I was a we sprat during the '30s and 0 my whole family like music and listened Wilma Musical influences. Oh, Lord! I feel a tome coming on!

I was a wee sprat during the Thirties and although my whole family liked music and listened to a lot of it on the radio, nobody sang much or played a musical instrument. There were a number of musical programs that came on regularly during the week, such as the "Longines Symphonette," "Phil Whats'isface and his All-Girl Orchestra" (just a bit sexist, wot?), and "The Grand Ole Opry." Later on, programs like "Your Hit Parade." The "incidental" music in many kids programs at the time was drawn mostly from the classics. Everybody knows that a portion of the "William Tell Overture" was used as the opening theme for the Lone Ranger, but frequently, when the announcer narrated between "acts," the background music under his voice was Liszt's "Les Preludes." Pretty lush, dramatic stuff. This sort of thing gave me a real taste for classical music early on.

In the Forties, a number of operettas were made into movies, such as Sigmund Romberg's "The Desert Song." These movies introduced me to singers like Gordon MacRae, Katherine Grayson, and, Howard Keel. I was already familiar with Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. I went to a big high school where I tended to run with the music and drama crowd. The high school musical productions were almost professional quality, and consisted mostly of operettas by Rudolf Friml, Victor Herbert, and such ("The Fortune Teller," "Showboat," and others). There was some amazing talent among my friends. One girl was a soprano with a huge, fully-developed voice. She carved out a really good singing career for herself, including a stint several years' running with Seattle Opera's monumental productions of Wagner's "Ring of the Nibelung" as a Valkyrie, wearing a winged helmet and carrying a spear and shield. A buddy of mine had a rich baritone voice at the age of sixteen, and he went on to sing on Broadway (understudied the lead in "Damn Yankees") and in nightclubs, and do bit parts in about fifty movies. I'd had polio at the age of two and galumphed around on a pair of crutches, so I figured any kind of on-stage performing career was out.

Also at about this age, I heard Burl Ives on the radio pretty frequently. He would sing songs and tell stories. I found the songs intriguing, and I think I'll learn more about American history from his radio program than I did from any high school history class. A fellow I knew named Jack Nottingham discovered that he had a fairly good operatic tenor voice, started taking lessons, and managed to get everybody around him, including me, interested in opera. I wound up taking some voice lessons from the teacher he was going to, a former Metropolitan Opera soprano who had retired to Seattle. Turned out I had a halfway decent bass-baritone voice, but I didn't have a clue as to what I was ever going to do with it. Among his other records, Jack Nottingham had an album of Richard Dyer-Bennet singing ballads. Intriguing stuff!

Eventually I escaped from high school and enrolled at the University of Washington, majoring in English. I started going with a girl named Claire who was interested in folk songs and was teaching herself to play the guitar. About the same time, I fell in with questionable company, including such strange folk as Sandy Paton, Ric Higlin, Dick Landberg, and Rae Creevey. Then I heard Walt Robertson sing (elsewhere on Mudcat I've outlined the influence that Walt Robertson had on me). That did it! I was doomed! I decided that I wanted to make a career for myself as a singer of folk songs. This was in the early Fifties, at the time when concert singers who specialized in folk songs were not that common. The only ones much of anybody had ever heard of were Burl Ives, Susan Reed, and Richard Dyer-Bennet. And, of course, the Weavers. Then meeting Pete Seeger in 1954 and having a chance, along with several other people, to sit around on the floor and swap songs with him until four o'clock in the morning really sealed my fate!

Although I have never tried to imitate anyone, I did try to emulate the "minstrel" approach of Richard Dyer-Bennet—since I was urban-born and had not grown up in the folk tradition, it would be phony for me to try to sound like I was anything but what I was. I should just sing the best I could. My voice had already had some training, but my knowledge of music theory, et al., was woefully lacking. After taking a few guitar lessons from Walt Robertson, I began studying with a classic guitar teacher. I resumed my voice lessons with Mrs. Bianchi, and eventually entered the University of Washington School of Music. In addition to formal musical training, I grubbed out folk guitar techniques wherever I could find them and incorporated them into what I was doing. I did not try to sound "folk," nor did I try to sound operatic. Nor did I try to sound like Richard Dyer-Bennet (bloody impossible with my "frog-in-a-rain-barrel" bass voice). I just sang the best I could, and whatever came out is what came out. Although a few nice people have told me that I sound a bit like Gordon Bok, if I sound like anyone at all, I think I probably sound more like Ed McCurdy or Theodore Bikel.

In 1957, I met Richard Dyer-Bennet and had a chance to have a long chat with him. I told him I was taking voice lessons, studying classic guitar, and attending the U. of W. School of Music, and he said that under the circumstances, the best advice he could give me was to just keep doing what I was doing. He was very gracious, supportive, and encouraging.

Although I only saw him a couple of times, I feel that one of my strongest musical influences was Rolf Cahn. On one occasion he made a suggestion about a finger-picking pattern I was using. On another occasion, he suggested a chord change that I never would have thought of. Both of these suggestions opened my eyes to principles and possibilities that had never before occurred to me. Rolf Cahn was brilliant! I wish I could have taken some regular lessons from him. And on the question of presenting folk songs "authentically" versus exercising one's own creativity, he once said: "One the one hand, there is the danger of becoming a musical stamp collector; on the other, the equal danger of leaving behind the language, texture, and rhythm that made the music worthy of our devotion in the first place. So we . . . try to determine those elements which make a particular piece of music meaningful to us, and to build the performance through these elements."

Over the years I've developed some pretty firm ideas about music in general and folk music in particular. But I'm still learning and still being influenced.

Don Firth