Here in Erie, Pennsylvania, one of our more popular summer traditions is
an event called Eight Great Tuesdays, during which eight free concerts
are given at the Pepsi Amphitheater down by the lake. I've rarely gone,
but a couple weeks ago an upcoming performer caught my eye. Arlo Guthrie
was coming to Erie, and that seemed to merit attendance on my part.
I've
always been familiar with some of Woody Guthrie's music, but I
developed an especially keen interest in him in 2006, when I happened to
watch a documentary about him. It really caught my fancy, especially
the fact that on one occasion, he spent 28 days riding around on a
train, writing songs about labor disputes around the country.
He
wrote 26. I decided that I was going to do the same thing. Except I
wasn't feeling like much of a composer, and instead I wanted to just do
song parodies, or filksongs, or whatever the best word is for writing
new lyrics to existing songs. So since I wasn't going to write the
music, I set a goal of 52, since I figured he did at least twice as much
work as I would be doing. And I actually managed to make my goal. I'm
no Woody, but I think a few of them turned out pretty well, and it
certainly was one of the most productive summers I've ever had. So I
kinda felt like I owed it to him to give his son a fair shake.
When
we arrived, we sat up at the top of the hill, where we couldn't see or
hear much of anything. If you're lucky enough to have good weather,
Eight Great Tuesdays is a pretty great way to spend the evening, but the
downside is that a lot of people show up just for the atmosphere and
couldn't care less about who's up on stage, and they chatter throughout
the whole show.
Once the opening band stopped playing and
someone announced that Arlo was coming soon, I headed down to the front,
where the most ardent hippies were standing. I saw dreadlocks, a Bob
Marley jacket, an Arlo Guthrie t-shirt, a sign that said "I Don't Want a
Pickle" and a delightfully bizarre ensemble that included a peasant
skirt and a hoodie with some sort of ears attached. I also saw a lot of
smoke, and though my eyes couldn't confirm it, my nostrils suspected
that not all of it was emanating from cigarettes. I wound up about four
makeshift rows from the stage. I'm glad I moved; I could hear him just
fine, and most of the time I had a pretty good view too, and I even
managed to snap some decent photos. It also meant I got to stand in the
"Wooooo!!"-ing section. Sometimes, it's just really swell to let out a
mighty whoop.
Rain threatened all night, and at one point a good
chunk of the audience left after seeing a distant flash of lightning.
Mom and Dad were able to move their chairs up and find a much better
spot. They also bumped into my brother Nathan. After the show, I saw him
too, and he observed that, judging by the volume of my voice, I must
have been standing really close to the stage.
Arlo Guthrie is an
awesome storyteller. I wish I'd bought an extra video tape so I
could've gotten more of his stories. I think my favorite bit of banter
from him concerned his songwriting advice and went something like
this...
"Now that I'm gettin' older, I notice a lot of young
folks writin' me, askin' for songwriting tips. They figure I've been
around a while, so I must know somethin'. Well, I tell 'em, songwriting
is like fishing. You spend a lot of time sittin' around. And every once
in a while a song swims by. If you're lucky, and you've got a pen, you
catch it. The rest - they go to Bob Dylan. I even wrote to Bob one time,
and I said to him, 'Bob, couldn't you just let a little one go once in a
while?' He wasn't amused. So I guess my advice to songwriters would be,
'Don't sit downstream of Bob Dylan.'"
Arlo's rambling
introductions to his songs tended to be longer than the songs
themselves, and even more fun. I got his story about the man who
sustained a ridiculous number of injuries in one day on tape, as well as
his reflections on Woodstock.
"There were these two cops, and
the big one said, 'You know, I think there are gonna be a lot of hippies
hangin' around this weekend.' And the little one said, 'Yup.' And the
big guy, he said, 'I bet those guys are gonna be doin' things that are
illegal.' And the little guy said, 'Yup.' And the big cop said, 'I'm not
gonna go down there, are you?' And the little guy said, 'Nope.' And
that was when I realized we were probably gonna have a pretty good time
that weekend. And I was right!"
Arlo mentioned his dad a few
times, but the best reference was his singing of "This Land Is Your
Land," which took him about 15 minutes all told. That's because he kept
interrupting it to tell another rambling story, and he even slipped
another song in there. He said his 7-year-old grandkids informed him
that they wanted to open a recent show of his and that they'd written a
few songs. He was surprised but gave them the go-ahead and found he
really liked one of their compositions, a ditty called "Take Me to Show
and Tell," which he then proceeded to sing; by the end of it, he had us
all singing along. "This Land," incidentally, was one of the highlights
of the Peter Paul and Mary concert I attended as well. It's one of those
songs that really gets people singing.
I'm a fan of the
no-frills show. Nothing but Arlo - clad in jeans and a leather vest over
a black and white shirt, large glasses perched on his nose and his
long, frizzy white hair pulled into a ponytail under an orange ballcap -
and his guitar, and for a couple of songs, his keyboard. And a
harmonica. He was onstage for upwards of an hour and a half if you
include the encores. And he does this dozens of times a year. Must be
exhausting! I imagine he changes things up a bit each night; the stories
had an off-the-cuff feel to them, and his catalogue of songs is
extensive, so I suspect it isn't the same exact set list time and again.
There was one particular song that I was really burning to
hear, though, and I suspect most of the audience was with me on that.
Truth of the matter is that I'm not terribly familiar with Arlo. He
looked and sounded about how I imagined he would, but my experience with
him is limited. But boy, do I love "The City of New Orleans".
He
didn't write it; a guy by the name of Steve Goodman did. I'd think it
would be a little annoying for a songwriter to be most famous for
singing a song he didn't write. But it's so fantastic, even blows John
Denver's version out of the water. Back when Katrina hit, I heard this
song on the mall radio practically every day. And I always perked up my
ears and listened, and often sang along under my breath.
This
was the one song I was really looking forward to, and I figured he would
sing it last, as Don McLean wisely did with "American Pie" at his free
concert in Buffalo. I thought the crowd would disperse after he sang it,
so naturally he'd wait until the end. But he ended up singing it at
about 8:50, 40 minutes before the concert was supposed to end, with
barely an introduction. I'd just turned my camera off to conserve the
battery and reduce my temptation to tape other stuff for fear I'd run
out before the song was over. So instead, I missed "Ridin' on the City
of New Orleans, Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail..." Blah. Pretty
sure I got the rest of it though. Unfortunately, since I was the one
holding the camera, I suspect that my off-key singing-along voice is
gonna be all over that recording. I didn't notice that the keyboard was
there until he went over to play it. He saved it for this song, and the
fact that he switched instruments to play it made it feel especially
momentous.
That wasn't the only New Orleans song he sang.
Immediately preceding it was a song he wrote in the wake of Hurricane
Katrina. I'd never heard it before, but I thought it was very moving,
especially the last two verses: "I see the storm clouds rise above me; /
The sky is dark and the night has come./ I walk alone along this
highway, / Where friends have gathered one by one. / I know the storm
will soon be over, / The howling winds will cease to be. / I walk with
friends from every nation, / On freedom's highway, in times like these."
A lot of people seemed to be waiting for "Alice's Restaurant,"
which I've never heard before. Apparently it's very long. Maybe too long
for him to remember. Or he just wanted to give us more variety by
playing three or four songs in the time it would've taken to perform
that one. I really need to familiarize myself more with Arlo's music. I
liked almost everything I heard. And he seemed very gracious, seemed to
love the natural beauty of the lakefront and the enthusiasm of the
crowd.
"Let me tell you, though," he said, "there are some weird
people in Erie. And some of them look normal, but you get 'em here, and
then all that peace and love stuff starts comin' out, and they just
can't hide it anymore. I'm onto you!"
He said he used to be a
peace and love guy, until he decided that if we succeded in making the
world into this wonderful place, it'd be awfully hard to find a way of
making a positive contribution.
"With the world such a mess," he said, "it makes my job a lot easier."
Of
course, he was joking around, and before singing gentle rendition of
"My Peace Is All I Have," a poem of Woody's that Arlo set to music, he
offered the following thought: "If people would pay attention to the
little peace, I think the big peace would just kinda sort itself out."
Did
I mention how much fun the crowd was - at least the standing crowd?
They really wanted him to stick around, too. He did two encores, and I'm
not entirely certain the second one was planned. These guys tried
valiantly for a third; they kept chanting "Arlo! Arlo! Arlo!" long after
he'd gotten on his tour bus. I guess they figured there was hope as
long as he hadn't pulled away yet.
I was a little surprised he
didn't have a merchandise table; I would have bought a CD. But since
we'd bumped into my brother, we were still among the last to leave.
The
shuttle back to the car that we happened to catch was full of loopy
folks who seemed likely to have attended Woodstock themselves. I stepped
on the bus, and suddenly everyone started singing "Feelin' Groovy.' And
I wasn't even wearing my Simon and Garfunkel t-shirt! As tends to
happen with impromptu sing-alongs, it fell apart after the first chorus,
and "If I Fell" was a total trainwreck. But man, what a cool group of
people to ride around downtown Erie with!
If you ever get the
chance to see Arlo Guthrie in concert, I'd recommend it. His voice is
gritty, with a voice that reminded be of Dylan but grated on me less
than that of the nasally troubadour. If folk is your scene, then it's an
experience you won't want to miss. The songs are great; the stories are
even better.
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