Oscar Brand passed away on Friday, at the ripe old age of 96, and, with him, went his encyclopedic and unparalleled memory of folksongs and folksingers. Interestingly, I would guess that few people outside of the still-inbred world of folk music aficionados even recognized his name.
And yet, to anyone who cared about folk music, Oscar's radio program on WNYC, "The Folksong Festival," was the premiere venue for appearing on, or simply hearing, the best in folk music. As the New York Times obituary pointed out, Oscar's program tops the list for longest continuous running programs--from 1945 to his final show, September 24, 2016.
Folk music--as those of you too young to remember what James Taylor called "the great folk scare of the 60's"--had mostly been a genre limited to either musicologists, campfires (think "Kumbaya," "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore," etc.), beatniks, or the rest of us fiercely nonconforming conformists who filled its limited ranks. But, for those of us who loved both playing and listening to the songs, it was pretty close to the end-all and be-all of music. There was, of course, an exception to this niche status, and that was the during that "scare" period, which began in the late 50's with the advent of the Kingston Trio who (following in the footsteps of "The Weavers"), were soon themselves followed by a myriad of clean-cut folk groups ("The Limeliters," "The Highwaymen," "The Tarriers," "The Journeymen," Peter, Paul and Mary," etc.) Without exception, these groups--whose surviving members would readily concede--would never have gotten where they did without the groundwork laid by Oscar Brand. Prior to that, popular folksingers had been limited to the cabarets and Hootenanny halls, and those gaining national recognition were limited to Burl Ives,"The Weavers," Harry Belafonte, and a literal handful of others.
Interestingly, although never a household name, Oscar was among this handful, largely due to the success of a sub-genre of folk music he called "Bawdy Songs and Backroom Ballads." Before this series began, the only proponent of such off-color songs was "Dirty" Ed McCurdy, who had his own series of lesser-known albums of mostly Elizabethan ballads called "When Knighthood was in flower" and subtitled "and maidens lost their heads." (McCurdy, by the way, had a much greater claim to fame, also largely unknown, He was the writer of the classic, "Last Night I had the Strangest Dream")
I was introduced to Oscar's music at summer camp through Volume Three of his bawdy songs albums, which had been smuggled in by an older camper, and included a less graphic version of a camp favorite called "The Bastard King of England." Another of his bawdy songs, "A gob is a slob," told about the dangers of getting too close to a sailor (be it in bar, bedroom, or shower), and was cleaned up by Oscar and turned into a number one single by Doris Day, called "A Guy is a Guy." In point of fact, Oscar was brilliant in rewriting--at the expense of, as he put it--"bowdlerizing" many of the old bawdy folksongs so that they were suitable for album release, if not airplay. Oscar's songs were staples at the camps I attended or worked at into my early twenties.
But the bawdy songs series was just a small--if the most commercially successful--part of Oscar's repertoire. I think the Times's obit did him a disservice, in referring to his voice as "gravelly" and sometimes "off-key." Although the advancing years certainly took its toll on his vocal skills, I found the timbre of his announcing voice mellifluous and his singing voice lilting, in fine pitch, and most enjoyable to listen to. Oscar, along with Pete Seeger, were among the earliest post-Leadbelly players of the twelve-string guitar, doubtless inspiring the many who went on to popularize this once esoteric instrument. Oscar was a pioneer (along with guitar genius Les Paul) in overdubbing his voice in harmony. Working on the sonically experimental label, Audio Fidelity--one of the very first to feature stereophonic sound--Oscar's albums on that label were landmarks in sound recording. His bawdy series featured the fine banjo work of Dave Sear and the aforementioned vocal overdubbing. While this piece is not meant to be a discography of his works, several albums stand out for those who want to have more familiarity with Oscar's oeuvre. Two of these are on the old Riverside label: "G.I. American Army Songs," and "American Drinking Songs." On the first, Oscar is accompanied by Weaver Fred Hellerman and, on the second, by (former Tarrier, Weaver and Rooftop Singer) Erik Darling. Among the "Bawdy Songs" series, Volumes 3, and 5 and 6 ("Bawdy Sea Shanties" and "Bawdy Western Songs") are standouts. "Oscar Brand Sings for Adults," also accompanied by Fred Kellerman, is a concert album, and a good introduction to Oscar as a "live" performer."
I first met Oscar at one such concert, at New York's Cooper Union. I brought along my then-six year old son Jason who--along with his younger brother, Larry--had grown up with Oscar's "lullabies" in the background. After the show, I brought Jason up to meet Oscar, who had just finished a program of children's songs. Jason asked him if he would sing, "Can't you dance the Polka?" a bawdy classic which referred to a sailor's rueful night spent in a brothel. (Sorry, P.C. Police, too many years have passed to prosecute me for tampering with the morals of a minor.) Oscar stepped down from the stage and obliged by playing the "clean" chorus of the song, much to Jason's (and my) delight. This was the kind of man he was; friendly, approachable, and generous. Lastly, "American Dreamer," is a good example of Oscar's work as a songwriter. Any of these albums is well worth your time and attention.
Oscar's achievements as a collector and musicologist are often overlooked by many who know him (if at all) as a performer. The late Dave Van Ronk said, in his autobiography, "The Mayor of MacDougal Street (with Elijah Wald), in what can only be describe as mild hyperbole, "Oscar knows 575 trillion songs; if any living human being has a larger repertory than Pete Seeger, it could only be Oscar."
The last time I saw Oscar, was when he was on-stage at the Brooklyn College salute in honor of the hundredth anniversary of Woody Guthrie's birth. Sadly (and astonishingly) he had not been selected to perform, and only made it onstage at the behest of some of the performers. Although a bit unsteady afoot, Oscar still was slim, tall, and handsome at 93. He gave a brief reminiscence of Woody and joined the company in the closing "This Land is Your Land." That, coupled with the surprise--and one of the last appearances of Pete Seeger (who was subbing for Arlo Guthrie, who could not attend for personal reasons)--made it a truly memorable evening for me. Pete, of course, received well-deserved recognition upon his death. While Oscar's will likely be more muted, it is equally merited, for his contribution to this most enduring form of American music is unmatched. Oscar's program was one of the few which welcomed blacklisted performers like Pete Seeger and The Weavers during those dark years. While never a "political" folksinger in the Guthrie-Seeger tradition, Oscar was a "lower-case" progressive, who championed freedom of expression, and opposed both the blacklist and all totalitarian forms of government, something about which most of the folk-singing left remained silent when it came to communism. Oscar's show was open to anyone who made good music. Indeed, there was not a folksinger of note, from Woody Guthrie, Burl Ives, and Leadbelly up through Bob Dylan, who were not, at some time, featured on his program. While usually thought of as a popular (as opposed to "ethnic" or "roots") performer, Oscar knew and performed more roots music than just about anyone I could name. As but one example, Appalachian dulcimer player and singer Jean Ritchie was a friend a frequent guest of Oscar's.
Please (assuming you've read thus far) permit me a personal note. As a (sometime) singer/songwriter myself, I always thought of a being played on Oscar's show as the very height of artistic (if not material) recognition one could achieve. About ten years ago, my wife and I were returning from a visit to the family home of our by then grown son, Jason. It was a Saturday night, and (even though I'd become less diligent in doing so) tuned the dial to Oscar's "Folksong Festival," then in its 50th year or so on the air. To my astonishment, Oscar introduced a song of mine called "The Glory of their Times," and said some very nice things about me before playing the song. While I had previously appeared on radio and TV, this was the first (and only) time I have heard one of my songs played unexpectedly. I nearly drove off the road, and was so excited that it took me hours to fall asleep. For me and, I guess, numerous other performers, this was my greatest thrill as a musician.
Oscar always ended his show by inviting us to join him the following week under what he called "yon Municipal moon." While that moon will continue to rise and set, it was dimmed last night by Oscar's passing. That said, he will join the many folk greats who will continue to wink down at us from their stars in the folksingers sweet bye-and-bye. It is a firmament in which Oscar Brand's will shine most brightly.
And yet, to anyone who cared about folk music, Oscar's radio program on WNYC, "The Folksong Festival," was the premiere venue for appearing on, or simply hearing, the best in folk music. As the New York Times obituary pointed out, Oscar's program tops the list for longest continuous running programs--from 1945 to his final show, September 24, 2016.
Folk music--as those of you too young to remember what James Taylor called "the great folk scare of the 60's"--had mostly been a genre limited to either musicologists, campfires (think "Kumbaya," "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore," etc.), beatniks, or the rest of us fiercely nonconforming conformists who filled its limited ranks. But, for those of us who loved both playing and listening to the songs, it was pretty close to the end-all and be-all of music. There was, of course, an exception to this niche status, and that was the during that "scare" period, which began in the late 50's with the advent of the Kingston Trio who (following in the footsteps of "The Weavers"), were soon themselves followed by a myriad of clean-cut folk groups ("The Limeliters," "The Highwaymen," "The Tarriers," "The Journeymen," Peter, Paul and Mary," etc.) Without exception, these groups--whose surviving members would readily concede--would never have gotten where they did without the groundwork laid by Oscar Brand. Prior to that, popular folksingers had been limited to the cabarets and Hootenanny halls, and those gaining national recognition were limited to Burl Ives,"The Weavers," Harry Belafonte, and a literal handful of others.
Interestingly, although never a household name, Oscar was among this handful, largely due to the success of a sub-genre of folk music he called "Bawdy Songs and Backroom Ballads." Before this series began, the only proponent of such off-color songs was "Dirty" Ed McCurdy, who had his own series of lesser-known albums of mostly Elizabethan ballads called "When Knighthood was in flower" and subtitled "and maidens lost their heads." (McCurdy, by the way, had a much greater claim to fame, also largely unknown, He was the writer of the classic, "Last Night I had the Strangest Dream")
I was introduced to Oscar's music at summer camp through Volume Three of his bawdy songs albums, which had been smuggled in by an older camper, and included a less graphic version of a camp favorite called "The Bastard King of England." Another of his bawdy songs, "A gob is a slob," told about the dangers of getting too close to a sailor (be it in bar, bedroom, or shower), and was cleaned up by Oscar and turned into a number one single by Doris Day, called "A Guy is a Guy." In point of fact, Oscar was brilliant in rewriting--at the expense of, as he put it--"bowdlerizing" many of the old bawdy folksongs so that they were suitable for album release, if not airplay. Oscar's songs were staples at the camps I attended or worked at into my early twenties.
But the bawdy songs series was just a small--if the most commercially successful--part of Oscar's repertoire. I think the Times's obit did him a disservice, in referring to his voice as "gravelly" and sometimes "off-key." Although the advancing years certainly took its toll on his vocal skills, I found the timbre of his announcing voice mellifluous and his singing voice lilting, in fine pitch, and most enjoyable to listen to. Oscar, along with Pete Seeger, were among the earliest post-Leadbelly players of the twelve-string guitar, doubtless inspiring the many who went on to popularize this once esoteric instrument. Oscar was a pioneer (along with guitar genius Les Paul) in overdubbing his voice in harmony. Working on the sonically experimental label, Audio Fidelity--one of the very first to feature stereophonic sound--Oscar's albums on that label were landmarks in sound recording. His bawdy series featured the fine banjo work of Dave Sear and the aforementioned vocal overdubbing. While this piece is not meant to be a discography of his works, several albums stand out for those who want to have more familiarity with Oscar's oeuvre. Two of these are on the old Riverside label: "G.I. American Army Songs," and "American Drinking Songs." On the first, Oscar is accompanied by Weaver Fred Hellerman and, on the second, by (former Tarrier, Weaver and Rooftop Singer) Erik Darling. Among the "Bawdy Songs" series, Volumes 3, and 5 and 6 ("Bawdy Sea Shanties" and "Bawdy Western Songs") are standouts. "Oscar Brand Sings for Adults," also accompanied by Fred Kellerman, is a concert album, and a good introduction to Oscar as a "live" performer."
I first met Oscar at one such concert, at New York's Cooper Union. I brought along my then-six year old son Jason who--along with his younger brother, Larry--had grown up with Oscar's "lullabies" in the background. After the show, I brought Jason up to meet Oscar, who had just finished a program of children's songs. Jason asked him if he would sing, "Can't you dance the Polka?" a bawdy classic which referred to a sailor's rueful night spent in a brothel. (Sorry, P.C. Police, too many years have passed to prosecute me for tampering with the morals of a minor.) Oscar stepped down from the stage and obliged by playing the "clean" chorus of the song, much to Jason's (and my) delight. This was the kind of man he was; friendly, approachable, and generous. Lastly, "American Dreamer," is a good example of Oscar's work as a songwriter. Any of these albums is well worth your time and attention.
Oscar's achievements as a collector and musicologist are often overlooked by many who know him (if at all) as a performer. The late Dave Van Ronk said, in his autobiography, "The Mayor of MacDougal Street (with Elijah Wald), in what can only be describe as mild hyperbole, "Oscar knows 575 trillion songs; if any living human being has a larger repertory than Pete Seeger, it could only be Oscar."
The last time I saw Oscar, was when he was on-stage at the Brooklyn College salute in honor of the hundredth anniversary of Woody Guthrie's birth. Sadly (and astonishingly) he had not been selected to perform, and only made it onstage at the behest of some of the performers. Although a bit unsteady afoot, Oscar still was slim, tall, and handsome at 93. He gave a brief reminiscence of Woody and joined the company in the closing "This Land is Your Land." That, coupled with the surprise--and one of the last appearances of Pete Seeger (who was subbing for Arlo Guthrie, who could not attend for personal reasons)--made it a truly memorable evening for me. Pete, of course, received well-deserved recognition upon his death. While Oscar's will likely be more muted, it is equally merited, for his contribution to this most enduring form of American music is unmatched. Oscar's program was one of the few which welcomed blacklisted performers like Pete Seeger and The Weavers during those dark years. While never a "political" folksinger in the Guthrie-Seeger tradition, Oscar was a "lower-case" progressive, who championed freedom of expression, and opposed both the blacklist and all totalitarian forms of government, something about which most of the folk-singing left remained silent when it came to communism. Oscar's show was open to anyone who made good music. Indeed, there was not a folksinger of note, from Woody Guthrie, Burl Ives, and Leadbelly up through Bob Dylan, who were not, at some time, featured on his program. While usually thought of as a popular (as opposed to "ethnic" or "roots") performer, Oscar knew and performed more roots music than just about anyone I could name. As but one example, Appalachian dulcimer player and singer Jean Ritchie was a friend a frequent guest of Oscar's.
Please (assuming you've read thus far) permit me a personal note. As a (sometime) singer/songwriter myself, I always thought of a being played on Oscar's show as the very height of artistic (if not material) recognition one could achieve. About ten years ago, my wife and I were returning from a visit to the family home of our by then grown son, Jason. It was a Saturday night, and (even though I'd become less diligent in doing so) tuned the dial to Oscar's "Folksong Festival," then in its 50th year or so on the air. To my astonishment, Oscar introduced a song of mine called "The Glory of their Times," and said some very nice things about me before playing the song. While I had previously appeared on radio and TV, this was the first (and only) time I have heard one of my songs played unexpectedly. I nearly drove off the road, and was so excited that it took me hours to fall asleep. For me and, I guess, numerous other performers, this was my greatest thrill as a musician.
Oscar always ended his show by inviting us to join him the following week under what he called "yon Municipal moon." While that moon will continue to rise and set, it was dimmed last night by Oscar's passing. That said, he will join the many folk greats who will continue to wink down at us from their stars in the folksingers sweet bye-and-bye. It is a firmament in which Oscar Brand's will shine most brightly.
