly recent digital remastering of the original tape, and it sounds rather more like it might have sounded had Capitol recorded it.
Roughly a year later, former Limeliter Glenn Yarbrough used "Love Comes Trickling Down" as the opening track on his Come Share My Life album. Here is Glenn's version, from television's Hollywood A-Go-Go show in 1965:
Two points become clear here. First, Yarbrough was making a career move away from pop-folk to pop-rock - and just pop in general, as this sprightly, cheerful rendition demonstrates. Second, Glenn is at it again - rewriting the lyrics of a public domain song to suit his own interest and style, much as he had taken the spiritual "All My Trials" and turned it into a love ballad, "All My Sorrows," several years before. Yarbrough essentially secularizes this religious song, the chorus of which is adapted from the Biblical Sermon on the Mount. Glenn turns it into a kind of non-spiritual spiritual, making love itself the center of the lyric instead of the original reference to grace.
The Womenfolk enjoyed several years of relatively high-profile popularity, including appearances on television's Hootenanny and in major clubs like the Hungry i. They also had a Billboard Hot 100 single with their version of Malvina Reynolds' "Little Boxes" - at 1:06 running time, this track has the odd distinction of being the shortest recording ever to crack the Hot 100. "Love Comes A-Trickling Down" was the B side of that 1964 single:
The ladies give the song a pleasant, almost country-ish swing. The group attributes the copyright, visible on the record in the video, to L.Kahn and B.Kahn - a pair equally as mysterious as Jonathan Harris and likely just some folks who understood the lucrative nature of copyrighting an arrangement of a public domain tune.
For a more recent version, we turn to Gary Blanchard, whose YouTube channel features his performances of a wide range of folk songs, including several folk spirituals. Blanchard makes it clear in his introduction that he has done yet another rewrite of the tune:
In this entertaining, Pete-Seeger-ish performance from 2010, Blanchard - like Yarbrough - adds his own lyrics that again transform the number from the specifically religious to the generically inspirational. John Lennon would have loved it.
Finally, contemporary gospel group King David's Harp returns the song to its Christian roots in this performance from just short of a year ago:
The quartet is clearly using the song as the unifying element in a sermon and story. Like Blanchard above, King David's Harp sings the tune without minor chords, more in keeping with the original Hampton version. The Harp's chorus, in fact, is closer to the printed music than any of the other versions here.
"Love Comes Trickling Down" bears rough comparison to the much higher-profile "Let's Get Together" in that both are undergirded by orthodox Christian beliefs, but in their recorded transformations become something quite different. However, "Get Together" became folk-rockified and remains a pop standard from the era, and "Love" fades off into near-obscurity. But it doesn't quite disappear. Major folk and rock critic Bruce Eder of Allmusic.com remarked about the Kingstons' recording that " 'Love Comes a Trickling Down' is the great lost single (among several candidates) from this LP, a gorgeous gospel-flavored piece with a melody that, in the most beautiful way possible, never quite resolves itself..." High praise indeed for a track and a song that few today remember, and to which I can only add an "Amen." A secular one.
For both reference and nostalgia's sake - here are the three hit songs mentioned above:
The Eddie Hawkins Singers: "O Happy Day"
Cat Stevens: "Morning Has Broken"
Judy Collins: "Amazing Grace"