This disc (as well as its companion, "Vol. 2: Dont'cha Hear Poor Mother Calling?") is perhaps some of the most beautiful and honest recordings of human expression you'll ever hear. Modern music has nothing on this stuff; it's the real deal. This is music that was created to get you through the day; not to sell records or to score chicks. This is as anti-commercial, and therefore, as antiestablishment as you can get. Truly alternative. And it is, in a word, spellbinding.
The greatest beauty of, not only the songs, but culture that spawned them and the men who sang them as well, is the burning human spirit that inhabits each and every track on this record. Nowhere is there a mention of giving up or losing hope. These songs are optimistic in the the purest sense and prideful in the best way. One can't help but wonder how - in a place where you could get six months on the chain gang for standing on a street corner, or five years for stealing a loaf of bread - these men managed to remain so hopeful? How could they stay so proud and sing so true, with so much life, while they were being worked to death every day, from dawn until dusk, under the blazing, hot sun with nothing but a little bread and water to keep them going? These men must have had an amazing inner strength and a strong system of values to get through it. Or, if not that, at they very least, they had to have possessed an unimaginable amount of pride and dignity in themselves to not to be broken down by their captors and the brutal Jim Crow penal system under which they were railroaded.
Thinking of that and listening to this disc, I was reminded of something I heard Wynton Marsalis say in an interview with David Frost. When asked what he thought of Rap music, Wynton said that, "Rap, because of it's sense of nihilism, represents the ultimate triumph of the white man over the black man..." Nowhere, he claimed, in the history of African-American creative expression do you find that sense of nihilism that you do in Rock & Roll. That was something that found its way into black culture after Elvis took off. So if Rock music was, and still is, a white manifestation of the Blues and R&B with a Dionysian sense of self-destruction, then the rebellious posturing and devil-may-care swagger of today's gun-toting "Gangsta" archetype is something that was adopted from white culture. Does this sound far fetched? Not if one looks at white popular culture from the fifties. Take, for example, "Rebel Without a Cause" or "The Wild One" where disenfranchised white kids, juiced up on hormones, drag race down the road, not at all concerned that somebody might crash or fly off a cliff. Where do these ideas play out in pre-fifties African-American culture? They don't. Because they don't exist. Could you ever imagine Duke Ellington, in his top hat and tails, kicking over his piano bench the way Jerry Lee Lewis did on the Steve Allen Show? Never in a million years. This sense of nihilism was introduced into the mix by white guys like James Dean, Marlon Brando, Gene Vincent, and Eddie Cochran; it was later elevated to a fine art by the likes of Keith Richards, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison before it was co-opted by latter day Rap performers.
To be sure, there is no sense of nihilism on this disc. And for that reason, the singers on "Murderous Home" (and "Dont'cha Hear Poor Mother Calling?") should be held up as role models to countless disenfranchised young people out there who have no faith in the system. The men here didn't let the system get the better of them; they didn't let the institution turn them sour; they didn't let the institution turn them on themselves. The guys on this disc are the original "Gangstas." True rebels, defiant in a time long before being an outsider was bottled up, made cool, and sold to us in the form of Rock & Roll...long before the advertisers taught us how to be self-destructive...and long before rap videos made that sense of self-destruction sexy to suburban kids.
It's interesting to note that in spite of all the positive spirit in these songs, when Alan Lomax returned to Parchman just a few years later, the younger convicts refused to sing them. They saw the songs as old-fashioned and thought singing them would be "Uncle Tomming." Ironically, of course, this was in the fifties...after Rock & Roll.
How sad then, that these songs were forgotten by African-Americans. Because what got left behind was a guiding voice. A voice that was so poetic, beautiful and honest in its heroic strength and language and so steadfast in its conviction and principle and so completely true to itself that no rapper out there today comes anywhere close to equaling its defiance. But, perhaps the worst thing of all...the saddest of thing all...is that a genuine dignity was lost. A dignity that could have been a navigational beacon...a roadmap to the high road...forsaken and cast aside...and, ultimately, all because a good-looking white boy from Memphis shook his hips on a thing called television. |
| I really had no idea what i was in store for. But for those who love black, southern and prison history, spirituals, and are thirsting for music in its purest form, buy this CD!!! It has wonderful chants, commentary from Lomax, narrative from the inmatesand even clanking from the axes. You can hear the suffering and longing in their voices. You can hear the humor in may of the lyrics. Be sure to read the booklet so that you can get a clearer understanding of it all. It is a wonderful piece of recorded history. you may also want to buy the book Worse than Slavery, by Oshinsky so that you can get greater sense of exactly waht they are thinking about. One more thing..You will totally feel the energy of 22. |
| Words fail to describe this incredibly powerful album. I've had a copy since the 60's, and still have an unopened LP copy in my "vault" (along with the first Roberty Johnson LP). Luckily, I don't have to describe the power of the music - you can click on the samples, and hear for yourself. Reams of praise have been heaped on this album, and every word has been an understatement. If you have any interest whatever in American folk music or in blues or jazz, you either have a copy of this or should get one. This is the absolute peak of Lomax's years of collecting. Incredibly clean sound for the 40's, all well recorded, musically superb pieces, each a perfect gem of its kind, preserving some of the oldest and best of American music, done by some of the finest singers you've never heard of. You will listen to this again and again. |
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"six tracks..."
"Real Gangstas, Role Models, and Elvis Presley"