(4.5) I’ve gotten really into folk music over the last 15 years, mostly thanks to my husband, but I’m a lot more familiar with the current UK scene than I am with the famous names of the 1960s and earlier. While I vaguely knew the Seeger name and had heard Peggy sing on a couple tracks of a Christmas folk song compilation a friend gave us a few years ago (The Sounding Joy by Elizabeth Mitchell, featuring traditional Christmas songs from Peggy’s mother Ruth Crawford Seeger’s songbook), it felt like I didn’t really ‘discover’ her until earlier this year, when she performed at two of the Folk on Foot online festivals that showed on UK bank holidays. I was so impressed with the 84-year-old’s spunk. She played a mixture of originals and traditional songs, including some counting songs fun for doing with children. I declared her my new hero and the grandmother you can only wish you had.
Still, I could never have predicted how much her memoir would resonate with me. And not just because we both grew up in Silver Spring, Maryland and have settled in the same general part of England – though that would have been reason enough for me to want to read her life story. She has packed in enough adventure and experience for more than one life, and in some respects she has almost literally lived two lives: one in America (her first 20 years, plus another 20 years in her fifties to seventies) and one in England; one with Ewan MacColl and one with a female partner. Here’s how she puts it late in the book: “Gemini from head to toe, my heart has two homes. I have two families in two countries. I have had two life partners. I want to be both home and away, both bound and free.”
Her father, Charles Seeger, was a left-wing musicologist, and her mother a modernist composer. Together they worked on the Library of Congress’s Archive of American Folk Music. Peggy first played an instrument at age six. With her American folk pedigree and banjo skills, she was in demand when, after attending Radcliffe and nursing her mother through her final days with cancer, she studied in Holland and travelled to the rest of Europe as part of a musical troupe. She was called to London to audition for a television opportunity and met MacColl, who invited her to see him sing in a play. He was more than 20 years her senior and on his second marriage, but there was electricity from the start and she stayed by him until his death 33 years later – despite starting out the relationship as the desperate ‘other woman’ and, about nine months before he died of heart problems, falling in love with her long-time friend Irene Pyper Scott.
Reading this, you have the feeling that nobody ever told Peggy Seeger how to write (or not write) a memoir, and it’s all the better for that. Although she sticks to a roughly chronological narrative, she pauses whenever she likes to pursue a theme – the gigs and audiences from hell, the women she hired to help her look after her three children, illnesses and accidents she’s survived, tributes to a few of the main musicians and BBC producers they worked with – and her writing is punchy and impressionistic, with scenes dashed off as she remembers them and any boring connective bits left out. She bounces between present and past tense, varies her sentence structure, frequently uses imperative mood and second person address, and peppers in lists and flashbacks (or flash-forwards). Jokes, trivia and knowing asides all over the place. Rarely do you get more than a few pages in a row of ‘this happened, then that happened’. (If you’re interested in the blow-by-blow, you can read Jean Freedman’s biography of Seeger, on which she admits relying for confirmation of details of her own life!)
This really is the highlights reel. “A memoir becomes a succession of anecdotes becomes a gallery of Radio Ballad snapshots,” she writes. It’s astonishing everything she’s done in her life. Being part of the UK’s folk revival with MacColl through their radio ballads, recordings and performances (and becoming politically suspect through trips to China and Cuba) is the main event, but she’s also been a professor of songwriting in Boston and toured as a solo artist. One incident that particularly stuck out to me was riding 900 miles across the USA, solo on a scooter with her banjo and guitar strapped on, to take up a regular gig in Chicago.
Along with singing traditional songs, telling the stories anew each time, she has continued to write protest songs about outrages committed against the poor and marginalized. She was late to take up the cause of women’s rights (‘I wasn’t a feminist back then’ is a common refrain), but it and environmentalism are now her twin passions. One song I saw her play at Folk on Foot was about the invisibility of older women in society, and I admired the frankness with which she recounts her four abortions (she and MacColl were really bad about birth control; “Sharing experience demystifies the process and strengthens female bonds”) and the surprise of falling in love with a woman in her fifties.
The eight and a half decades of Seeger’s life have been full of so many changes in terms of politics, culture, society, the place of women … even recording techniques. In one footnote she remarks that “recording apparatus has progressed from weighing too much to carry to being hard to find if you misplace it” – all the way from record-cutting machines to MP3s. While I would recommend this to anyone with even a mild interest in folk music for her words of wisdom on the folk tradition, I think I actually appreciated it more as a cultural document of a woman’s life, distinguished for its no-nonsense attitude. Now to go experience more of her music…
Some favorite lines:
(on folk music)
“The folk tales, songs and dances are the oldest music we have. If they have meaning, it is to keep us connected to one another, to the past from which we come – all of us, each culture in its own way with the one purpose: to perpetuate togetherness – survival.”
“What kind of new songs can a singer of folk material make to deal with the issues of these treacherous days? … We need to explore, steal, invent new formats. We need to capture the public imagination, sing to the fence-sitters, bring factions together. Righteous outrage and complaint are common features of folk-oriented protest songs. Let’s stop complaining and write – with as few complacent clichés as possible – about hope, compassion, gratitude, cohesion and, above all, action. Sounds simple. It is.”
“We create and pass on our art without a dollar sign or patron in sight. We help to slow down the pace of change. We are handing down the family jewels in as good a condition as possible. We bring the past forward … We spread the songs like a benign contagion. … In hard times, we will be able to pick up and go, making up new songs, singing them into the ear of a comrade and fading into the crowd. Folk singers and musicians are the young ones sitting at the bedside of old, old, very old Memory.”
(miscellaneous)
“I’m a gypsy at heart – I love leaving and I love arriving back. That moment of heading away for the land of Somewhere Else is unequalled even if I’ve been there before.”
“My inner child is still full of wonder and smart enough to avoid mirrors”