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BIBLIOGRAPHY 265

INDEX TO SONGS 271

NEGRO WORKADAY SONGS

BACKGROUND RESOURCES IN NEGRO SONG AND WORK

To discover and present authentic pictures of the Negro's folk background as found in his workaday songs is a large and promising task of which there are many phases. Here are spontaneous products of the Negro's workaday experiences and conflicts. Here are reflections of his individual strivings and his group ways. Here are specimens of folk art and creative effort close to the soil. Here are new examples of the Negro's contributions to the American scene. Here is important material for the newer scientific interest which is taking the place of the old sentimental viewpoint. And here is a mine of descriptive and objective data to substitute for the emotional and subjective attitudes of the older days.

It is a day of great promise in the United States when both races, North and South, enter upon a new era of the rediscovery of the Negro and face the future with an enthusiasm for facts, concerning both the newer creative urge and the earlier background sources. Concerning the former, Dr. Alain Locke recently has said: "Whoever wishes to see the Negro in his essential traits, in the full perspective of his achievement and possibilities, must seek the enlightenment of that self-portraiture which the present development of the Negro culture offers." One of the best examples of that self-portraiture is that of the old spirituals, long neglected, but now happily the subject of a new race dedication and appreciation. Now comes another master index of race temperament and portrayal, as found in some of the Negro's newer creations. No less important, from the viewpoint of sheer originality and poetic effort as well as of indices of traits and possibilities, are the seemingly unlimited mines of workaday songs, weary blues, and black man ballads. In a previous volume we presented a sort of composite picture from two hundred songs gathered two decades ago and interpreted with something of prophetic evaluation. In this volume of Negro Workaday Songs is presented a deeper mine of source material, rich in self-portraiture and representative of the workaday Negro.

Ev'ywhere I look this, Ev'ywhere I look this mo'nin', Looks like rain.

I got rainbow Tied 'round my shoulder, Ain't gonna rain, Lawd, ain't gonna rain.

In addition to the poetic imagery in this seemingly unconscious motor-minded product, one may glimpse evidences of simple everyday experience, wishful thought, childlike faith, workaday stolidity, physical satisfaction, and subtle humor. But he can find still more humor and experience, with a good bit of metaphor thrown in for good measure, in the "feet rollin'" stanza of another wanderer's song of the road:

I done walk till, Lawd, I done walk till Feet's gone to rollin', Jes' lak a wheel, Lawd, jes' lak a wheel.

Resourcefulness, humor, defense mechanism, imagination, all might be found in the spectacle of a group of Negroes singing over and over again on a hot July day the refreshing lines,

Oh, next winter gonna be so cold, Oh, next winter gonna be so cold, Oh, next winter gonna be so cold, Fire can't warm you, be so cold.

With the thermometer around a hundred, and the work of digging at hand, this song of "parts," with some of the singers using the words, "be so cold, be so cold" as an echo, undoubtedly had peculiar merit.

Perhaps there have been few, if any, lines of poetry more popular than Wordsworth's "The light that never was on sea or land." The Negro worker sings of a more earthly yet equally miraculous light to guide his pathway, when he complains,

Now ev'y time I, Time I start 'round mountain, My light goes out, Lawd, Lawd, my light goes out.

I'm gonna buy me, Buy me magnified lantern, It won't go out, Lawd, Lawd, it won't go out.

How much of symbolism is to be found in the Negro's workaday songs? How much subjective imagery, how much unconscious allegory? There are abundant examples of the free use of symbolism in his love songs and popular jazz appeals. But what does he mean when he sings,

Ever see wild cat Hug a lion, Lawd, Lawd?

My ol' bear cat Turn to lion, Lawd, Lawd.

Ever see lion Run lak hell, Lawd, Lawd?

Or contrast this simple individual song, with its humor and easy-going rhythm, with the power and appeal of group singing. Here is a goodly party of two-score white folk, seated at twilight under the trees in a grove, joyous guests at a turkey dinner near the old colonial home. There is merriment. Song and jest, toast and cheer abound. The waiters have gone. Then from the kitchen door comes the song of Negroes, beginning low, rising in volume, telling of the sinking of the Titanic. What is it in that final harmony of "God moved upon the waters," sung by a Negro group, which silenced the merrymakers into willing recognition that here may be perfect art and perfect effect? Does this Negro minstrel type, rendered thus in native setting, become for the moment the perfect expression of folk spirit and folk art?

Hundreds of verses dedicated to the business of moving about give evidence that the trail of the black knight of the road is strewn with spontaneous song, often turned into polished phrase. A favorite stanza has long been descriptive of being "on road here few days longer, then I'll be going home." Sung again and again, the song takes on a new form but loses nothing of its emphatic meaning:

I'm gonna row here, I'm gonna row here Few days longer, Then I'll be gone, Lawd, I'll be gone.

For, says the worker, "If I feel tomorrow like I feel today, I'm gonna pack my suitcase and walk away," and "reason I'm workin' here so long, hot flambotia and coffee strong."

Following the trail of the workaday Negro, therefore, one may get rare glimpses of common backgrounds of Negro life and experience in Southern communities. Here were the first real plantings of the modern blues, here songs of the lonesome road, here bad man ballads, here distinctive contributions in songs of jail and chain gang, here songs of white man and captain, here Negro Dr. Jekyls and Mr. Hydes. Here are found new expressions of the old spirituals and remnants still surviving. Here man's song of woman is most varied and original, and woman's song of man is best echoed from days and nights of other times. Here are reflected the epics of John Henry, Lazarus, Dupree, and the others. Here are folk fragments, cries and "hollers," songs to help with work, physical satisfaction and solace, the "Lawdy-Lawdy" vibrato of evening melancholy and morning yodel. Here may be found the subliminal jazz, rare rhythm and movement, co?perative harmony as characteristic as ever the old spirituals revealed. Nevertheless, too much emphasis cannot be placed upon the danger of over-interpretation, for while the workaday songs provide a seemingly exhaustive supply of mirror plate for the reflection of folk temperament and struggle, too much analysis must not obscure their vividness or the beauty and value of their intrinsic qualities.

It is important to note the extent to which the notable popular blues of today, more formal embodiment of the Negro's workaday sorrow songs, have come from these workaday products. Here are true descendants of the old worshipers who sang so well of the Rock in a weary land. And echoing from Southern distances, from Memphis and Natchez, from New Orleans and Macon, from Charleston and Atlanta, and from wayside roads and camps, from jail and chain gang, come unmeasured volume of harmony, unnumbered outbursts of song, perfect technique of plaintive appeal. Many of the most plaintive lines of blues yet recorded were gathered decades ago from camp and road in Mississippi before the technique of the modern blues had ever been evolved. Eloquent successors to the old spirituals with their sorrow-feeling, these songs of the lonesome road have gathered power and numbers and artistic interpretation until they defy description and record. Today the laborer, the migrant, the black man offender constitute types as distinctive and inimitable as the old jubilee singers and those whom they represented. Wherever Negroes work, or loaf, or await judgment, there may be heard the weary and lonesome blues so strange and varied as to reveal a sort of superhuman evidence of the folk soul. No amount of ordinary study into race backgrounds, or historical annals of African folk, or elaborate anthropological excursions can give so simply and completely the story of this Negro quest for expression, freedom, and solace as these low-keyed melancholy songs.

And what names and lines, words and melodies, records and improvisations of the new race blues! Plaintive blues, jolly blues, reckless blues, dirty dozen blues, mama blues, papa blues,--more than six hundred listed by one publisher and producer. Here they are--the workaday sorrow songs, the errant love songs, the jazz lyrics of a people and of an age--as clearly distinctive as the old spirituals. And how like the road songs and the gang lines, straight up from the soil again, straight from the folk as surely as ever came the old spirituals.

All boun' in prison, All boun' in jail, Col' iron bars all 'roun' me, No one to pay my bail.

And the singer presents, as one of his standard versions of many songs, a regular weekly calendar:

Monday I was 'rested, Tuesday I was fined, Wednesday I laid in jail, Thursday I was tried, Friday wid chain gang band, Saturday pick an' shovel, Sunday I took my rest, Monday wanta do my best.

Perhaps the most common concept found in the chain gang and road songs and appearing here and there in all manner of song is the concept of a letter from home, the inability to go home without "ready money," the attempt to borrow from the captain, or to get a parole.

Every, every mail day, I gits letter from my mother, Cryin', "Son, come home, Lawdy, son, come home."

I didn't have no, No ready-made money, I couldn't go home, Lawd, couldn't go home.

A constant source of song is the conflict between actual conditions and desirable ends, between life as it is and ideals of wishful dreaming. "I want to go home," says the workman, but "I don't want no trouble wid de walker." The resulting product is absence from home, absence of trouble with the captain or walker, and abundance of song.

I don't want no trouble, I don't want no trouble, I don't want no trouble wid de walker. Lawd, Lawd, I wanta go home.

Me an' my buddy jes' come, Me an' my buddy jes' come, Me an' my buddy jes' come here. Lawd, Lawd, wanta go home.

Again and again the Negro wanderer portrays home, parents, brothers and sisters, friends, as the most highly esteemed of life's values--striking paradox to the realism of his practice. Idealism in song and dreams, in workaday songs as well as spirituals, alongside sordidness in living conditions and physical surroundings, appear logical and direct developments from the type of habitation which the Negro common man has ever known.

The Negro "bad man" who sings sorrowfully of his mother's admonitions and his own mistakes, glories also in the motor-imaged refrain:

In come a nigger named Billy Go-helf, Coon wus so mean wus skeered uf hisself; Loaded wid razors an' guns, so they say, 'Cause he killed a coon most every day.

A later chapter is devoted to this notable character, the "bad man," whose varied pictures represent a separate Negro contribution. Here are new and worthy Negro exhibits to add to the American galaxy of folk portraits: Railroad Bill alongside Jesse James, the Negro "bad man" beside the Western frontiersman, and John Henry by Paul Bunyan. For from the millions of Negroes of yesterday and as many more today, with their oft-changing and widely varying economic and social conditions, has come a rare and varied heritage of folk tradition, folk character, and folk personality. Much of this might remain forever unknown and unsung were it not for the treasure-house of Negro song, the product of a happy facility for linking up the realities of actual life with wishful thinking and imaginative story.

Of the grand old "saints," white haired "Uncles" and "Aunties," we have viewed from near and far scores of inimitable examples. Of the thousands of musicianers, songsters and workers, and those who sing "down that lonesome road," recent epochs have mirrored many. But what of the real and mythical jamboree breakers and bad men, or of Po' Lazarus and Stagolee, or of John Henry, "forehanded steel-drivin' man" and ideal of the Negro worker?

Here are rare folk figures silhouetted against a sort of shifting race background with its millions of working folk and wanderers moving suddenly and swiftly across the scene. A brown-black army of ramblers, creepers, high flyers, standin' men, all-night workers, polish men, "stick and ready" from the four corners of the States--Lazarus, Billy Bob Russel, Shootin' Bill, Brady, Dupree, and the others. And then John Henry, stately and strong in contrast, noble exponent of sturdy courage and righteous struggle, faithful to death.

John Henry went to the mountain, Beat that steam-drill down; Rock was high, po' John was small, He laid down his hammer an' he died, Laid down his hammer an' he died.

A chapter on "Man's Song of Woman" will make but a small beginning of a large task. Its sequel must be deferred until the lover's specialisms can be published with a liberal usage of the psychiatrists' terminology. A chapter on "Woman's Song of Man" ought also to have a companion sequel in the book of Negro symbolism. A chapter on "Workaday Religious Songs" can present only a small portion of those now being sung, but will be representative of the present heritage of the old spirituals. A chapter on the miscellaneous fragments, "hollers," lines, incoherent and expressive "Lawdy-Lawd-Lawds" gives one of the best pictures of the Negro workaday character and habits. Some of these types make a very good safety valve for the Negro singer; in a different way their plainness may restrain the enthusiast from setting too much "store" by all the Negro's songs. The characters of John Henry and Left Wing represent two types, one the mythical and heroic, the other the real and commonplace, both typical of the Negro's idealism and his actual life. The examples of "movement and imagery" are as characteristic of the Negro workaday experience as were the harmonies and swaying of the old spirituals. They are indices to guide judgment and interpretation of the Negro temperament. In each of these chapters, it will be understood, only enough material is presented to illustrate the case, including, however, always the most representative specimens which the authors have been able to collect within their field and time limit. Much that is similar will necessarily await publication in volumes in which the chief objective will be preservation and completeness rather than interpretation.

It is scarcely possible to describe this element of movement in the Negro workaday songs. And yet the mere citation and classification of representative examples will suffice to point out the particular qualities of action which might justify the added element of epic style, if one remembers that the singer's concept of the heroic, while very real, is not exalted in the Greek sense. There are those who do not feel that the Negro's workaday songs are characterized by the qualities of poetry; yet do they not arouse the feelings and imagination in vivid and colorful language? The type of language used--that is the Negro's own. In the same way there can be no doubt of his songs emphasizing the quality of action; his heroes and principal figures, like his language, reflect his concepts and tell his stories. Whether epic or heroic,

I'm the hot stuff man, From the devil's land, I'm a greasy streak o' lightning, Don't you see, don't you see?

has plenty of action and imagery in it. And it is characteristic of much of the Negro workaday style of talk, imagination, and thought.

Many of the pictures are vivid because of the action concept and the rhyming metaphors.

In come a nigger named Slippery Jim, None of de gals would dance wid him, He rech in his pocket an' drew his thirty-two, Dem niggers didn't run, good Gawd, dey flew.

There was also a woman, one Eliza Stone, from a bad, bad land, who threatened to break up the jamboree with her razor but who also "jumped in de flo', an' doubled up her fist, say 'You wanter test yo' nerve jes' jump against this.'" Note further a varying reel of moving characters and scenes.

Police got into auto An' started to chase that coon, They run 'im from six in the mo'nin', Till seven that afternoon.

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