Travelling into London one morning last summer Bruce Springsteen’s live
version of Woody Guthrie’s ‘This Land Is Your Land’ came up on the iPod, the
one from the ‘80s live set where he talks about it being an ‘answer song’ to
‘God Bless America’. It reminded me that the very first music I heard
that I ever really liked came via my Uncle Jack, my father’s eldest and slightly
ne’er-do-well brother, who in the 1930s had spent time hitching around America and
on his travels picked up a ukulele and taught himself to play a few American
folk songs.
In
the early ‘50s Jack lived with my paternal grandparents in Scarborough and when
I was around six or seven he sang ‘This Land Is Your Land’ to me in their flat
on Esplanade Road. Another of his songs was Guthrie’s ‘Grand Coulee Dam’ while
a third, by Burl Ives, was called ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’ and had mysterious,
playful lyrics about ‘cigarette trees’ and ‘lemonade fountains’. This was the
first American music I ever heard, indeed the very first music of any kind
outside of kid’s songs like ‘Teddy Bears’ Picnic’ or dull-as-dishwater hymns
sung in school, and it made a deep and abiding impression on me, so much so
that later in life I made a point of finding out who composed and sang these
songs, and seeking them out on record.
At
the time Uncle Jack opened my ears to this music he’d become a travelling
salesman, selling hardware and carpenters’ tools. He was only 51 when he died in
1956, and it seems to me now that maybe I have him to thank for him singing
‘This Land Is Your Land’ was probably the first tiny step on the road towards
my eventual appreciation of American roots music, and my life as a music writer
and archivist. Thanks Jack!
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