My favorite Van Ronk story (and a long one!)
G. M. Watson
damn near anyone) give, and the exceptionally difficult circumstances that
gave rise to it. A true triumph over adversity. With Dave's passing, I
figure it's safe to tell it one more time. If I was invited to speak at his
wake, this is the memory of him I'd choose to share-- Van Ronk at his worst
and best, all at the same time:
At either the 1980 or 1981 Vancouver Folk Music Festival (after 24
Festivals, my memory for who played exactly when isn't what it was), Dave
Van Ronk was scheduled to perform on the main stage on Saturday evening. As
any folk festival attendee knows, being invited to perform on the main stage
in an evening concert at a major festival is something of an honor, reserved
for only the best-- and for the legends. Van Ronk, of course, bestrode both
categories like the colossus he was. Not everyone can command the rapt
attention of 10,000 people sitting on cold grass while the falling dew
starts to creep into their bones, but Dave Van Ronk was definitely one of
them.
In those days, Van Ronk was still known as a man who would take a drink. Not
long after, Dave hitched a ride on the wagon and kept his goatee dry, as far
as I know, for the rest of his life, but in 1980 or '81 he was, I think, in
the final throes of a nigh-legendary drinking career. It should be pointed
out that the Vancouver festival has always been a dry festival. Booze of any
kind is prohibited on site, both in the public and performer's areas. Over
the years, it has often been proposed that a beer garden or suchlike be
opened on site; most other festivals boost their revenues considerably thru
such means. However, the Vancouver festival is heavily family-oriented and,
to judge by repeated audience surveys, audience members like things just the
way they are: dry. Hence the situation is unlikely to change, something I,
as a non-drinker, applaud wholeheartedly. Many performers over the years,
especially those from the UK, have reacted to this state of affairs in
shocked disbelief, but they soon cheer up once they reach the hotel and find
that the Festival's version of the Volstead Act (as it were) pertains only
to the site. Of course, that makes those Sunday morning 10 AM workshops an
exceptional challenge for some, but hey, these are professionals we're
talking about.
In deference to the proclivities and/or needs of some performers, in those
early days there used to be a notation in the Festival's standard
performer's package which stated that, although the consumption of alcohol
onsite was indeed prohibited, the Artistic Director kept a small supply of
the nectar of the gods on hand "for medicinal purposes only". Those
performers requiring medical attention prior to their mainstage-- or
whatever-- appearance could contact the AD and receive a small dispensation
of medication.
In any case, we now return to the night in question. For reasons best known
to the guilty party, a Festival volunteer, no doubt wishing to demonstrate
Vancouver's legendary hospitality, had spent the afternoon and part of the
evening buddying up with Dave van Ronk and sharing with him, I believe, a
large quantity of one of Scotland's --or perhaps Ireland's-- or Russia's--
or-- hell, does it really matter now?-- more lethal products. (I, and
everyone else who was backstage that night, remember all too well who that
volunteer was, but I will refrain from naming names, thanks to the statute
of limitations. In any case, the individual in question has undergone not
only a change of name but, in fact, a change of gender, so best to protect
this then-notorious hell-raiser from further embarassment. By all accounts
they've cleaned up their life, which is just as well, since that life nearly
came to an end that night at the hands of some extremely irate Festival
administrative staff.)
This was, of course, an unaccountably thoughtless and stupid thing for this
volunter to do, and the individual was persona non grata in Festival circles
for some time afterwards. However, a more immediate problem had to be dealt
with: Mr. Van Ronk, by the time he was scheduled to go on, gave the
appearance of being scarcely able to walk to his chair onstage, let alone
perform. Mr. Van Ronk, however, trouper that he was, insisted on going on
and fulfilling his obligation, and the AD, realizing that the next few
minutes would yield either an all-time disaster or a performance that would
go down a legend, chose to gamble that it would be the latter. The rest of
us just crossed our fingers.
I had hurriedly taken a seat in the volunteer's ghetto at stage left. When
Van Ronk emerged onto the stage to tumultuous applause, the audience, of
course, had no idea of the backstage drama that had just been going on.
However, the more observant among them- or at least those closest to the
stage- may have begun to suspect that something was amiss when the sizeable
Mr. Van Ronk, his shambling bear's gait rather more shambling than usual,
semi-staggered right past his chair-and-mike setup, carrying his guitar by
the neck. He stopped just in time to avoid becoming the first and so far
only Vancouver performer to take a head-first stage dive into the audience,
and stood there, swaying back and forth and peering owlishly into the
floodlights. Those of us backstage held our collective breath, except for
those who were frantically muttering prayers. Prayers which were answered
moments later when Dave retraced his steps and somehow navigated his way
back to his chair, on which he sat heavily down.
Mr. Van Ronk, ever a dedicated Brechtian, then initiated what could be
called a spontaneous demonstration of Brecht's "Verfremdung", or distancing
effect. In this case it consisted of spending the next several minutes
sitting silently on his chair, his enormous shoulders hunched over, arms
folded on top of his guitar, gazing balefully into the far distance over the
heads of the audience. He kept this up for so long that there were those of
us who feared that he had finally passed out and only friction was keeping
him from pitching forward onto his face in a shocking heap, his guitar
crushed beneath him. However, this theory was undermined by the fact that
his eyes were open, though just barely; he seemed to be squinting fiercely
at something beyond human ken.
To give you an idea of what Mr. Van Ronk may have been squinting at, I must
make a brief diversion. The Vancouver Folk Music Festival, has, since the
second Festival in 1979, taken place annually on the third weekend in July
at Jericho Beach Park in Vancouver, BC. Jericho Beach Park, as the name
might imply, is a beachfront park, a beautiful natural environment, <> 40
acres of rolling lawns, willow trees and songbird-filled marshes on the
shores of English Bay, on the upscale west side of the city. It is a
spectacular setting with an unparallelled view of sea, sky, mountains and
far-off cityscape. Sailboats jauntily glide by on the restless waves. Many
well-traveled performers, journalists and other visitors have said that it
has the most beautiful setting of any folk festival in the world, and who am
I to argue with that?
In any case, the view from the main stage, where the evening concerts take
place (daytime workshops and concerts are held on six other stages scattered
about the site) looks into the far West and encompasses much of the view I
spoke of earlier. In addition to the view of water and mountains (on a clear
day one can see as far west as the snow-capped peaks of Vancouver Island, 35
miles away), the sunsets are often magnificent; and as Mr. Van Ronk had
walked (more or less) on stage at about 9:30 PM, a truly gorgeous west coast
sunset was in its final throes. No doubt this heavily influenced the way in
which things unfolded. Now, back to our story...
Finally, Mr. Van Ronk broke his silence. But did he slide into a raucous
version of "Losers"? Reach into the past for "One Meatball" (possibly my
all-time favorite DVR recording)? Well, no. He made no effort to move his
folded arms to a guitar-playing position. Instead, he spoke. And what he
said was, as near as I can remember his exact words (pardon the use of
capitals to capture his cadences): "SHHHEEIIIITTTT!!! I can't PLAY here,
man!" (Our hearts nearly stopped--was he finally admitting defeat at the
hands of the bottle, so to speak? But no, he went on...) "This place is TOO
FUCKIN' BEAUTIFUL!!! I'm used to playin' in scummy little BARS...!!!
SHIIITT, man!!!" He laughed, looking rueful, awed, amused and pained all at
the same time. Then he started to sing, and the world suddenly stopped.
It stopped, because what he chose to sing-- a capella, of course-- was Dock
Reese's great "Go Down, Old Hannah". In the liner notes to Van Ronk's 1980
"Somebody Else, Not Me" album-- one of his best, I think-- Van Ronk calls
"Old Hannah" "The biggest song I ever attempted. It's like a one-man
oratorio... It comes from a Texas prison farm... Old Hannah, obviously, is
the sun".
And the fast-vanishing sun is what Van Ronk had been fiercely peering at for
those endless silent minutes. And that sight evidently inspired him almost
beyond belief. As soon as he began to sing "Old Hannah", any lingering fears
about his ability to perform that liquid night were instantly shattered. He
was, in a word, magnificent. It was a performance of such power and
intensity that I don't think anyone who was there will ever forget it. Van
Ronk's thundering voice rose up and shook down the stars from the darkening
skies. There have been only a few times in my life when I have been
spontaneously moved to tears by the sheer awesome beauty and passion of a
live performance, but this was one of them. In black music it's called
"soul". In flamenco-- a music Van Ronk loved-- it's called "duende". It has
as many names as there are musical cultures. Call it what you will, it only
happens on very special occasions, and is only achieved by very great
artists who tap into something that transcends the physical plane.
I will remember that night as long as I live. And you know what? I haven't
the slightest idea what else Van Ronk sang that night; it was a long time
ago. But it doesn't matter in the least. When he sang "Old Hannah" that
night he was walking with the gods.
And that, friends and neighbours, is who and what we lost today. One of the
very great ones has passed. Take some time today to look into the West, into
the setting sun, and remember Dave Van Ronk. Go Down Old Hannah, indeed.
*Damn*, we're going to miss him... more than we can possibly imagine.
GMW
Stev Lenon
--
Stev,
Happily dancing in the Phil Zone and scattering Garcia Ashes
In Healthcare, the bottom line should be patient wellbeing, not corporate
profits
Stev Lenon MT(ASCP) should you care or need to know.
Save a cow, eat a PETA member
sle...@tampabay.rr.com
http://web.tampabay.rr.com/stevglo/index.html/slhomepage92kword.htm