WEEK 10 | Country Blues: The Delta - Let's Talk about 'Honey'

Strangely enough, I had quite a bit of difficult this week getting into the songs. Even after listening to them over and over again, it did not click with me. However, I did come to notice something…While I may have not been able to really connect to the songs, I noticed a trend in the tone and lyrics within the music.

Many of the blues artists sing about a woman (and occasionally a man) who they love or hold dear. They either make reference to these loved ones by either stating that they are going away (sleeping around or seeing other people), not returning the love they give, or mistreating them.

Honey Bee
She been all around the world making honey
But now she is coming back home to me.

Corrina, Corrina
I love Corrina, God knows I do
And I hope that someday, she come to love me too.

Careless Love
Love, O love, O careless love,
You see what careless love has done.
It's gone and broke this heart of min,
It'll break that heart of yours sometime.

In my own fancy, I suppose, I coined these mysterious loved ones under the umbrella term of 'honey'. Sweet, loving honey, like the endearing name people title their sweethearts. These blues artists are stuck to their honey and the time they invest in their honey is like the time it takes to harvest the actual food.

What made these 'honeys' worth singing about?

Why do the singers want to keep their 'honeys' contained?

To me, honey is free flowing. The jar of a container that the honey is placed in is now open, allowing it to ooze out on its own choosing. Moreover, the honey has the option to ooze out in any direction, place, or length of time it wants. The act of they honey leaving the jar and dripping into its own essence is representative of the singers' 'honeys' leaving them.

*** 

On a separate note, Baylor's piece tonight stirred something in me and I felt compelled to write it down. Even though it is nowhere nearly representative of how I feel, it is sudden and, above all else, true.

§

Sometimes I feel so under control that I wonder what it is like to be human.

People move, people shake, cry, rise, and fall;

and I cannot do anything but stand still.

A still standing statue of a corpse.

Tell me what it feels like to be alive, because try as hard as I do, 

my fingers are sewn together and I cannot grasp my being.

I cannot embrace my soul.

And God knows,

Oh, God knows.

How do I be?

§

WEEK 9 | Woody Guthrie - Songs of the Dust Bowl

Listening to this week's songs, I was conflicted about this Woody Guthrie fellow. I could not quite decided whether or not I liked his work, his voice, or his music. To me, the idea of Woody Guthrie was a shifty one. And maybe it is because his songs had a certain kick to them or it was just that I did not like the stories he told. Either way, I found him disagreeable until I started my reading on him.

"He is leather". That comment struck me like no other, and it was within the first two-sentence description of Woody in our readers. As I continued to read more about it, my bias shifted. This always happens, doesn't it? You don't know the full story until you read up on it or really dig deep into the roots of it. I came to respect Woody, although I was not such a terribly big fan of his smoking…

He is leather.

A man wrapped with the lives and stories of the those things around him. He was a whirlwind, as strong of a force as those dust storms he sang about. I was trying to relate to one of his songs but none really embedded an image in my mind that I felt compelled to run after. At this point, I felt that I needed to visually understand this man and what his songs were about.

Woody was a man, and a man like no other. Although his photos were limited, man, you could read his life story by the look on his face. There was so much that spoke through the glint in his eyes and the way his lips furled around his cigarette. That cigarette…

I found it ironic how the smoke of a cigarette reminded me of a gust of dust just rising in billows. Granted those two do not necessarily look the same, but it is that idea of power - one that embodies it metaphorically and the other that demonstrates it physically - that they both share.

Cigarette smoke and dust bowl… the pictures of the dust bowl were horrific. Gigantic clouds of dust looming over houses that looked so small and ready to be demolished by this monster. Woody Guthrie really struck it on the nail when he sang about the dust bowl. Even if he added a bit of humor into his words, they were still grave.

And then there was the picture I was of three young ladies all wearing gas masks against the dust. That's where it all clicked for me.

Woody Guthrie was the voice of the people. While his songs were not toxic, their subjects were.

So long, it's been good to know you

So long, it's been good to know you

So long, it's been good to know you

This dusty old dust is a-getting my home

And I've got to be drifting along