LESSONS

/ janpriddyoregon

In the first episode of the new series, Scarpetta, a scene from “28 years earlier” (1996?) had “The House of the Rising Sun” playing. Good cover. Gary would know the group, the guitarist, and the guitar the lead guitarist was playing*, but I’m not so knowledgeable. Absolutely everyone performed that song in the 1960s, mostly men and boys. I sang it too, when I was playing guitar and singing, because it has—what?—3 chords, 4? The fingerpicking is simple too, though I don’t remember any of that now. There’s a violin on the wall in that show, and I have to say that people do put instruments on the wall. It’s a show-off thing to do. But no one who really loves their guitar or violin or gold flute, leaves it out, not even to show it off. Displaying your instrument is about yourself.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about those days, about guitar lessons and singing. Candy Mack taught me to play “The House of the Rising Sun” out of The Joan Baez Songbook. When my mother heard it, she insisted it made more sense for a woman to sing it. “It’s been the ruin of many a poor girl…” works best, I’ve always thought. Men change the words to make it work.

Everything comes with a story. Every porcelain ornament, every basket, and everything hidden inside—pieces gathered, gifted, and made. That’s my two-headed dragon in the middle of the top shelf. The stories only matter to me, but I’ll admit that basket-weaving is one craft I’ve never tried.

I sang harmony with the teacher I was placed with during my practicum. I’m not sure how I managed that. I never took choir and I can’t read music. I sang the entire way from Seattle to a Los Angles “Turkey Run” ASFA field trials with Manny and Onika in the mid 1970s. I traveled with Canadian friends and their Whippets and a Greyhound. Best I can recall, every dog in our van took top awards. This happened every time, and I always thought they must not have liked seeing us show up. Our dogs were used to longer and rougher courses. Those southern trials were easy. When the California dogs first came to the NW, it was a shock. Maybe a thousand yards on sloped ground, up and down. The southern dogs were literally wiped. But the next time they came north, they were conditioned. Anyway, I sang most of the way home too, softly while Linda and Bonnie slept.

I sang harmony with Janice Gould when I took a weeklong workshop from her at The Flight of The Mind in 1997. I’ve been thinking about Janice’s music and poetry. I’ve been looking at my old books of her poetry, and a couple of newer ones given me recently by her partner Mimi Wheatwind. We’re taking a workshop on another woman writer and I was delighted to see Mimi again, but I’d already been thinking about Janice. I can’t say what got me started. The Flight of the Mind, probably. I have books from each of the women I worked with at Flight. I paused over Charlotte Watson Sherman the other day. Charlotte used a series of assignments to sneak us all up to writing about sex, which is something I would never have managed without her doing that. On the other hand, in a workshop with Molly Gloss we sneaked up on her, each of us writing pieces overnight that included crows. She caught on fast enough, by the time three or four of us had shared our work aloud.

As a child I took an art class at a local museum, and as an Art student I taught art classes at a local museum.

I wanted to take ballet as a child, horseback riding lesson, oboe. None of that happened. But I was fortunate about the guitar, the art, the nearly random opportunities to celebrate life and music. My parents quoted Shakespeare and sang Gilbert and Sullivan.

* I backed up the Scarpetta, episode so Gary could hear the song and after three notes he rattled off: “The Animals, Eric Burdon, Hilton Valentine on lead guitar, probably playing his Gretsch. I think it was ’64.” He named all the band members and went on and on. The intro is widely noted as outstanding. Then he looked it up to be sure he had it right. He did. The list of covers goes on and on, and all the garage bands played it during my teens, most often with Valentine’s guitar intro. You can listen to The Animal’s version here. Joan Baez recorded it in 1960. Though its roots go further back to English folk music, the song was first collected in Appalachia in the 1930s when jeans were working men’s clothes. It’s worth noting that even by the time when I first wanted to wear blue jeans, they didn’t make them to fit women’s bodies. You had to either have no hips or sit in a tub of water and wear them wet till they dried to fit you… or have your mom tailor them to fit.

Just want to say, he was still talking about various versions of that song an hour later. He insisted I listen to another other version of “House of the Rising Sun” The Animals recorded in 1964. I did. And then another tune with a solo by the organist.

9 thoughts on “LESSONS”

  1. that would be Alan price doing the screaming jay Hawkins tune I put a spell on you also covered by Nina Simone–hilton valentine-r.i.p.–really good stuff–lucky to be there

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  2. I was forming a response to you as soon as you mentioned the song title, knowing Janice had learned it as a young teen in high school–also from listening to Joan Baez, and getting the chords from the same songbook. She would sing it at campfires while in Girl Scouts, and the girls agreed that the message made more sense for girls than for boys. Coincidentally, Janice learned “Silver Dagger” around that same age…and years later, after a Women’s Music Festival in New Mexico, some young women were playing guitar, and one young “older teen” (or newly 20-something) having recently come out as lesbian, changed the last stanza to “I’ve been warned, and I’ve decided…to sleep with women…all of my life.” I made sure to protest this privately with her later–not because I didn’t understand her new loyalties–but because I remember how, in the sexual revolution of the 60s (while I was in high school, wearing min-skirts and clueless about sending “mixed messages” to groping boys) it seemed like a bold, independent statement at the time. This young woman didn’t understand at first. (I had also never heard the “second date” joke about lesbians. She explained it, laughing, “it’s the story of my life.”) But I did seem to get through to her by bringing up Sor Juana choosing to be a Nun, and some women choosing celibacy until they could be with someone who also was “waiting for someone special,” or staying single over marriage, if that allows them some sort of solitude and autonomy, rattling off Emily Dickinson, and other “single” writers. Anyway, much more to say, but I am so glad you and Janice were able to harmonize together! It was something she loved doing with other musicians. Those were good, happy summers, spent at Flight of the Mind.

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  4. So much for me in your latest post, Jan! It’s Tess. I didn’t know that you were a singer and a guitar player!

    I loved House when I was younger and my daughter (age 12) has had it on repeat lately. I was wondering why it hasn’t stayed a favourite and I think it’s because it’s one of those songs that people like to “belt” when they sing and I have collected strained versions in my head that I can’t get rid of. As I get older I want to be invited in as a listener more. I did some research and part of its magic is the descending bass line, which got me thinking about song structures and a song that I love that also has one, “Murder in the City” by the Avett brothers.

    As far as displaying instruments, I am going to challenge the idea that when you display an instrument you are somehow showing off. An instrument in a case is an instrument unplayed, someone once said to me, and once I wall mounted my instruments I became 10x better at practicing. Practicing is so lonely for me, which is why I am not a better musician. Now in SG I can’t keep my instruments out- I have to keep my instruments out of the humidity, ( insert sad story about my violin’s neck breaking off because I didn’t at first) and it’s so much harder to remember to practice.

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    • I bow to your superior knowledge about music. I never really understood it—couldn’t read notes, only chords. I could sing harmony with another, but I never “knew” what I was doing—just guesswork and love—you know? When we met, Gary painted and I played guitar. We experienced something of a division of labor. He stopped painting, Cathy Mack moved to San Francisco and even when she came back, I stopped lessons. I sang through labor, both times. Sang folksongs on the drive to work and “A Case of You” driving to Seattle in the years Alan was an undergrad at the University of Washington. Gary and I saw Joni Mitchell when she debuted Blue. I could tell you the stories she told about some of those songs. Our older son, Alan played instruments and Ian has a beautiful tenor. Both went to state in high school. Ian can sightread. And now I only sing when I’m searching for green glass in the basalt cobbles on shore. Old songs.

      Now Gary’s hands hurt so his guitars are in their cases. I can see what you mean about instruments and having them in front of you. I do the same thing with fabric and yarn when I want to make. (You know I’ve seen materials left untouched and dusty instrument hanging in the sunlight… so there’s that.) But there is a lot to be said for having the instruments right there (the colors right in front of me), reminding us they want playing. So, again, I bow to your insight.

      Thank you for “Murder in the City.” It’s a good one. Gary knew the group.

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