When Music Had Meaning
May 28th, 2005 at 10:50 am by Susie
Oh, I marched to the battle of New Orleans,
At the end of the early British wars.
The young land started growing,
The young blood started flowing.
But I ain’t a-marching anymore!Oh I killed my share of Injuns in a thousand different fights,
I was there at the Little Big Horn.
I heard many men a-lying,
I saw many more a-dying.
But I ain’t a-marching anymore!It’s always the young to lead us to the wars,
always the young to fall.
Now look at what we’ve won with a saber and a gun.
Tell me is it worth it all?For I stole California from the Mexican land,
fought in the bloody Civil War.
Yes, I even killed my brothers,
And so many others.
But I ain’t a-marching anymore!For I marched to the battle of the German trench,
In a war that was bound to end all wars.
Oh I must have killed a million men,
And now they want me back again
But I ain’t a-marching anymore!It’s always the old who lead us to the wars,
It’s always the young who fall
Now look at what we’ve won with a saber and a gun
Tell me, is it worth it all?For I flew the final mission in the Japanese sky,
Set off the mighty mushroom roar
But I saw the cities burnin’,
And I knew that I was learnin’,
That I ain’t a-marching anymore!Now the labor leader’s screamin’ when they closed the missile plant,
United Fruit screams at the Cuban shore.
Call it peace or call it treason,
Call it love or call it reason
but I ain’t a-marching anymore!
I ain’t a-marching anymore!- Phil Ochs, “I Ain’t A-Marching Anymore”
A great song then, a great song now. That’s the sad part– we still need this song.
I love this song (and dozens of other Ochs’ songs), but it has always had the drawback that if you try to sing it at a demonstration, and don’t pay close attention, the implication is that you (the demonstrator) should stop marchin’. Of course that’s not what it’s all about at all, but it’s easy to hear it and make that mistake. Oh well. Can’t have everything!
P.S. - Last year we had a “contest” at Left I on the News to name the best antiwar and political songs of all time. The final list is here; unfortunately I never could figure out how to do proper voting, so actual voting on the “winners” never took place. It’s still a great list!
Phil Ochs hanged hinself at his sister’s house on 9 April 1976. I recommend Marc Eliot’s biography, DEATH OF A REBEL, which is doubtless out of print.
But I recommend the music, finally all coming into re-release on CD, even more…
“And nobody’s buying flowers from the flower lady…”
Here’s a Civil War song called “Two Soldiers” I really like. Bob Dylan sings it on his album of traditional covers, World Gone Wrong
He was just a blue-eyed Boston boy,
His voice was low with pain.
“I’ll do your bidding, comrade mine,
If I ride back again.
But if you ride back and I am left,
You’ll do as much for me,
Mother, you know, must hear the news,
So write to her tenderly.
“She’s waiting at home like a patient saint,
Her fond face pale with woe.
Her heart will be broken when I am gone,
I’ll see her soon, I know.”
Just then the order came to charge,
For an instance hand touched hand.
They said, “Aye,” and away they rode,
That brave and devoted band.
Straight was the track to the top of the hill,
The rebels they shot and shelled,
Plowed furrows of death through the toiling ranks,
And guarded them as they fell.
There soon came a horrible dying yell
From heights that they could not gain,
And those whom doom and death had spared
Rode slowly back again.
But among the dead that were left on the hill
Was the boy with the curly hair.
The tall dark man who rode by his side
Lay dead beside him there.
There’s no one to write to the blue-eyed girl
The words that her lover had said.
Momma, you know, awaits the news,
And she’ll only know he’s dead.
Thanks, a Phil Ochs song is the best kind of earworm. Except maybe “The Bells.” My favorite Ochs earworm remains “Chords of Fame.”
I was out running yesterday, listening to Lou Reed’s New York album, a brilliant piece of work. Here’s the little-known “Christmas in February” from that album:
Sam was lyin’ in the jungle
agent orange spread against the sky like marmalade
Hendrix played on some foreign jukebox
they were praying to be saved
Those gooks were fierce and fearless
that’s the price you pay when you invade
Xmas in February
Sam lost his arm in some border town
his fingers are mixed with someone’s crop
If he didn’t have that opium to smoke
the pain would never ever stop
Half his friends are stuffed into black body bags
with their names printed at the top
Xmas in February
Sammy was a short order cook
in a short order black and blue collar town
Everybody worked the steel mill
but the steel mill got closed down
He thought if he joined the Army
he’d have a future that was sound
Like no Xmas in February
Sam’s staring at the Vietnam Wall
it’s been a while now that he’s home
His wife and kid have left, he’s unemployed
he’s a reminder of the war that wasn’t won
He’s the guy on the street with the sign that reads
“Please help send this Vet home”
But he is home
and there’s no Xmas in February
no matter how much he saves
There’s hope, though. Rock and activism isn’t dead. Just listen to the new Sleater-Kinney record. In fact, after reading the Sunday papers, I think I’ll throw it on …