American popular music—whether rock, folk, or any other category—has always existed simultaneously in both the artistic and the commercial worlds. It is the job of the popular artist to create artifacts that will move people in some way, but people can only be moved by art that they have experienced. If it does not circulate among the public, a work of art cannot achieve its goal. If it is not distributed, it might as well not exist. Therefore, the music has to find a public of some size. It has to be art and show business at the same time. The music also must exist on many levels, simultaneously moving both artist and audience. The job of the protest artist has always been to walk that line, to use show business to reach beyond the already initiated and win new converts to the cause.
It can be a schizophrenic world; trying to maintain the right balance can be frustrating for an artist. Phil Ochs serves as an example. We have mentioned his singing for anti-war protestors and playing Town Hall and Carnegie Hall. Yet, while he was succeeding in the large halls, he also performed at small coffeehouses, political rallies, and protests large and small. He helped pioneer the college circuit, encouraging his manager to book him on campuses, often as part of a package with his friend and fellow folk singer Eric Andersen. As also noted earlier, Ochs described himself as a “left social democrat” and saw himself as a journalist whose medium was primarily the song form. As his goal was to be big in show business, to be rich and famous playing the music he wrote and loved, Ochs—even as the executives at his record company tried to scale back his ambitions—remained convinced that his was the album that would break the pattern, offer substance, and achieve huge sales simultaneously.1 When that did not happen, Ochs’ well of formidable songwriting apparently went dry.
Although it does not seem that this would be the case, for many writers and performers protest was a competitive field. Ochs was a case in point and struggled with feelings of rejection when he saw other performers—Buffy Sainte-Marie, P.F. Sloan, Tom Paxton—become famous and successful writing anti-war songs. Although, as we’ll see in a later chapter, East Coast protest writers belittled Sloan’s “Eve of Destruction,” it climbed quickly up the charts. The list continues. Vince Martin and Fred Neil cowrote and recorded “Tear Down the Walls” in 1964, a song that asked us to “let peace and freedom in.” It became a hit. Describing the song, Martin says, “It’s not an anti-war song. It’s not anti-anything. It’s pro-peace. It argues for peace and freedom.” Martin remembers growing up in Brooklyn singing Gregorian chants in church, then discovering country music and falling in love with it. By the mid-fifties he had begun his professional career by singing Hank Williams tunes in Brooklyn nightclubs. He was signed by Glory Records, which also had the folk group the Tarriers under contract. Putting Martin together with the Tarriers, Glory issued their single “Cindy, Oh Cindy,” which became a big hit. After that one and a couple of follow-up singles that became minor hits, Martin moved to Greenwich Village: “When I went to the Village, I found and followed the political side of music. It was soothing and exciting. We thought it was necessary. I got into it and realized it was a way of reaching people and possibly changing things. Back in the sixties, we really thought we could change the world, felt we could change things with a song. It was a wonderful feeling.”
Many of the young people felt the same way Martin did, so protest songs captured the mood of the times and became very popular. Before the rise of topical songs, the American civil rights movement had gone to the churches for inspiration, changing the lyrics of African-American spirituals so that they became political songs. The use of religious music emphasized the peaceful, nonviolent, and cooperative nature of the protests. Texas-raised folk singer Carolyn Hester, whose first album was overseen by Buddy Holly’s producer, Norman Petty, got to know Buddy Holly very well, singing and playing music informally with him. Both of them strongly opposed the segregation that dominated their West Texas homeland. She remembers her feelings about it:
Segregation created a hurt I carried with me. Civil rights was very dear to my heart, it was very important to me. That’s one reason I got into folk music. One of the most important things about folk music was that you could speak your mind about things like that. I remember the first Columbia album, I sang “When Jesus Lived in Galilee” and one of the other early albums had “I Want Jesus to Walk with Me.” They were religious songs and were black in origin. And they spoke to me, said important things that I wanted to say. I always felt I was one of the more rhythmic of the folk singers. I got that partly because I was friends with Buddy Holly, who was very rhythmic and was also influenced by black music.
These spirituals were also easy to adapt, since they generally followed a call and response format that did not require trained singing voices.
When the anti-war movement began to gain its energy, the music itself caught that same vitality and sense of urgency. It had, as folk music always does, evolved to fit the new conditions. The Byrds brought hard-driving, passionate, and deeply felt folk-rock to the arena, music that carried a dark sense of danger with it. Ritchie Havens, the Beau Brummels, Jim Post, David Blue, Judy Collins, and Tim Hardin brought a restless and insecure energy to the music, an unsettled music to match unsettled times. Peter, Paul and Mary were early proponents of direct action and helped organize several major demonstrations and rallies. When Harry Belafonte asked them to perform at the 1963 March on Washington, the trio saw an opportunity. Peter Yarrow said, “It was our intention not to entertain, not to make people take a moment off, but to focus on why we were there. And when we did it was euphoric.”2 At the march they performed protest songs: “If I Had a Hammer” and “Blowin’ in the Wind.”3
Because of activities such as these, America experienced a decade where politics, social change, and music all intersected into one huge mass that forever changed our culture, our politics, and the way we listen to and play music. It was a time that changed us all forever. And it was a change that was met with increasing resistance by the social and political establishment, resistance that would itself be met by direct challenges from the New Left.