Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Listen, children, to a story....

... that was written long ago ...

Those words are the opening lyric to "One Tin Soldier," a song first recorded in the 1960s. Probably best known for the version recorded in the early '70s as part of the soundtrack for the movie "Billy Jack."

For me, it was the first realization that music could make a political statement.

Music has been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember. From the "Percolator Song" I loved as a small child to Petula Clark's "Downtown," the first song I remember liking on the radio, to "Woolly Bully," I loved it all in the 1960s. But I was too young to have any clue what cultural icons such as Dylan, Crosby, Stills and Nash, or even the Beatles were saying about the state of the world.

That all changed one day in 1972. I was in sixth grade in a Dayton, Ohio suburb. A troupe of touring college students of some sort performed at the school at an afternoon assembly. Lord only knows who approved their appearance at an elementary school.

Keep in mind, we're talking 1972 -- the Vietnam War was still raging, four students had been fatally shot at Kent State University only two years before, George Wallace was campaigning for president as a segregationist, and Watergate hadn't yet happened.

So this group presented songs and skits, all very entertaining -- I'm guessing. I remember enjoying the program, but truth be told, I don't remember a thing about it, other than the last number.

One Tin Soldier.

It started innocuously enough, with a lovely flute intro. Then the lyrics drew me in. The story of the mountain people's treasure and the valley folks who wanted it had me hooked. Then that devastating final verse -- where the valley folk, having killed their mountain brethren stand triumphant at the stone under which the treasure was buried.

As the song says, "turned the stone and looked beneath it -- Peace on earth was all it said." As they sang that line, the performers turned a stone facing the audience, revealing a peace symbol underneath.

Cue chorus: "Go ahead and hate your neighbor...." Flute coda of the intro. Curtain.

Wow. I was stunned. Who knew?

Our teacher, a conservative Christian, was appalled. Told us the message was satanic, the peace symbol a broken cross. Sounded a bit hard to believe, even then. The concept of peace as something evil was one I couldn't quite swallow.

By the following year, I was back in Kentucky, in seventh grade. I joined the school band. Within a year, I could play the song on tenor sax. I also had the lyrics committed to memory. To this day, I can whistle that flute intro, sing the lyrics word for word, and whistle the fadeout.

It took a few more years to discover Dylan, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, Woody and Arlo Guthrie and other rabble-rousing peaceniks, but eventually I did. And Springsteen, and Mellencamp and all the others. But that one song, that one place, that one performance, stands as one of the singular musical moments of my life, the one that taught me the true power of song.

Give it a listen, see what you think....



Espresso Thought!

(Espresso = small, concentrated, unfiltered cup of coffee. Espresso Thought = short, concentrated, unfiltered thought.)

Whatever happened to good old -ly?

You remember -ly. Had the ability to make things better, more precise. You know, like "Drive Safely." "Shop Locally."
-Ly, alas, seems to have fallen on hard times lately. Local signs advise area residents to "Drive Safe" and/or "Buy Local."

Write carefully.