Warning! Long screed!

One person's viewpoint. Your mileage may vary.

The first live concert of folk music I attended was in 1952. It was sung by Walt Robertson. He had a local television show and had just released a record on Folkways. The concert was in a basement restaurant ironically called "The Chalet," a half-block from the University of Washington campus, and it was quite probably Seattle's first coffeehouse, except that we hadn't yet actually heard of such things as "coffeehouses" yet (other than the places in London where Boswell and Johnson hung out, or the ones in Boston and Philadelphia where Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Paine talked of the Rights of Man and plotted rebellion against King George III).

Walt sang for nearly three hours. A wide range of songs, all accompanied on the biggest guitar I had ever seen (it was a 12-string), from American railroad songs, to Scottish border ballads, to children's songs, love songs, tragic, comic, and bawdy, to sea chanteys, and back around again. From a somewhat shortened version of "Greensleeves" (three verses), with the 12-string sounding a bit like a harpsichord, on up through history to a couple of songs written by Merle Travis. You get the idea.

All from memory. Nary a song book, song sheet, or crib note in sight.

A month or so later, they held a "hootenanny" at the same restaurant. At the time, a "hootenanny" was not a multi-performer concert as it became later, but a free-for-all. Anyone could sing if they wished, in any order (no circle or drawing numbers). If you had a song in mind and there was a pause, just start singing. Or just sit and listen if you wished.

No song books or song sheets.

From that time, on into the late Seventies, if I didn't have a gig somewhere, I've attended maybe thousands of "hoots," generally in peoples' private homes.

No song books or song sheets.

It was always assumed that one learn—memorize—a song before fielding it before other people. If you blew it, no problem. You had a sympathetic audience (everyone else had been there). You'll probably get it letter-perfect next time. Just keep working on it.

Then, in the late 1970s, a couple of brothers (not new to "hoots" and who should have known better) brought a copy of "The Folksinger's Word Book" to a hoot, and sat there singing together out of the book, often not being real sure of the tune and screwing up the words even though they had them right before them. There was a lot of sighing and eye-rolling, not just from the singers, but from the non-singing listeners as well, until finally someone else jumped in, to everyone's relief.

The Seattle Song Circle started in summer of 1977. We sat in a literal circle, went around the circle and when a person's turn came up, they had the options of singing solo, leading the group in a song, requesting a song from someone else, or passing. We sang all kinds of songs, but a lot of sea chanteys because they are easy for a group to pick up, they sounded good even if, unlike a trained chorus, they were a bit ragged, and we could work up a lot of gusto with them. The group stated sounding pretty darn good. And we got invited to perform at the Moss Bay Sail and Chantey festival on the east side of Lake Washington where the schooner Wawona was moored at the time (at a sort of maritime museum). We sang up a storm during the sail-raising (the Coast Guard wanted to check the tackle from time to time and make sure it still worked). I got a chance to sing a bunch of fo'c'sle chanteys in a real, genuine fo'c'sle! And we did a big concert that night!

Nary a book or song sheet in sight.

It wasn't until the mid-1980s that newcomers started showing up from time to time with an armload of song books. And boring the crap out of the "old-timers" at Song Circle by saying, "I just found this song this afternoon, and I'm not too sure of the tune and I don't know the words yet, but—" And the stumbling and dithering their way through the thing (many sighs and much eye rolling).

When this got to be the rule rather than the exception, my wife, Barbara, and I stopped coming to Song Circle. We haven't been for years now.

Last I heard, you had to have a copy of "Rise Up Singing" as a sort of membership card. I have a copy of it, but it sits on my bookshelf, along with other songbooks that I check from time to time if my memory needs refreshing.   Then I put it back on the bookshelf.

I have seen concerts on television of singers such as Luciano Pavarotti, whose head was stuffed with the full scores of several dozen complete opera roles, along with a whole batch of other art songs and Italian popular songs. A few times (such as during the "Three Tenors" telecasts), there were music stands in front of all three singers (Pavarotti, Placido Domingo, and José Carreras). But during the entire concert, I didn't notice them being briefly glanced at more that a couple of times. I can understand why having the music within quick eye-shot for a national or world-wide telecast might be a desirable "safety net," but obviously these three gentlemen knew the material.

I can also see having a song sheet in front of you for a recording session. Because if you have a momentary memory lapse (which can happen to anyone, no matter how seasoned and professional, even on songs that one has sung hundreds of times), that means a re-take, and unless one is recording in one's own home studio, that can get a bit pricey. I'm planning to start recording soon (home studio), and contrary to my life-long practice, I will have song sheets within eye-shot (taped to the mic?) just in case. They will be songs I've sung hundreds of times. The song sheets will be there merely as a safety net on the off-chance that I find myself on the verge of screwing up an otherwise good take.

But when I give a concert or go for a song fest in someone's living room, I have the songs I plan to sing in my head.

I have always been performance oriented. When I first saw and heard Walt Robertson hold about a hundred people enthralled for nearly three hours that evening, I kept thinking, "I want to do that!"

But, as I said above, your mileage may vary.

Don Firth