Bright Shiny Morning
May. 23rd, 2004 12:14 pmIf a folk-song is less than a hundred years old its not going to be a real folk-song (unless it's by Woody Guthrie.) Real folk-song was killed off by the modern mass-media. Cinema, newspapers, commercial pop-music all usurped a function of folk-song and left the form redundant.
The songs of the mid-twentieth century revival are too sentimental to pass as the real thing. Sentimentality is for people with time on their hands. Sentimentality is for aesthetes. Real folk-songs were written by and for people in the grip of economic necessity. They wanted tabloid banner headlines. They wanted to fill their precious down-time with hard, bright emotion. Real folk-song doesn't hang around and mope. It gives us what we really want- fucking and fighting and unquiet graves.
"Where have all the flowers gone?" If you spend your time soldiering or farming or thieving or minding a power loom you don't need to ask that question. You know where all the fucking flowers have gone. No-one picks flowers promiscuously in real folk-song. You pluck a rose and it's a magical act. Out steps Tam Lin and bang goes your maidenhood and the Queen of Faery has got you on her list.
In folk song the weather is always one thing or the other. There's no Celtic twilight, just bright, shiny morning or mirk, mirk night.
The songs of the mid-twentieth century revival are too sentimental to pass as the real thing. Sentimentality is for people with time on their hands. Sentimentality is for aesthetes. Real folk-songs were written by and for people in the grip of economic necessity. They wanted tabloid banner headlines. They wanted to fill their precious down-time with hard, bright emotion. Real folk-song doesn't hang around and mope. It gives us what we really want- fucking and fighting and unquiet graves.
"Where have all the flowers gone?" If you spend your time soldiering or farming or thieving or minding a power loom you don't need to ask that question. You know where all the fucking flowers have gone. No-one picks flowers promiscuously in real folk-song. You pluck a rose and it's a magical act. Out steps Tam Lin and bang goes your maidenhood and the Queen of Faery has got you on her list.
In folk song the weather is always one thing or the other. There's no Celtic twilight, just bright, shiny morning or mirk, mirk night.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 02:10 pm (UTC)I'd be interested to know which particular pop songs you are thinking of.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 10:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 03:09 pm (UTC)I've been racking my brains to think what they are and I've come up with two (there are probably many more.)
1. The pop song belongs to its copyright holder whereas the folk song belonged to no-one.
2. The pop song has been "fixed" by recorded performance.
These factors mean that in practice pop songs are handled much less freely than folk songs were. A traditional folk singer could do anything s/he liked with "The foggy, foggy dew", but if you rewrote the lyrics to "Yesterday" you'd be receiving letters from Paul MaCartney's lawyers.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-25 01:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-25 03:03 am (UTC)