ALICE’S RESTAURANT AND OTHER EATING PLACES…
I’ve been meaning to write about the concert I attended at Sydenham United Church a week ago. Arlo Guthrie, son of Woody, and contender with Bob Dylan for the mantle passed down by that icon, put on a show to remember. The Grand Theatre out of commission for reno, the church provided an intimate ambience for Guthrie and his accoompaniment to put on the kind of show that big time stars these days often don’t. Two hours, plus, with an encore, left no one dissatisfied. The sell-out at Sydenham United meant that Guthrie ouotdrew Jesus, who played a gig a couple of weeks ago, but had two less people in the audience. It was great to see the early-arriving crowd snake back along William Street, past the Painted Lady. “No reserved seats, we were told, get there early.” Nice to see people clamouring to get into church…..
The music itself demonstrated that the once-scrawny and winsome Guthrie–the kid we remember from Woodstock–was now clearly middle-aged, and smart, kind of a slightly larger, more hirsute version of Kenny Rogers. Guthrie and his group sang all the old standards, and demonstrated in the process a greater range than one suspected–we were treated to rag-time, blue grass, blues, sixties rock, and even–as his continuing good-natured patter made clear–some current topical stuff. And we know that there is much topical stuff out there for the folk singer to comment upon these days. His good-natured quarrel with Dylan came up several times, as did some veiled criticism of the inhabitant of the White House. One suspects that the border cops are watching even Arlo, who made us remember psychedelia and Vietnam. Indeed, sitting and listening, I thought of the late 1960s and early 1970s on numerous occasions. Indeed, given the fact that the median colour hair in the audience was grey running to white, it’s clear that the younger hip-hopo, rap generation Y is not into the kind of music we are (we meaning over 50).
The highlights were the expected: “Alice’s Restaurant,” and the story behind it, and after it, provided the highlight to wait for, and “Hey Mr. Tambourine Man” made me want to dance in the aisle (highly improper in this good Victorian town). “This Land is Your Land” brought a tear, mainly because “this land” seems no longer to belong “to you or me”. The lyrics of Woody’s music–and Arlo reprised several of the dust-bowl ballads–make one think of the people and the interests, and how the latter screw the former. No surprise that Woody Guthrie taped a piece of paper to his guitar, on which was written, “THIS WEAPON KILLS FASCISTS”. “My Song is My Gun,” historian Robbie Lieberman titled her fine book on folk and politics several years ago.
Arlo Guthrie may have been a radical cultural figure at Woodstock. With the passing of time, he’s kept and developed his sense of humour, his comprehension of human frailties, and his optimism. The evening made one think about responsibility and power, and what people with power might be doing better with that commodity.
Your comments welcome…..