Jeff Rubard
2003-12-22 07:29:48 UTC
I see there's been a fair amount of discussion here concerning the late
John Fahey, as well as somewhat less about his protege Leo Kottke: and
my impression seems to be that although people interested in what is
somewhat strangely called "roots music" today like these artists, they
don't consider them "old-time". I'd like to make a case that the term
does apply to them, in a fairly specific sense slightly different from
the usual. Fahey and Kottke are rather obviously not revivalists: and
in a way the music is very much of their time, Fahey having been a cult
celebrity and Kottke having had rather major success as a recording
artists. But there is something which differentiates Fahey and Kottke
from acts like the Dead and the Holy Modal Rounders, charged with
bringing folk music up to spec for the Woodstock generation.
As someone said here, you might not want to have charged Fahey with
anything, but this is true not necessarily because he was expecting a
drink from anyone. By the end of his life, Fahey was living in Salem,
Oregon; rather a nice place for most people, but Fahey ended up there
without a guitar (although there was a nice one in the pawn shop). The
radio host "Dr. Demento" heard about this, and came up and bought
Fahey's guitar back: he gave it back to him, saying "this should not
happen". But whether or not you're a fan of Mr. Hansen's radio program
(I've never heard more than snippets), or a fan of Fahey, this action
says a lot about the milieu in which Fahey's music was received and the
effective ingredients within it.
The former "Blind Joe Death's" evocation of rural narrative was frankly
specious, as he was a child of the great 48 and its cities to boot. But
although it is no secret he owed nothing to anybody vis-a-vis his guitar
skills and could thereby have paid for (or been paid for) something
"insanely great" Fahey's conceits are not beside the point, nor
embarrassing; it's not quite as though Edith Piaf decided to take up
picking. Takoma Park Records (named after Fahey's *Destruction of
Takoma Park* album) was a label dedicated to a high-flown aesthetic,
namely the Blakean visionary-and-craftsman: and this is frankly the
function played by the "unfathomable" Fahey, unto death at 61 but not
unto irrelevancy (I expect his records sell better today than at most
points during his life).
Although he has followed rather squarely in Fahey's footprints, Kottke
is neither a visionary nor a craftsman; and although his skills rather
obviously exceed all but comprehension and his records have sold better
from the outset, Kottke is really a more *rural* figure than Fahey,
having been raised in the Southwest and Great Plains states; and
although Fahey's wry imagery was the occasion for some "rustication" I
suspect Kottke has been there from the beginning of *6-And-12-String
Guitar*, "The Driving Of The Year Nail". This song is something other
than a "solo" from a larger ensemble piece; Kottke is not playing any
notes he wants to, other than all of them.
But I think the secret is that this highly "composed" piece, played at a
much faster pace than the other offerings on the record, indicates by
its open texture that this is a "music of parts" -- and that by
extension, Kottke is not a creature of some mythical unitary Southland:
he has something to do off by himself, and apparently others will
oblige. What is this activity? Well, he is bothering a machine; and
it's exciting enough to hold my attention for a while. Was this worth
doing? Does the question apply, and if so, on what authority? I
suspect it does today, and I think that Kottke and Fahey are exempt from
whatever adulation is poured upon them (that is, questionable characters
with respect to the mindset of the present) on account of their
thoroughly idiosyncratic individualism vis-a-vis their art. And that a
great deal of the appeal of the music they evoke derives from something
more than nostalgia about an era that was less than standardized.
John Fahey, as well as somewhat less about his protege Leo Kottke: and
my impression seems to be that although people interested in what is
somewhat strangely called "roots music" today like these artists, they
don't consider them "old-time". I'd like to make a case that the term
does apply to them, in a fairly specific sense slightly different from
the usual. Fahey and Kottke are rather obviously not revivalists: and
in a way the music is very much of their time, Fahey having been a cult
celebrity and Kottke having had rather major success as a recording
artists. But there is something which differentiates Fahey and Kottke
from acts like the Dead and the Holy Modal Rounders, charged with
bringing folk music up to spec for the Woodstock generation.
As someone said here, you might not want to have charged Fahey with
anything, but this is true not necessarily because he was expecting a
drink from anyone. By the end of his life, Fahey was living in Salem,
Oregon; rather a nice place for most people, but Fahey ended up there
without a guitar (although there was a nice one in the pawn shop). The
radio host "Dr. Demento" heard about this, and came up and bought
Fahey's guitar back: he gave it back to him, saying "this should not
happen". But whether or not you're a fan of Mr. Hansen's radio program
(I've never heard more than snippets), or a fan of Fahey, this action
says a lot about the milieu in which Fahey's music was received and the
effective ingredients within it.
The former "Blind Joe Death's" evocation of rural narrative was frankly
specious, as he was a child of the great 48 and its cities to boot. But
although it is no secret he owed nothing to anybody vis-a-vis his guitar
skills and could thereby have paid for (or been paid for) something
"insanely great" Fahey's conceits are not beside the point, nor
embarrassing; it's not quite as though Edith Piaf decided to take up
picking. Takoma Park Records (named after Fahey's *Destruction of
Takoma Park* album) was a label dedicated to a high-flown aesthetic,
namely the Blakean visionary-and-craftsman: and this is frankly the
function played by the "unfathomable" Fahey, unto death at 61 but not
unto irrelevancy (I expect his records sell better today than at most
points during his life).
Although he has followed rather squarely in Fahey's footprints, Kottke
is neither a visionary nor a craftsman; and although his skills rather
obviously exceed all but comprehension and his records have sold better
from the outset, Kottke is really a more *rural* figure than Fahey,
having been raised in the Southwest and Great Plains states; and
although Fahey's wry imagery was the occasion for some "rustication" I
suspect Kottke has been there from the beginning of *6-And-12-String
Guitar*, "The Driving Of The Year Nail". This song is something other
than a "solo" from a larger ensemble piece; Kottke is not playing any
notes he wants to, other than all of them.
But I think the secret is that this highly "composed" piece, played at a
much faster pace than the other offerings on the record, indicates by
its open texture that this is a "music of parts" -- and that by
extension, Kottke is not a creature of some mythical unitary Southland:
he has something to do off by himself, and apparently others will
oblige. What is this activity? Well, he is bothering a machine; and
it's exciting enough to hold my attention for a while. Was this worth
doing? Does the question apply, and if so, on what authority? I
suspect it does today, and I think that Kottke and Fahey are exempt from
whatever adulation is poured upon them (that is, questionable characters
with respect to the mindset of the present) on account of their
thoroughly idiosyncratic individualism vis-a-vis their art. And that a
great deal of the appeal of the music they evoke derives from something
more than nostalgia about an era that was less than standardized.