Murder Ballad MondaySometimes it’s a hard world for the little things
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Sometimes it’s a hard world for the little things — 3 Comments

  1. Thanks, Pat and Shaleane, for the great comments and questions. I think I’ll be coming back to this theme as well. I had a few thoughts about lines of discussion for this post, which I postponed–one was thinking about my own musical upbringing. I remember a lot of folk music and bluegrass, but don’t remember being tuned in to some of the harder themes. (The closest thing I can remember to a murder ballad from my relatively early childhood is actually Elvis Presley’s “In the Ghetto,” of all things…) Some of my lack of recollection might be attributable to songs not really sinking in in those deeper ways until one is ready to hear them.

    I also forgot to include a little snippet from Carl Sandburg’s “American Songbag,” where he muses that “Little Abe Lincoln, as a child, probably heard The Brown Girl [“Fair Ellender”], according to persons familiar with Kentucky backgrounds.” How about that? The King James Bible, Shakespeare, and murder ballads.

    Two things about this particular case for me. First, I have this theory, more or less based on personal experience, that parents are in some sense the least qualified people to teach kids to swim. Parents are about safety, and swimming is about risk; so, to my mind, best left to other qualified adults. Swimming lessons are on a continuum with summer camp in this way. It does take a village–including godparents and “aunties.” Other people’s experiences may vary on this, but it makes sense to me, and was certainly the case for us. With murder ballads, it probably matters less that they hear it than whether they hear it from me. This is related to the second thing.

    The second thing is that “Down in the Willow Garden” as a “confessional” variety, rather than a “6 O’clock News” variety, takes a little more explaining.

    In the end, I can’t see making my decision to keep these things off my kids’ radars for a period of time into some formal principle; it is merely what we did and what felt right. Perhaps, given some of the real-life things that have come our way, we should have introduced them a bit more. But, I can’t see my kids complaining that they were deprived of access to murder ballads between the ages of 2 and 12, more or less.

    Now that I’m doing this blog, there’s a little more discussion about it. Each kid comes into the discussion in a different way with different questions, so things will unfold. I have to leave at least a few relatively safe paths of rebellion, I suppose…

  2. On the one hand, I agree with the assumptions behind some of your questions – there are, of course, layers of emotional complexity within these songs and that is what makes them compelling and sustains them over time.

    On the other hand, the simple honesty of these songs is also big factor in why they are so compelling for me. In some key respects, these songs actually do away with the layers of emotional and narrative complexity that clutter my world and present something rare and precious: straightforward accounts of the actual things that that people do with and to each other (both physically and emotionally) in private moments – and why. Intimate, fundamental things: private thoughts, impulses, and desires; incredibly private conversations; sex, violence, infliction of pain, expression of desire, and knowledge of and accountability for death. Not always pretty, but very fundamental.

    For me, for example, this simple dialogue from “Omie Wise” is everlastingly stunning:

    John Lewis, John Lewis, please tell me your mind,
    Do you intend to marry me or leave me behind?
    Little Omie, Little Omie, I’ll tell you my mind,
    My mind is to drown you and leave you behind.

    This is boiling things down to their very essence. This is, very simply – and at a critical, intimate, final moment — what is on the man’s mind. I mean, there it is, right there. I’m grateful for that.

    The same unforgettable thing happens, I think, with some of the acts of violence in these songs:

    He kissed her and hugged her and turned her around,
    Then pushed her in deep waters where he knew that she would drown.
    He got on his pony and away he did ride,
    As the screams of little Omie went down by his side.

    Well, there it is.

    If you haven’t experienced any of the things happening in the songs, they can be incredibly compelling for this reason: they provide intimate knowledge in a very straightforward way. And, if you have experienced some of the things happening in them, they compel because somehow they seem to know the true but otherwise hidden things that you know.

    I remember when I first was forced to read “A Separate Peace” in school and I was stunned: how did it know my agonizing secret? My agonizing secret was that I desperately hated (yet loved) my best friend and wanted to end the relationship, but as a nice young person couldn’t articulate this and didn’t know how to proceed. (I didn’t even understand that we had a relationship that could end, naturally or otherwise.) And I was profoundly grateful, almost brought to tears, for the book because it understood that simple but unallowable fundamental thing about me (I could hate someone, I could want something to end) and just put it out there.

    I’ve felt that same stunned gratitude through the years about many different books, films, and songs, and always the murder ballad. I don’t have kids so I don’t know what it’s like to be a parent or teacher dealing with this. But I do remember my days being a small kid through adolescence. Despite my many privileges, I still thought life on the playground was a brutal jungle, despised dissembling, and was always hungry for anything that would “give it straight.” I think this is common for all kids. (And then again for many kids and adults in every corner of the world and society, life is actually emotionally and physically brutal on a daily basis.)

    I’ll be coming back around to some of these issues when I take up singers like Johnny Cash next week. Now there’s an interesting case — in some instances he’s singing literally to and for hardened criminals, but I’ve noticed on numerous occasion how little kids love the same tunes.

    I would love to hear more on this topic.

  3. Ken, how do you feel about the fact that it was common among all sorts of folks historically speaking to teach their children from an early age the traditional ballads, violent though they might be? Does it matter that our kids (middle class at least) don’t live with the immediacy of violence and suffering that, say a pioneer family’s children might have? Does the lack of context make the songs disturbingly incomprehensible?

    I have a lot to say about this, but I’m not yet in a place to articulate.

    But, let me raise the point that my son’s favorite song for years now has been the “Battle of Harlaw.” (Child 163) He picked it out when it was just playing on the car stereo on a trip to Bennington. He demanded immediate and constant replay. I’ve gone through it line by line with him and he loves it still. Is the violence of war different than the infidelity and other sexual content and violence in your eyes?

    Funny; on the other hand, he made me stop singing “Pretty Saro” years ago because the “poor stranger” in the song is “a long way from home”. The idea of being alone freaked him out much more than anything he’s ever heard musically.