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If the United States has a national song form, itmay well be the blues. Wailed by solo singers,

the thousands of verses of the blues, borne on asingle but endlessly varied haunting cadence, filla regular Mississippi River of song that long sinceoverflowed its banks into jazz, hillbilly, gospel,opera, pop, and rock.The simplicity of the bluesform is as remarkable as its vitality. In this theblues is like other national song forms—the aus-tere copla in which Spanish singers have rhymedthe whole Iberian experience, the bittersweetstornello that since the early Renaissance hasregistered the Italian view of the beauties ofwomen and the ironies of love. But the blues isnot only the national song of the United States; itis creeping into the ear of the whole world andmay become the first international song style. Inorigin the blues is bicultural, Afro-American orAfro-European: European in that, like the stornel-lo and the copla, it is essentially a rhymed cou-plet set to a compact strophic melody;African ina score of ways descending cadences, flatted sev-enths and thirds (which register the inheritedinfluence of African scales), a polymetered rela-tion between voice and accompaniment, and aplayful singing style changing role from phrase tophrase. Thus the blues merges two musical lan-guages into an international patois.

The appeal of this new language is that itspeaks of the modern, urban, alienated experi-ence. The blues came into being in the periodbetween 1890 and 1930, as America was chang-ing from a rural agricultural to an urban industri-al nation. In this period the majority of blackswere surplus, often migratory, labor—badly paid,ill-educated, ghetto-confined, without civil rights,and subjected to every sort of exploitation andviolence. Long before the rest of Western man,

the black migratory laborers—who built the lev-ees and the railroads, raised the crops, andworked in the mills—knew what it was to be soeconomically and culturally underprivileged as tobe without family, friends, or community. Theysang:

I'm a poor old boy, jes ain't treated right,Freezin' ground was my folding bed last night.

They knew total rejection:

I asked my captain what time of day,He looked at me and walked away.

Now, after depression, war, the breakdown ofthe family and the neighborhood, in gradual disil-lusionment, and helpless in the face of the giantinstitutions that control our destinies, whites alsohave the blues, and are trying to sing them. AsBig Bill Broonzy said:

It takes a man that has the blues to sing the blues.Theblues is a kind of revenge.That boss actin' so mean anddirty and you want to say somethin', but you can't, so yougo out behind the wagon, pretend a horse stepped on yourfoot and say,“Get offa me, god damn it.,,That's like a man,singing the blues, expressin' what he can't say in a song.

Big Bill, who in his lifetime turned the ironiclight of the blues on a hundred subjects, was con-tinuing a tradition of his cultural ancestors, thegriots of western Sudan.These oral poets, chroni-clers of daily events, family traditions, and thedeeds of the kings of Mali and Senegal, often putinto their verse things that their audiences darednot say; indeed, the greatest kings stood in fear ofthe griots, for their songs could bring the mostpowerful into ridicule and shame that might fol-low them through life. There are recorded griot

Roots of the Blues New World 80252-2

performances that precisely match certain Missis-sippi country-blues records in tempo, relation ofvoice to accompaniment, phrasing, and vocal style;I am not the first musicologist to conclude that theSudanese griot style is the progenitor of the blues,although the precise mode of succession remainsundiscovered.

The roots of the blues may be traced even furtherback. There is a distinctively African approach tothe solo-string-accompanied type, heard in theserecordings and common elsewhere only in Africa.A rather open voice with playful vocal quality,often employing rasp, falsetto, and glissando, per-forms a simple repetitive melody (often one phrasewith variation, in descending cadence) in richantiphonal and cross-rhythmed interplay with theinstrument, which sustains a driving rhythm in asimple ostinato pattern under the voice and thenbreaks out between vocal phrases. This style isfound largely in Sudan and East Africa, where theOriental influence is apparent. It seems to be a sub-style of a very large musical region, embracing theMediterranean and the whole Orient, where virtu-osic solo singing with string accompaniment is theoutstanding, often the dominant, mode. I havetermed this the “bardic” manner, for it is in this waythat the ancient bards performed the epics; it wasin this manner that, from time immemorial, courtbards have sung for their masters, as did David forSaul. Universes of varied musics live within thisvast region of solo-accompanied song, but thedrama common to all is of the individual, standingalone, crying out his troubles or addressing a pleato some powerful figure—the landlord, the emper-or, the gods, or his unattainable ladylove. It is thislast figure to whom, as we shall see, so many bluesare sung. Thus one root of the blues runs back tothe Sudanese kingdoms and through them to arefined, often melancholy or angry, and occasional-ly subservient Oriental tradition. The world-wearynote that sounds in the blues is ages old, but it iscounterbalanced by the driving, danceable rhythmsthat are an African contribution.

This ancient bardic strain tends strongly towardmelodies that are free in form and rhythm andhighly ornamented. One of the song types distinc-tive of the Orient is such melodies—they can becalled “complaints,” because of their wailing melan-choly notes—which are common in cantellationsto Yahweh and Allah and in the field where farmersand herdsmen work at lonely tasks. These fieldsongs too are often religious in character, for thehard-pressed peasant, weighed down with taxesand a large family, calls on God and the saints to aid

him. The muezzin summons the faithful and thepriest intones the service in this rubato parlandostyle; it is indeed the canto hondo (the deep song)of the Old World, for gypsy, peasant, and priest allsend their troubles aloft in this way. Such songs areheard less often on African recordings, presumablybecause most African work and religious songs areperformed in concert, with the positive affect ofgroup song. The few African examples we haveheard, however, are the direct ancestors of theAmerican Negro holler, which is the main sourceof the blues (Track 1).

When my father John A. Lomax and I recorded thework songs of the South we discovered this richgenre of the holler—the individual field call, some-times with words, sometimes without.These hollersproliferated in the postbellum South as the folkscattered out to individual farms, rambled off totake up temporary work on construction gangs, or,worst of all, were sent off to the chain gang or jail.Plowing, getting in the wood, running a mule-drawnscraper on the levee, swinging an ax or a hoe allday long under the eye of a guard—these are lonely,heartbreaking tasks. In the holler the isolated work-er communicates with his friends or family at a dis-tance or complains to the sun and the mules abouthis hard lot. In some groups we found that everyman had his own holler—a personal song of one ormany verses, by which he was known. “That's ol'Bob hollerin' down there in the lowground.”

I'm down in the bottom, [mule) skinning for Johnny Ryan,Writin' my 'nitials on that mule's behind.

I'm down in the bottom, mud up to my knees,Workin' for my woman, she so hard to please.

These are verses from a levee-camp holler thatLeadbelly turned into a blues by setting it to adance rhythm. It was this particular process andthis free-rhythmed holler style that gave rise to theblues. Maybe

the blues came from Texas, lopin' like a mule.

If it did come from Texas, I believe it came from aTexas levee camp to one in Mississippi. About theturn of the century, levees were built all alongsouthern rivers, creating millions of acres of richbottom land for farms in eastern Texas, Louisiana,Arkansas, and Mississippi.The ready money and thelawless, adventurous life drew thousands of blacksinto the levee camps, where it was “all right to killanybody, if you could work better than him.”

The heart and center of this new frontier was the

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Yazoo Delta, a huge slice of rich black land lyingback of the rising levees on both sides of theMississippi between Memphis and Natchez. Thiswas the country where most bluesmen were bornand raised and where W. C. Handy first wrote downthe blues, but it was first of all levee-camp, railroad-building, cotton-picking country par excellence. Inthe Yazoo the haunting cadences of the field hollercrept into dance and entertainment music—for theblues is primarily dance music. In its folk setting,whether in the Deep South or in the ghetto, thebluesman made the music for working people todance to, slow-dragging, face to face, belly to belly,in a style that was born with the blues.The compos-er-musician worked all week mule skinning (drivinga mule team; usually on a construction job) orroustabouting (working as a deckhand on a river-boat, or as a general laborer) or tie tamping (con-necting railway ties). Then, accompanying himselfon a guitar or piano, he could keep a crowd happyon Saturday night with his one or two tunes, solong as he kept a tricky beat going for the dancersand rhymed up new verses about common prob-lems. He had all night to learn how to imitate thephrases of his song on the strings, pushing thestrings to one side or pulling them off to makethem wail like his lonesome tune.The subtleties ofthe hollers came to be articulated on guitar, piano,mandolin, and harmonica in levee camps and atcrossroads dances and small juke joints, for in thiscountry there were few amusements besides all-night dances on Saturday and church on Sunday.Tracks 1-10 illustrate this aspect of blues, showingthe umbilical tie between a field holler fromSenegal and one from Mississippi; then how thesyncopated rhythms carry over between work anddance music; then how the dance music developed,gradually acquiring blues touches, until it finallycould support and add gaiety to the blues' radicalmelodies.Tracks 11-14, which have religious musicfrom the same area, shows that a very similar free-rhythmed, embellished, wailing style dominated thechurch and gave rise to a guitar-accompanied spiri-tual, a true Mississippi sister of the blues.

The black migratory workers, day laborers, fieldhands, and sharecroppers who had the blues, com-posed the blues, sang the blues, and danced theblues were confined to a world of little education,manual labor, low wages, and enforced sub-servience.The black who did not step off the side-walk out of the white man's way, who vigorouslyprotested an overcharge or an affront, who didn'ttake off his hat and say “yassuh” when a white manaddressed him, who showed his anger or his defi-

ance in his face, was subject to immediate intimida-tion, attack, arrest, and jailing. If he was luckyenough to have a white protector, he might gethome a bit sooner from the chain gang or out ofthe pen. Otherwise, he might die in one of theseconcentration camps.

A mess-hall tale:

“Cap'n,” says the levee-camp or prison-farm worker,“I founda worm in my greens.

Cap'n say,“What the hell you want for nothin'?”Feller down the table say,“Gimme that piece of meat.”

The stark rhymes of the levee-camp worker tell the story:

I ask my cap'n to gimme me time,He say,“Go way, nigger, you time behind.”

I ask my cap'n did my money come?He say,“The river too foggy and the boat won't run.”

What happened when that construction jobclosed down? There was no relief system; the dayof Roosevelt and food for the hungry and the job-less was far in the future.The black man just off thechain gang or the levee camp, broke, hungry, farfrom home, had no one to appeal to but thewomen of whatever community he found himselfin.The women hadn't gambled away their few dol-lars earned as cooks, washerwomen, or prostitutes.They had a coal stove and a bed—a home, even ifthe roof leaked in the rain. As he tramped thedusty alleys of “niggertown,” the lonesome holler ofthe homeless black man floated in the evening air:

I'm a poor boy a great long ways from home.

Sitting on the commissary steps, picking a bor-rowed guitar, glancing at a woman who stopped tolisten, he sang:

Just make me a pallet on your floor,Make me a pallet on your floor,Make me a pallet right down on your floor,That way your good man will never know.

Most of the bluesmen I interviewed in Mississippiagreed that this was probably the first true blues.At any rate, it is the heart of the genre, for most oldregular country blues are appeals to women bymen, with an occasional rejoinder from thewomen. There are pleas and demands for indul-gence, shelter, care, and fidelity; there are boastsabout sexual prowess; there are jokes and com-plaints and threats about how a working man feelswhen he has a “bad woman” or “finds another mulekickin' in his stall.”They chronicle the endless sor-

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row of “Careless Love,”one of the oldest blues:

Love, O love, O careless love,Love, O love, O careless love,Love, O love, O careless love,You see what careless love has done.

This being the real condition in which love wasto be had and life lived, these men and womenaccepted it, joked about it, enjoyed it and eachother. When there was time to drink and dance atthe end of the day, they held each other close andlaughed over the salty ironies that the bluesmanrhymed together as he strummed the dance beat:

If the blues was whiskey, I'd stay drunk all the time,

What makes the rooster crow just an hour 'fo' day?Just to let the bad man know that the husband's on his way.

Thus, in conditions very similar to those in theempires of the Old World, where every soul existedat the whim of the overlords, so in the Deep South,where black men lived under similar duress, withsimilarly distorted human relationships and in lone-liness and anger, this ancient style reemerged, albeitin a new form.

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WORK SONG AND DANCE ORIGINS

Track 1

Louisiana/Field Song fromSenegal

Henry Ratcliff, vocal/Bakari-Badji, vocal

This pair of work hollers—one that I recorded in theMississippi penitentiary in thesixties and the other that DavidSapir recorded in a rice field inSenegal about the same time—sounds like a conversationbetween second cousins over abackyard fence and providespositive aural evidence that, inspite of time and change of lan-guage and setting, the wholespirit of West Africa still flour-ishes in the United States andthat the roots of the blues areAfrican. The Mississippi state-ment is wistfully melancholy,the Senegal song more ener-getic and sanguine, but thestyle is shared. More suchirrefutable documents willemerge as field coverageimproves.The Senegal song is a

solo rendition of an antiphonalwork song for peanut cultiva-tion. It is kin to the praisesongs of the nearby Malinke(but, according to Dr. Sapir, itsorigin is probably a local danceof this Diola group).

The Mississippi prisonerintroduces us to the vein ofprotest and anger that under-lies the blues. He addresses hisdistant woman, hinting (for heis singing where the guards canhear) that if he survives he willrun away. He complains aboutthe eternal speedup in theprison field gangs, and says thathe would not be so docile if hehad his pistol. He fantasizesabout running away toLouisiana and about his womanjoining him there, but eventhere he would be on the run.In the final stanza he asks herto tell his friends that he'sgoing to escape; he may be see-ing her before the summer'send, but on the run.

Oh, if I ever make it, baby, I'll be longgone.

(Senegalese verse)

Oh, the captain said,“Hurry, hurry,”Lord,

Oh, and the sergeant said,“Run.”Oh, if I had my 38/40 I wouldn't do

either one.

(Senegalese verse)

Woo, I'm going down in Louisiana, oh,don't you want to go,

Woo, I'm goin' down in Louisiana,don't you want to go.

Wo, you look for me in Louisiana, oh,I'll be long gone. (Twice)

(Senegalese verse)

Oh, you can tell everybody that I'll begone,

Oh, I'll be by to see you 'fore the sum-mer gone.

Oh, I might be in a hurry, I can't stayvery long.

Track 2

Po' Boy BluesJohn Dudley, vocal

In his young days JohnDudley, now fifty and a pris-oner, played for country dancesall over Tunica County,Mississippi, in the northern sec-tor of the Yazoo Delta, the

county that produced the greatSon House (a Delta bluesman)and the dazzling RobertJohnson. Dudley is a nonprofes-sional, with all the enthusiasmand strong feeling of the ama-teur. His song begins with theoldest theme of the blues,repeated without a rhyme, inthe fashion of the early blues.The next stanza is improvisedand also unrhymed. In the thirdstanza he f lirts with a newacquaintance. The fourth hintsof a danger the itinerant blues-man faced—the jealousy of thereigning male. The chording inthe left hand is done with abottle neck over the index fin-ger or the back of a knife heldbetween the thumb and indexfinger. This, a black inventionpopularized by Blind LemonJefferson, the great Texas bluescomposer, allows the left handto play chords and melody andcontribute to the rhythm whilethe free fingers of the righthand continue that hand's nor-mal role of playing bass ostina-to and picking melodic pat-terns on the treble strings. Theexpert at this style can makethe guitar a one-man orchestrawith three or four simultane-ous parts.

I'm a poor boy and I'm a great longways from home.

(Three times)

Well, I telephoned to my baby, pleasesend my fare,

Well, I phoned to my baby, please sendme my ring,

I'm a poor boy and I got nowhere tostay.

Run here, baby, sit down on my knee,(Twice) Have any troubles speak it all to me.

I'm gonna sing this verse, and I ain'tgonna sing no mo',

(Twice)Keep down trouble, boys, now I bet-

ter go.

Track 3

Katie Left MemphisTangle Eye, vocal

The black man working alonewith his ax in the woods singsto lighten his tasks. The ax isswung up in a relaxed way andpicks up a beat in the secondpart of the phrase (“'fo' the”),at the end of which it bites intothe tree and an exhalati6n ofeffort is heard.The cycle beginsagain. The beat patterns of thesong and the ax blows are dif-ferent, and their juxtapositionmakes a syncopation every halfline when the ax strikes, so thatthe work is transformed into astationary polyrhythmic dancewith erotic implications.This isan age-old black practice,which made the heavy tasks offield work and river transportin the tropical heat of Africaand the Caribbean not onlybearable but even pleasurable.As one man told me,“We startsto sing soon in the mornin',and when I look roun' it's din-ner time.” In Africa and the Westindies drums are often playedin the field, but in ProtestantAmerica, where drums wereforbidden, their rhythms areimplied in the syncopatedinterplay between the workblows and the voices.Thus theraw material for the bluesrhythm was rehearsed all daylong at work, with the songleaders polishing exquisiteruns of vocables (you'll get theflavor if you sing along, evensilently) about matters familiarto the men on the job.The textis pure Yazoo, with lines aboutone of the heroines of theriver, the steamboat KatieAdams, stuck and spinninground on a sandbar and thenskimming along a deep chan-nel, and a warning right out of

Faulkner for the countryboy,venturing into the fleshpots ofMemphis, to put some of hismoney into a return ticket onthe Yellow Dog, the trainHandy celebrated in his blues.

Little George said 'fo' the well theKatie was made

(Twice)Arkansas City gonna a-be her trade.(Twice)ChorusOh, Rosie, oh gal,Oh, Rosie, and a-Oh Lord, gal.

The boats in the bayou turnin' wellaround an' round,

(Twice)The drive wheel knockin' Ala-well-a-

bama bound.(Twice)

You go to Memphis, don't you wellyou act no hog.

(Twice)Buy you a ticket and catch the well

the Yellow Dog.(Twice)(Chorus)

Track 4

Berta, BertaLeroy Miller and a group of

prisoners, vocals

The big penitentiary farms ofthe Deep South are an exten-sion of the southern plantationsystem. A black worker whotried to flee his burden of debtor to revenge himself on thesystem by an act of violencewas simply transferred acrossthe barbed wire to help make acrop on another plantation—that of the prison. In the penthe system of exploitation waseven more explicit.The prison-er was paid nothing to worksix days a week in all weathersfrom daylight till dark, runningeach way to the field, pushedto his limit by guards whowere experts at “nigger dri-ving” and who were paid abonus if they killed a man who

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was trying to escape. If a mancomplained of sickness hemight be told, “Die, dammit,and prove it.” If he made it inthe “burning hell” of the fieldwork and through the murder-ous black midnights of theprison dormitories, he wasregarded with some respect byboth his guards and his com-rades as a “man in full.” Hemight break trusty; be allowedto make love to his womenfriends, visiting on weekends,in one of the farm outbuild-ings; earn a few pennies fortobacco from extra work.Leadbelly and other cool-head-ed men managed this. But mostmen stayed in the line, plow-ing, planting, hoeing, choppingwood in the yearly work cycle,sustained in good measure, Ibelieve, by the healthy powerof African work songs. Here,right under the shotguns of theguards, the black collective coa-lesced and defiantly expressedits unity and belief in life, oftenin ironically humorous terms.There are simply no moreengaging or more singablesongs in the English languagethan these black prison worksongs, which so oftenaddressed themselves to alonged-for woman—in this caseBerta, living in the ease of thefree world while her lover, whohad robbed to please her, paysthe penalty on the Parchmanprison farm, where the onlyalternatives are work orattempted escape.

ChorusO Lord, Berta, Berta, O Lord, gal oh-ah,O Lord, Berta, Berta, O Lord, gal well.

Go 'head marry, don't you wait on meoh-ah,

Go 'head marry, don't you wait on mewell.

Might not want you when I go freeoh-ah,

Might not want you when I go free well.

Raise 'em up higher, let 'em drop ondown oh-ah,

Raise 'em up higher, let 'em drop ondown well.

Don't know the difference when thesun goes down oh-ah,

Don't know the difference when thesun goes down well.

Berta in Meridian an' she livin' at easeoh-ah,

Berta in Meridian an' she livin' at easewell.

I'm on old Parchman, got to work orleave oh-ah,

I'm on old Parchman, got to work orleave well.

(Chorus)

When you marry, don't marry farmin'man oh-ah,

When you marry, don't marry farmin'man well now.

Everyday Monday, hoe handle in yo'hand well,

Everyday Monday, hoe handle in yo'hand well now.

When you marry, marry railroad manoh-ah,

When you marry, marry railroad manwell now.

Everyday Sunday, a dollar in your handoh-ah,

Everyday Sunday, a dollar in your handwell now.

(Chorus)

Track 5

Old Original BluesFred McDowell, vocal and gui-

tar;Miles Pratcher, rhythm guitar

Pratcher lays down the charac-teristic driving ostinato bass fig-ure, which is supplemented byMcDowell's knife-producedchords. Then McDowell playsthe melody by sliding the knifealong the strings with his lefthand, his right-hand fingers mak-ing comments on the treblestrings. Then comes the firstphrase of the song. Both tuneand text (some of it unclear) areremarkably close to the holleron Track 1, but in a contrastingtempo slower than the accom-

paniment. The voice prolongsthe last note of the half phrase,so that the syncopations anddelays in the two guitars can beheard at the same point the syn-copation appeared in the worksongs.The brooding descendingmelody is sung again, then againwith small variations, to make athree-phrase litany, a form dis-tinctive of the blues; then thelead guitar takes over themelody role. Sometimes thethird phrase of the tune bringsin the punch line of the conven-tional blues form with a newtext and a rhyme for the firsttwo lines, but often the text issimply repeated, as it might bein a field holler (in some coun-try blues one phrase may berepeated indefinitely). In fact,these country blues are like fieldhollers set to an insistent drivingdance rhythm. McDowell's titleis therefore apt. He said, “Let'sjes' call this one the 'OldOriginal Blues,' “and that it is—ablues in its first stage away froma work song—but more: it is alsoan American reconstitution ofthe African bardic styledescribed earlier.

Lord, I'm goin' down south, baby, Ibelieve I will carry my girl.

(Twice)Lord, they tell me the river's risin',

baby, days I been here.

Lord, I'm goin' down in Louisiana, I'mgoin' to buy me a mojo hand.

(Twice)I'm goin' to fix my baby, so she won't

have no other man.

Lord, sometimes I wonder what's goin'to come of me.

(Three times)

If the river was whiskey, baby, Lordy,honey, I was a diving duck.

(Twice)Lord, I would dive on the bottom, dive

on the bottom, baby, honey, Iwould never come up.

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Track 6Jim and JohnEd Young, home-made fife;

Lonnie Young, vocal and bassdrum

Here again is the same Africanstyle: a one-phrase melody, var-ied playfully in its melodic andrhythmic aspects, creating crossrhythms with a powerful re-peated rhythmic accompanyingfigure—an ancestor of theblues—dance form, but farolder. In fact, the piece mighthave been recorded in Africa,although the players werefriends and contemporaries ofFred McDowell's, living in thesame neighborhood of north-western Mississippi on the hillyedge of the Yazoo Delta. Herebands of country musicians,playing home-made fifes andpipes and fiddles and accompa-nied on drums and with clap-ping, just as they would be inAfrica, still make dance musicfor all-day country picnics onsummer holidays. I was fortu-nate to be the first to discoverthis extraordinary musicalpocket in 1941 and then to fur-ther explore it eighteen yearslater. Since then others haverecorded and filmed in the area,but, so far as I know, no one hasfound out exactly how and whythis extraordinarily Africanmusic survived here and in thisform. We know that ThomasJefferson's personal servantorganized a fife-and-drum bandas his contribution to the causewhen the Revolutionary Warbegan. One presumes, then, thatbecause fife-and-drum corpshave generally been viewed aspatriotic the blacks were per-mitted within this genre to con-tinue to play drums (generallybanned elsewhere in theProtestant South) and to blowwild African tunes on home-

made aerophones. Perhaps suchpatriotic Afro-American fife-and-drum orcheras were once wide-spread but not noticed becausethe players were performing asblacks might be expected to.Moreover, the country where Ifound this musical pocket is offthe beaten track in an areawhere blacks own most of theland and thus can maintaintheir own ways. There I foundthe Young brothers, both greatmusicians and in their prime, in1959. Before they died they hadplayed to great applause for fes-tivals all over the country. Onmy 1941 trip I had found thepanpipe piece (Track 7), whichis of an even older level. DavidEvans has recorded similarmusic in the countryside nearColumbus, Georgia. For moreinformation, see Mitchell (1971)and Traveling Through theJungle (Testament T-2223).

Track 7

Emmaline, Take Your TimeAlec Askew, panpipes

Panpipes are one of the old-est and most widespreadinstruments. Joel ChandlerHarris and other nineteenth-century writers noted that theywere very popular among therural blacks of Georgia, whocalled them “quills,” perhapsbecause they were made out ofmeasured sections of canebound together. Since panpipesare fairly common in parts ofEurope (notably Galicia,Lombardy, Rumania), in aborigi-nal Central and South America,and somewhat less so in Africa,and since they have long beena common children's toyinstrument, one cannot be sureof the origin of the quills. Thepentatonic scale, the altogetherrhythmic attack, the consistent

use of variation, and the hoot-ing of notes (which I haveheard in other southern blackand in pygmy playing butnowhere else) give this music astrongly African cast. Indeed, ifI were to pick one sound,recorded in America, to lead offa series of African musical sur-vivals, I think I would beginwith this piece. Its considerablyvaried two-phrase litany tune isclose to the preceding fifetune, and the rhythmic phras-ing is simply part of the idiomof Mississippi Valley dancemusic, including the blues.

Track 8

ButtermilkMiles Pratcher, guitar and fid-

dle; Bob Pratcher, vocal, guitar,and fiddle

The Pratcher brothers areanother band from the sameneighborhood, and their dancetune is close kin to the preced-ing piece.This is a black stringband playing more old-timeblack square-dance music ofthe type once common to thewhole frontier, white andblack, yet with many traits link-ing it to the blues—a drivingostinato figure; the instrumen-tal part in complementary andoverlapped antiphony with thevoice; the voice changeful andplayful; polyrhythms amongvocal part, handclapping, andorchestra; and finally a plethoraof blued notes in both vocaland instrumental parts.

Long time, so glad.(Four times)

Take me back, take me back,Now that's all right.Gal, I had you, you wouldn' do,Got me another 'un, don't want you.Well then, take me—So bad, long time,etc., ad lib.

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Take me back, take me back.Now that's all right.Gal, I had you, you wouldn' do.Got me another 'un, don't want you.

Then ta—me—Run today.

So bad, long time,O Lord,etc., ad lib.

Track 9

Mama LucyLeroy Gary, vocal

A variation on the commonestlevee-camp tune, one that myfather and I found virtuallySouthwide. Notice the freerhythm, held notes, melismata,glissandos, blue notes, and occa-sional occurrence of three-phrase form, composed of threevariations of the same phrase—all prelude to the blues.

Save old Mama Lucy, doctor, don't lether die,

Oh, she can furnish me more moneyyondo than I can buy.

Oh,you can go down yonder an' tellold Mattie Groan,

Oh, I give her four, five dollar thatshe's sittin' on,

Oh, that she's sittin' out on.

Oh, I don't know, buddy, but I believe I will

Take my baby to Jacksonville,Oh, my baby to Jacksonville.

Oh, a-save her, doctor, save her, doctor,don't let her die,

Oh, she can furnish me more moneyyondo than I can buy.

Oh,I go down yondo, tell old MattieGroan, old Mattie Groan,

I give her four, five dollar for that she'ssittin' on.

Track 10

I'm Gonna Live Anyhow till IDie

Miles Pratcher, guitar and fid-dle; Bob Pratcher, vocal, guitar,and fiddle

One of a family of tunes lyingbetween black square-dancemusic, like “Buttermilk,” and thefirst true instrumental blues. Ialways have thought of thisgenre as a sort of bluesy balladin ragtime. It includes suchsongs as “Brady,”“Frankie,”“JohnHenry,” and “Keep My SkilletGood and Greasy.”The strophicform, standard in frontier bal-ladry, appears in a new andsophisticated guise, gracedwith blue notes and backed upby a catchy dance beat. In thistext the dancing, drinkingcrowd defies the hellfire—intimidated churchly folk, whodisapprove of their sinful ways,saying,“What you say about medon't worry me none; I'mgonna live how I please, andwhen I die I'll just be dead,that's all.”

I'm gonna shake it well for my Lord,I'm gonna shake it well for you, my

gal,Well, sticks and stones gonna break

my bones,Talk about me when I'm dead and

gone,I'm gonna live anyhow till I die.

I'm gonna live anyhow till I die,Well, sticks and stones gonna break

my bones,Talk about me when I'm dead and

gone,I'm gonna live anyhow.

Good-bye, Lord . . . (Twice) Sticks and stones, etc.

Good-bye, Lord, honey, what you do,(Twice)

Sticks and stones, etc.

Well, I'm gonna live anyhow till I die,(Twice)

Sticks and stones, etc.

I'm gonna shake it well for my Lord,(Twice)

Sticks and stones, etc.

I'm gonna live well for my Lord,(Twice)

Sticks and stones, etc.

RELIGIOUS PARALLELS Track 11

No More, My LordTangle Eye and a group of

prisoners, vocals

This was recorded while theprisoners were chopping woodin the Parchman penitentiary.Although a deep social divisionseparated the “saints” from the“sinners” in the black commu-nity, they shared a commonsong style. In this example of awork song with a religious textwe hear the same kind of vocal-izing that characterizes the sec-ular pieces on tracks 1-10—anopen, changeful, often liquidvocal quality and a f lowingmelodic style with holds, glis-sandos, melismata, and manywide intervals and blued notes.The orchestration of voices,improvised for this particularrecording by a group unaccus-tomed to singing together, isremarkable and touching.

ChorusNo more, my Lord, (Twice)Lord, I'll never turn back no more.

I heard the voice of Jesus sayCome unto me and rest.I found in Him a resting placeAnd He made me glad.(Chorus)

Jesus, the Man I'm looking for,Can you tell me where He's gone?Go down, go down among the flower

yard,And perhaps you may find Him there.(Chorus)

Track 12

Lining Hymn and PrayerRev. Crenshaw and the con-

gregation of New Brown'sChapel, Memphis

Here, at the conclusion of hissermon, when he is about tocall for sinners to come to the

8

mourners' bench, the pastorhas brought into play one ofthe old lining hymns. The tune(sometimes known as thechurch-house moan) is one ofthe most appealing to thehearts of black folk religionists.The deep-voiced deacon andthe congregation embroiderthis magnificent old psalm withunexpected harmonies, sup-porting a text that speaks of theinevitability of death and thehope of seeing loved ones inheaven. The minister mean-while continues his rhythmicexhortation in the background.The text is so prolonged anddwelt on that it is almost aminute before the minister rais-es the next line, in a despairingvoice that tears at the heart.Thecongregation trails in, elongat-ing each word into a phrase.The phrases are descendingcadences that strongly resem-ble the oldest hollers and blues(here may be another source ofblues melodies, or at least aclear parallel to the blues style).Then, on the pinnacle of feelingthis beloved hymn has created,the preacher moves toward theclimax of his sermon, usingevery device in his orator'srepertory—singing, calling out,screaming, raging—as the faith-ful who are near the rostrumtry with their responses to helphim bring the sinners to theirsenses. What he does liesbetween song and oratory—arealm created by generations ofgreat black ministers whoextended the range of theEnglish language and addedtheir own epic vision to thepoetry of the Bible.The result isa new religious art form thatmerits universal respect andstudy. (The transcription belowis only approximate.)

(Sung)Preacher:I wonder will we meet againCongregation: I wonder will we meet

again(Spoken)P:If you know, He'll bless you,If you believe it,Do he worth a dollar to you?Have you came here,Have you, to feed your children?Have you, to clothe yourself?What's He worth to you?(Sung)P:Before the roll is called.C:Before the roll is called.(Spoken)P:Everybody!If you need Him, come to the altar,If you ashamed to give Him,If you ashamed to own Him,Then I'll be ashamed to own you.(Sung)Did y'all hear me?If you are with me,God almighty....If you do my will,I'll feed you when you're hungry.If you do my will,I'll clothe you when you're naked.If you do my will,I ' l l take you in when you're out-

doors....I believe somebody ought to believe*

here today,Somebody been wounded, somebody

around you have had a hard time,Somebody going to need His name on

the way(Y'all don't hear me), †Somebody don't know how they're

gonna meet their obligations.Ca' that name(Y'all don't hear me),Ca' that name(His arms all around me),Ca' that name(God sure wouldn't let me fall).You ought to be willin' today,You ought to be real today,You ought to be real in your soul,You ought to let Him use you today,O, God almighty.Oh, He shook your bed this mornin'And woke you up,Let you went to your table,Eat His good food,Drink His cool water,Lookin' after your own feelings.I wonder will we meet again.And then get ready to come to the

house of God.How many of you been broken and

disenchanted?How many of you here last Sunday

That's around the altar right now?How many of y'all said-

The Lord giveth,The Lord take it away.I wouldn't let the Lord take it from

me,I'd walk up and look Him in the face-

”Lord, here it is,Oh spare meTo see another year.”I'd tell the Lord, the Man

Died one time....

Track 13

Death Come A-Creepin in MyRoom

Fred McDowell, vocal andguitar

Out of the caldron of sorrow-ful feelings that gave rise to theritual music of the last piececame a new genre of spiritualmelody, like “Man Goin' RoundTakin' Names,” “Toll the BellEasy,” and the present song.These death songs weremoney-makers for the blindstreet singers of the South—Blind Willie Johnson, BlindWilly McTell, Blind GaryDavis—who growled them outas they shuffled along throughthe endless darkness, pickingout the minor airs on the topstrings, keeping the beat steadyin the bass, tin cups rattling acounter-rhythm. As in theblues, the stanzas were com-posed of three or four varia-tions on the same downward-tending phrase. Between stan-zas the tenor strings wouldrepeat the melody. These blindmusicians became so expertthat under their fingers the gui-tar could take over the song atany point and sing a word orend a phrase with such refinedintonation that the listenerwould hardly be aware of theshift. So the godly, who would

9* “Believe”meaning to seek religion, to be converted.†Here the minister asks for responses.

not play the blues or permitthese sinful songs in theirhomes, could play and listen tothese blueslike spirituals thatdeveloped in the Deep Southand assumed their presentform at the time the blues wereborn. In both styles the singerswere experimenting with theguitar, teaching it to sing inblack style.

It was soon one morning, death comea-creepin' in my (room),

Soon one (morning), death comes a-creepin' in my room, Godamightyknows,

(Soon one morning) death come a-creepin' in my (room).

O my Lord, O my Lord, what shall I doto be (saved)?

Well, hush, children (hush), heard myLord call (my name),

Hush (children, hush), heard my Lordcall (my name), Godamightyknows,

Hush, children, hush, heard my Lordcall (my name).

O my Lord, O my Lord, what shall I doto be (saved)?

I'm gonna stand right here, I'm gonnawait (till Jesus come),

I'm gonna stand right (here), gonnawait until Jesus come, Godamighty,

(I'm gonna stand right here,) gonnawait till Jesus (come).

O my Lord, O my Lord, (what) shall Ido to be (saved)?

Well, soon one morning, death come a-creepin' in my (room),

Soon one morning, death come a-creepin' in my room, Godamighty,

(Soon one morning, death come a-creepin' in my room.

O my Lord, 0 my Lord, what shall I doto be saved?)

(Words in parentheses are not sungbut played on the guitar.)

Track 14

Church-House MoanCongregation of New Brown's

Chapel, Memphis

For me and, I believe, formost southerners, the most

magical of all musical sounds isthe many-voiced humming of alining hymn that arises duringquiet moments in the blackfolk service. After a song hasbeen sung and shouted cleanthrough and the church is rest-ing; after a peak in the sermon,when a sinner has comethrough for the Lord; after thedeacon has prayed and led thefirst hymn and everyone isthinking about what willcome—then this silvery hum-ming begins among thewomen, like the wind faintlystirring the water. Some oldersister in the back sets thesharp metronome of her toerapping out a quick staccatobeat that will set the tempo foreverything that will follow.Against it the strong, sorrow-ing current of the church-house moan moves like thetide of life itself, and the south-erner feels the presence of hisancestors from Senegal, fromSkye, from Guinea, fromGalway. This is the old,women's wordless blues, thesound of a woman alone in thekitchen rocking a hurt child.

Track 15

Beggin' the BluesBessie Jones, vocal

Mrs. Jones, of St. SimonsIsland, Georgia, is a leader ofreligious songs. The blues shesings here she made up whenshe was young and still “out inthe world” (that is, not achurch member and thus freeto sing secular songs). Her per-sonal blues returns to thetheme of the lonely woman,waking alone with the feelingthat a stranger is in her room.It turns out to be Old MisterMisery—the blues she can'tshake, the Blues that can out-

run a rabbit and break itsheart, the blues that won't giveyou a single day of the weekthat is free of heartache.

I woke up this mornin', I lookedaround in my room,

Well, I woke up this mornin' an' Ilooked around in my room,

I said,“Hello, blues, what you doin' inhere so soon.

I knowed it was the blues, 'cause Iheard him walkin' in my room,(Twice)

Lord, I wonder what's the metter,'cause the blues won't leave mealone.

Lord, I walked and I wondered, I cried,honey, all night long, (Twice)

I don't care where I go, the blues jus'won' leave me alone.

O the blues jumped a rabbit, run him asolid mile, (Twice)

And the rabbit turned over and criedlike a nachul chile.

He cried,“Blues, blues, you follow meeverywhere, (Twice)

I won't know what's the matter, theblues jus' won’t let me be.”

Track 16

Rolled and TumbledRose Hemphill, vocal; Fred

McDowell, guitar

Rose Hemphill, daughter ofthe great Sid Hemphill singswith scalding intensity, mount-ing each thought, each scrap ofverse, each bitter memory onan unvarying phrase that burnsinto the heart. Most blues areperformed for amusement,with a smile. Rose, on the con-trary, addresses us directly withher anguish.

Rolled an' I tumbled, cried the wholenight long. (Twice)

Got up this morning, didn't knowright from wrong.

What you gonna do when your trou-bles be like mine?

Gonna stand an' wring, goin' ta wringmy hands and cry.

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Want with a woman, she won't donoth' she says,

What you want with a woman, shewon't do nothin' she says.

Rolled an' I tumbled, cried the wholenight long.

...do with a woman, won’t do nothin'she says,

Want with a woman, she won't donothin' she says.

Track 17

Goin' Down to the RacesFred McDowell, vocal and gui-

tar; Miles Pratcher, guitar;Fannie Davis, comb and paper

Here is the blues in its fulldress as joyful, sad, erotic,unbeatable dance music, run-ning all night long, all weekendlong, at the little country sup-pers and the sukey jumpswhere the folks dance right onthe ground or pack into a littleone-room shack and move sothat the whole fragile buildingreverberates to the beat andyou can hear the pulse a mileor so in the Mississippi dark.Additional accompanimentmay come from somebodypuffing into an empty jug, drag-ging a broom across the roughfloor, performing miracles onall the surfaces of a washboard,or, as in this case, singing alongthrough a comb, as FannieDavis did, her man's felt hatfalling over one eye, her plaitssticking out every which way,her legs wide apart, leaning herbig body in toward Fred andmixing her notes with his.

Pratcher keeps the rockingdance pattern going on his gui-tar. McDowell plays counter-rhythms to this beat in bothhands and swings his voice outon this turbulent polyrhythmicstream like a mule skinner han-dling a perfect plow team. Thepull of his voice takes you off

again into the adventures ofthe blues, finding the newwoman, being rejected by herrespectable folk, sleeping alonein an empty cabin, starting outfor nowhere again.The mood isnot sad but charged with sex.The three-line blues formulabegins to be sung into Africanpieces again and acquires achorus as the singer finds eachphrase too sweet to let go with-out repetitions.

I first recorded Fred McDowellin 1959, along with the Youngs,the Pratchers, and others.Thoserecords brought him to thenotice of young British rockmusicians, who f lew him toEngland, where he tried unsuc-cessfully to teach them to singthe blues and where theydressed him in a silver suit andmade much of him. They com-mercialized fragments of hissongs and paid him some of themoney, so that this perfect andmodest country plowhand andbluesman had money when hedied in 1972.

I'm goin' down the Brazos, well, I takethe right-hand road,

(Twice)Lord, I ain't gonna stop walking till I

get in sweet mama's door.

Well, the girl I'm lovin', she got thatgreat long curly hair,

Lord, the girl I'm lovin' got the greatlong curly hair.

Lord, her mama and her papa, Lord,sure don't allow me there.

Lord, her mother, sure don't allow me,Sure don't allow me, sure don't allow

me,Sure don't allow me, allow me there.Lord, Lord, sure don't allow, allow me

there.

Sun rose this mornin', baby, Lord, I waslayin' down on my floor,

Lord, the sun rose this mornin', I'm a-layin' down on my floor.

Lord, no woman to love me, baby, evenno place to go.

Lord, nobody love me, baby,Lord, no place, place to go,

Lord, even no place to go, Lordy,Lordy, Lord, Lord.

Lord, I'm goin' away, baby, don't youwant to go?

I'm goin' away, baby, mama, don't youwant to go?

Lord, I'm goin' somewhere I ain'tnever been before.

Lord, I, Lord, I gwine,Gwine somewhere I ain't neverBeen before.Lord, Lord.

Track 18

You Gotta Cut That OutForrest City Joe, vocal and

harmonica; unidentified, guitar

If we date the previous bluesabout 1900-1910, then fiftyyears and many thousand stan-zas later, this is what the Deltablues had become. It had goneup the r iver to Memphis,thence to Chicago, and beenurbanized and commercial-ized. A whole branch of therecording industry, captainedby men who largely lookeddown on the blues and itsNegro composers, grew andprospered by teaching itsmild-mannered country pro-tagonists to cheapen them-selves with gimmicks, insin-cere ef fects, poor arrange-ments, and silly subject matter.Since to the recording direc-tors the blues were bothcheap and meaningless, theyencouraged the singers tocompose blues by the yard, tocut ten to twenty sides a ses-sion, to pour out bits ofrhymes about any and everysubject to a blues-hungry pub-lic. In this forcing process thetrue, free spirit of the blueswas trapped within thetwelve- or sixteen-bar formula,rigid stanzas that consisted oftwo lines and a punch line,and a stiff style of arrange-

11

ment. That in spite of all thisso much original and superbmusic was put on record is atestament to the force of thebluesmen who kept comingout of the Yazoo country withtheir many musical inventions.But what I have heard con-vinces me that the blues mighthave flowered so much morefully and richly if these menhad not been forced to marketthemselves.The few fragmentsof the original country bluesstill remaining in 1959 andpresented on this record aretestaments to what there wasoriginally and what might havebeen if the profit motive hadnot intervened. The perfor-mance of Forrest City Joe, ayoung country imitator of thelatest juke-box records fromChicago, illustrates what thisprocess can do even to asinger of charm and vitality.The beat is here, but thechords are stock and bookishand the boogie formulaunvarying.The stock Europeanfour- or eight-phrase formulahas replaced the always sur-prising three-phrase form. Afew traces of the melodic styleremain, but the demands of aheavy text focus the per-former on enunciation, so thatthe lines are spoken rather

than sung, with most of thegraceful and mysterious vocalembellishments eliminated.The result is amusing but notmemorable music.

Now woman, you say when a man getdrunk, man, say it makes you mad,

When you get drunk, woman, you lookjust as bad,

You better cut that out, cut that out.You better cut that out, baby, before

it's be's too late.

Now you goes draw my check, you sayyou can write all over the world

[words indistinguishable].Now somebody ask you to work, now

look, girl, you can't even sign yourname,

You better cut that out, ain't that acryin' shame, cut that out,

You better cut that out, baby, before itbe too late.

Ah, when you get high, you wants tofly,

You gotta be so [words indistinguish-able], you got your mind in thesky,

You better cut that out, yes cut thatout.

Cut that out, girl, before it be too late.

Now when you get high, you knowthe people say you get worse,

You get real drunk you throw a rockin a hearse,

You better cut that out, yes, cut thatout,

Now you better cut it out, baby, beforeit be too late.

Spoken: Play it for the king, yes, boys,let it go.

ALAN LOMAX, co-founder of theArchives of American Folksongs, hasbeen, for over a quarter of a century,among the most active field record-ists of folk songs. The author ofnumerous books, Mr. Lomax, asresearch fellow of the Department ofAnthropology, Columbia University,is currently completing a cross-cul-tural survey of expressive behavior.

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SELECTED DISCOGRAPHY

Bluebird Blues. RCA LPV-518.The Great Bluesmen. Vanguard VSD 25/26.Guitar Wizards. Yazoo L-1016.Hurt, John. The Best of Mississippi John Hurt. Vanguard VSD 19/20.Johnson, Robert, King of the Delta Blues Singers. Columbia CL-1654.McDowell, Fred. Volume I. Arhoolie F-1021.Patton, Charley. Founder of the Delta Blues. Yazoo L-1020.Penniman, Rufus (Speckled Red). The Dirty Dozens. Delmark DL-601.Stearns, Marshall (ed.). Negro Blues and Hollers. Library of Congress AFS L59.The Story' of the Blues. Columbia G-30008.Traveling Through the Jungle Negro Fife and Drum from the Deep South. Recorded by David Evans.

Testament T-2223.Waters, Muddy. A.K. McKinley Morganfield. Chess 2CH-60006.White, Booker T. Parchman Farm. Columbia C-30036.Williams, Big Joe. Tough Times. Arhoolie F-1002.____. Big Joe Williams with Sonny Boy Willlamson. Blues Classics BC-21.

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Charters, S. C. The Bluesmen. Now York: Oak, 1967.____. The Country Blues. New York: Rinehart, 1959.Cone, James H. The Spirituals and the Blues. New York: Seabury, 1972.Fahey, John A. Charley Patton. New York: Studio Vista, 1970.Ferris,W. R. Mississippi Black Folklore. Hattiesburg: University of Mississippi Press, 1971.Hurston, Zora Neale. Mules and Men. Westport, Conn.: Negro University Press, 1970.Leadbetter, Mike. Delta Country Blues. Bexhill-on-Sea, Sussex: Blues Unlimited, 1968.Lomax,Alan. Folk Music of North America. New York: Doubleday, 1958.Mitchell, George. Blow My Blues Away. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1971.Odum, Howard, and Johnson, Guy B. Negro Workday Songs. Westport, Conn.: Negro University Press, 1976.Oliver,Paul.Savannah Syncopaters.New York: Stein and Day, 1970.The Story of the Blues.New York: Chilton,1969.____. Oster, Harry. Living Country Blues. Detroit: Folklore Associates, 1969.Ramsey, F. R. Been Here and Gone. Rutgers, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1960.Rust, Brian. Blues Records, 1924-1942. London: Blues Unlimited, n.d.

Producer/Programmer: Alan Lomax • Rerecording engineer: John Dildine • Mastering: New York DigitalRecording, Inc. • Cover photo: Bob Sebree Cover design: Bob Defrin

q 1977 © 1977 Recorded Anthology of American Music, Inc. All rights reserved.

FOR NEW WORLD RECORDS.Herman E. Krawitz, President; Paul Marotta, Director of Marketing and Publicity; Fredrick Lonberg-Holm,Artists and Repertoire

Administrator; James Rich, Business/Production Manager; Cynthia Parker, Director of Development.

RECORDED ANTHOLOGY OF AMERICAN MUSIC, INC. BOARD OF trustees:Francis Goelet, Chairman; David Hamilton,Treasurer; Rozlyn L. Anderson; Milton Babbitt; Emanuel Gerard; Adolph Green; Rita

Hauser; Howard Klein; Herman E. Krawitz; Elizabeth Ostrow; Don Roberts; Frederick R. Selch; Frank Stanton.

1. Louisiana/Field Song from Senegal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:45Henry Ratcliff, vocal/Bakari-Badji, vocal

2. Po' Boy Blues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:36John Dudley, vocal

3. Katie Left Memphis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3:00Tangle Eye, vocal

4. Berta, Berta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:53Leroy Miller and a group of prisoners, vocals

5. Old Original Blues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4:09Fred McDowell, vocal and guitar;Miles Pratcher, rhythm guitar

6. Jim and John . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:10Ed Young, home-made fife; Lonnie Young, vocal and bass drum

7. Emmaline, Take Your Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1:03Alec Askew, panpipes

8. Buttermilk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3:17Miles Pratcher, guitar and fiddle; Bob Pratcher, vocal, guitar, and fiddle

9. Mama Lucy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1:33Leroy Gary, vocal

10. I'm Gonna Live Anyhow till I Die . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:32Miles Pratcher, guitar and fiddle; Bob Pratcher, vocal, guitar, and fiddle

11. No More, My Lord . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:45Tangle Eye and a group of prisoners, vocals

12. Living Hymn and Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3:31Rev. Crenshaw and the congregation of New Brown's Chapel, Memphis

13. Death Come A-Creepin in My Room . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3:12Fred McDowell, vocal and guitar

14. Church-House Moan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1:50Congregation of New Brown's Chapel, Memphis

15. Beggin' the Blues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:05Bessie Jones, vocal

16. Rolled and Tumbled . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:52Rose Hemphill, vocal; Fred McDowell, guitar

17. Goin' Down to the Races . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4:13Fred McDowell, vocal and guitar; Miles Pratcher, guitar; Fannie Davis, comb and paper

18. You Gotta Cut That Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2:56Forrest City Joe, vocal and harmonica; unidentified, guitar

THIS RECORDING WAS MADE POSSIBLE THROUGH GRANTS FROM THE ROCKEFELLER FOUNDATION AND THE NEW YORK STATE COUNCIL ON THE ARTS.

LINER NOTES © Recorded Anthology of American Music, Inc.

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