CD REVIEW: John Mellencamp, 'Freedom's Road' (2007)

CD Review by John Pietaro

John Mellencamp, Freedom’s Road, Compact Disc, 2007 Universal Music Group

Singer-songwriter John Mellencamp has long since grown out of his 1980s ‘John Cougar’ persona, yet the 55 year-old’s latest release expresses a new maturity. With “Freedom’s Road” he offers a realistic view of the United States in these times, through the metaphor of the all-American road-trip. And he takes the listener along for the ride. Hard to say exactly how the heartland will respond, but suffice to say that this album works on many levels, from social protest to flag-waver.

Yes, this album is filled with Americanisms—Country & Western-tinged radio-ready anthems (complete with the occasional fiddle and female choir) that intermingle with classic rock trappings. A strong and solid rhythm section lays down the foundation for crisp guitar leads whirling Hammond organ and gritty vocals. But the star-spangled road is one which careens along lost, dusty highways that travel through forgotten places. The Midwest of Mellencamp’s youth—or rather the idealized Midwest of his youth—has been replaced with a hard reality. Even the CD packaging speaks volumes: though adorned with wonderfully cliché photos that wreak of “brotherhood week”, good times and road travel, the sepia stain belies the tail-gait party. Closer inspection reveals what’s hidden beneath the family values…a burning cross here, a hanging tree there, a snarling police dog and a few other choice relics of the pre-Civil Rights years in small town America.

Musically, Mellencamp is probably not treading new ground here, still it’s good to know that he’s never at a loss for pop sensibility. This is a damned listenable album. It is accessible to all, even if they had to be led in through the airing of “Our Country” on a commercial before it was heard on radio (ah, John, the irony is not lost that this bitter drive through Americana was paved with a Chevy ad). No matter; once you’re in the passenger seat, you’ll listen. And I guess that’s the whole point. In recent interviews, Mellencamp stated that, but for the constant airing of his song as a jingle, his new album may have been dead on the charts upon release. Sad, but probably very much the case.

“Our Country” is far from a pedestrian number. The songwriter masterfully grafted a topical song onto a prideful Country tune which calls for bigotry to be replaced with equality, and for science to stand alongside religion. Much like a Thomas Hart Benton painting in a WPA gallery, this song speaks of a people’s USA in gritty but positive terms. Further, Mellencamp seemingly crowned the album’s title as a result of the final verse in Woody Guthrie’s song, “This Land is Your Land”, which includes the line, “Nobody living can ever stop me as I go riding down freedom’s highway…”. Mellencamp puts more than a bit of old-style populism into his music, like the founders of the folk revival. It all speaks of—and to—you and I. And what could be more American than dissent? (try telling that to a Republican back home). This emotion extends into the CD’s opening number, “Someday”, a call-and-response major-minor introduction to this journey through the back roads of the US. Its positive yet urgent message is compelling; almost a “How long? Not long” wrapped in formulaic Country-rock. With ease, it pulls the listener in.

Mellencamp pulls no punches, and expresses no patience, in cuts such as “Ghost Towns Along the Highway” (small town runes) and “Rural Route” (harsh dysfunctions and abuses masked by country secrets). And he demonstrates marked irony in “The Americans”, which expounds over-the-top American virtue. Mellencamp has explained that this lyric does not indicate the reality of human relations in the Midwest and south, but what needs to occur there. Acceptance, inclusiveness and equality are still a far-off goal for many, he explained, but the song offers no visible sign of the composer winking into his microphone. Listeners will take this at whichever level they choose to, or are ready to.

This album’s other points of immediate interest include the title song (which declares that “Freedom’s Road must be under construction”) and the powerfully significant “Jim Crow”, a duet with folk legend Joan Baez, so much a part of the Civil Rights era. Here’s a daring piece which reflects upon today’s racism, disguised as it may be beneath acceptable smiles. How easy it is for many of us to rest on the laurels of the past forty years, ignoring the various hatreds in our midst.

And that’s really what this pocket of the American experience in 2007 seems to be about. Yes—we can fight to take it back from the bigots, the corrupt leaders, the manipulators and the reactionaries, but we first need to realize that it’s gone. Otherwise “Freedom’s Road” is just more background music at a ballgame, barbecue….or a Chevy spot.

-ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN Z MAGAZINE, 2007-

FILM REVIEW: 'Bruno' (2009)

Film Review by John Pietaro:

BRUNO, Universal Pictures, 2009

Sacha Baron Cohen has a tendency to pick the scabs off of our societal infections, if only to look closely at the festering within. Cohen, who turned the mirror on southern US conventions in last year’s Borat, exposing the racism and xenophobia that lurks in Dixie—and points east and west—has returned for another trip through this nation’s most embarrassing moments, but this time brought to us through the lens of the Bizarro world.

The character of Bruno Gehard, an oversexed, flamboyantly gay, Austrian “fashionista” whose behavior is hyper to the point of being overwhelming, was developed for Cohen’s cable television program “Da Ali G. Show” some years ago. All of the show’s characters, Borat, Bruno and Ali G himself were portrayed by Cohen, demonstrating his skill for characterization as much as his twisted sense of derring-do: each of the characters stumbled through unscripted interviews with unwitting targets who usually left the interview bewildered, agitated and unsure as to whether or not they’d been victimized by a Candid Camera for today’s dangerous times. While Borat, a supposed Kazakhstani with harshly anti-Semitic and sexist opinions, did little to foster relations with the Middle East, Bruno straddles the fence that was torn down by the Stonewall uprising forty years ago. Okay, maybe I should stop… I am not trying to say that this stuff is not funny: it was hard to sit through this and not laugh—hysterically most of the time. But the guffaws heard in the theatre all sounded like they were sharing space with grave discomfort, endless cringing and pure guilty pleasure. Yet it is clear that while exposing the rabid homophobia found in southern blue-collar communities, Cohen is both winking at and laughing at those in the know. It’s a slippery slope. But then so is the plot itself…

Bruno, the host of a European television show, finds himself jobless following a candidly filmed disaster at a very real Milan Week fashion show (Paul McCartney is seen in the audience). He of course relocates to the United States, seeking notoriety in L.A. and engaging in behavior that only begins with ‘outlandish. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture this amazingly flamboyant figure trying to interact with the so-called beautiful people and making a fool of everyone in the process. But as Cohen’s core goal here is to expose the ugliness beneath the gloss, he never comes close to leaving well-enough alone. Modeling himself on “Bradjolina”, Bruno even feels the need to illegally adopt an African baby (“I traded him for an Ipod”, he explains to a horrified talk show audience). He names the child “O.J.”, telling all that it’s a “traditional African-American name”, of course.

In an attempt to interview a harried Harrison Ford, Bruno is blown off with profanities by the irritated actor. More so, Cohen exposes singer Paula Abdul, one of the hosts of TV’s ‘American Idol’, in a horribly uncomfortable segment. All of his resources are spent on crew and interview site, so there’s no money left over for furniture. He acquires the use of three Mexican laborers to become the furniture (yes, you read this correctly). While the three were probably in on the nature of this gag, Abdul clearly was not, thus the frightening outcome of an interview about her humanitarian activities while sitting on the back of a middle-aged Mexican worker who’s seen looking visibly uncomfortable. Though he had her for a while, Cohen’s need to push the envelope to the furthest limits ultimately saw the singer leave in an embarrassed ‘huff’. But no more so than his biggest catch: former presidential candidate Ron Paul! Paul is discussing his election platform during his interview with Bruno when there’s an equipment failure and the discussion needs to be put on hold. In one of the most uncomfortable segments you’ll ever witness in a movie, Bruno takes Paul to his bedroom and attempts to awkwardly seduce the Congressman, who storms out of the suite in a flurry of furious choice statements including “queer!” So much for the Ron Paul revolution.

But the film doesn’t end with the humiliation of a few cultural icons, not at all. Bruno decides to tour the American south after being blacklisted in Hollywood, taking us into the Alabama offices of evangelist preachers who claim to be able to “cure” homosexuality (“You need to engage in activities with other men, being around strong men in good, manly activities” one of them says to him, stepping right into Bruno’s homoerotic trap). Of course he ends up on an overnight hunting expedition with guys who could be part of a routine by Larry the Cable Guy, straight out of ‘Hee Haw’—but are not. Though offering to climb into their tents while naked, Bruno somehow survives the night, but just barely. He also infiltrates an Alabama swingers’ party, again somehow coming away relatively unscathed, but the movie-goer watches these scenes with hands almost entirely covering the eyes, realizing that Cohen’s cinema verite cringe-fest is ultimately no joke.

This film climaxes, so to speak, with a temporarily macho Bruno in the part of Ultimate Fighting promoter “Straight Dave” speaking to a packed southern auditorium full of screaming fans. Remarkably, the crowd really does believe that “Straight Dave”, whose slogans are some of the harshest in homophobic history, is for real, and the beer-guzzling rightwing Nascar types in the house are whipped into a frenzy awaiting the bouts he is presenting. But “Dave” is joined by his male lover in the midst of all this and they begin embracing and writhing in an open-mouthed, graphic sexual display as infuriated and horrified spectators holler out violent threats and rush the cage, throwing beer and chairs over the fenced-in ring. While this episode was surely a set-up for the unsuspecting fans of uber-macho sport, it presents to us just how ugly the heart of America can be. The crowd’s response could only have been augmented with a cross-burning.

While most enlightened people see the character of Bruno in the context of guerilla humor--not as a mean-spirited caricature of a gay man but a means to expose the public’s hateful reaction to the lifestyle--one comes away wondering. If an apparently straight Cohen needs to use the worst stereotypes of gay culture as a means to poke fun at the red-faced reactions to it, whom is he ultimately serving? I won’t give up on the clear progressive message herein, even if its drowned in a sea of contemporary shock-value humor, but viewing the film from a Marxist perspective is like tip-toeing through a mine-field. We love it when Cohen has battled with hard-core rightists in the past—hip activists always get the joke--but wonder if the denizens of conservatism are just laughing at the titular character, using it to proved their judgmental views “correct”. In any case, Bruno is a trip through the underbelly of the good ol’ boys around us and possibly, quite possibly, within us too.

THIS ARTICLE ORIGINALLY APPEARED IN ‘POLITICAL AFFAIRS’ MAGAZINE ONLINE, JULY 2009

OBITUARY: Irwin Silber (2010)

IRWIN SILBER, a Craftsman of the Folk Revival, Dies at 84

Obituary by John Pietaro

Irwin Silber (1925-2010) is recalled today as a primary craftsman of the urban folk song revival, that which grew out of the 1940s and culminated in the early 1960s. He died on September 8 in Oakland California from complications of Alzheimer’s disease.

Founder of the celebrated ‘Sing Out!’ magazine, Silber was a noted writer, social activist and cultural organizer and like many of his time, he focused on his mission with unwavering eyes, even when it brought him nearly to the point of blows with many inside the movement. His notorious battles with Bob Dylan on the pages of ‘Sing Out!’, chiding the songwriter as he strayed away from the acoustic genre and expanded his lyrical spectrum beyond the topical, added to the generational tear between Lefts old and new. Still, Silber’s commitment to progressive ideals remained cherished; in recent decades he came to be seen as a sage who’d been present for many historic struggles for social change and chronicled them in real time.

Silber was born in Manhattan on October 17, 1925, just in time to experience the formative years of the Great Depression. Like many of his contemporaries in New York City’s working-class Jewish community, Silber came to quickly understand the relevance of fight-back. Rapidly he developed into an activist, joining the ranks of the Young Communist League and then the Communist Party itself. As a student at Brooklyn College he organized the American Folksay Group and through his associations with the likes of Pete Seeger and Alan Lomax, Silber became an integral part of Seeger’s post-war People’s Songs organization. Here was an independent artist-run collective which not only sought to publish the songs of veteran Left-wing folksingers, but it also grew into a national network for the publicity and management of same. Silber was on the founding committee of People’s Songs, ultimately growing into one of its leaders and became a frequent contributor to its newsletter. ‘The People’s Songs Newsletter’ was deemed a very important means of communication among the folksingers of the Left and many important songs were published within its pages. But by 1948 pressures from the increasingly rightward trend in the nation saw the organization falling victim to red-baiting and ultimately disbanding. By 1950, the newsletter, too, was gone. Silber, recognizing the strength in a national magazine to publish and popularize new topical songs, created ‘Sing Out!’ later that year. He served as its editor until 1968, publishing articles and songs by Woody Guthrie, Seeger, Malvina Reynolds, Leadbelly and many artists found then within college campuses and in coffee houses.

As the icons of the initial folk revival gave way to the next generation of the early ‘60s, Silber’s magazine (along with Sis Cunningham’s ‘Broadside’) became most noted for its publication of songs by Dylan, Phil Ochs, Joan Baez, Judy Collins and other rising stars then selling out folk festivals. Coverage of these artists, as well as having their latest songs in print and available to young people rushing out to buy guitars and banjos, allowed ‘Sing Out!’ to be seen as the folksinger’s bible. Yet in 1965 as Bob Dylan went electric, Silber found himself in the midst of battle and his fiery criticism saw Dylan refusing to publish any more songs in the magazine. The confrontation with this most prized celebrity songwriter and Silber’s attacks on other notables of the day, including Phil Ochs, saw him eventually fall into disfavor among the youth movement. He was asked to leave ‘Sing Out!’ by ‘68 due to his hard-line stand—one which appeared to reflect the old Left he’d already removed himself from; he’d severed ties with the Communist Party by 1955. Ironically, Silber had by then become a driving force in an SDS offshoot, the decidedly Maoist organization, the New Communist Movement, and went on to write and edit their newspaper, ‘the Guardian’.

Throughout his life, Irwin Silber can best be described as a cultural worker. When in the late 1950s he was called into questioning by the House Un-American Activities Committee , he memorably told the Committee that his work at the Party-led Jefferson School of Social Science was in the teaching of square dancing. During his years with ‘Sing Out!’ he was sure to publish a progressive magazine and made an effort to focus on songs of protest---topics such as civil rights, the Vietnam War, the women’s movement and any number of struggles for liberation were of primary focus. In 1964 Silber married Jazz vocalist/activist Barbara Dane and the two embarked on a journey to seek out, record and publish songs of revolution around the world. He and Dane maintained their own record label, Paredon, to preserve the music, throughout 1980, at which time it was wholeheartedly given to the Folkways label.

Though Silber published several books on folk music, he also authored a number of works on politics and in 2004 a biography of Lester Rodney--prized sportswriter for Communist Party newspaper ‘the Daily Worker’ , completing the circle of his avowedly radical life and times.

-Originally published in Political Affairs, September 2010-

OBITUARY: Margaret Whiting

Margaret Whiting , Singer and Social Activist, 1924-2011

by John Pietaro

Margaret Whiting (July 22, 1924 – January 10, 2011), star of Broadway, cabaret and recording, died this past week at the Lillian Booth Actor’s Home in Englewood New Jersey. A vocalist since childhood, her father was acclaimed songwriter Richard Whiting, musical partner of Johnny Mercer. With such successes as “Hooray for Hollywood”, the family moved from New York to Beverly Hills where Mercer was to found Capitol Records. Following her father’s untimely death in 1938, Mercer acted as a father figure and the young Ms. Whiting, already active in clubs and theatre, was the first vocalist signed to Capitol; she was just eighteen.

A string of 1940s and ‘50s hit records, initially as a big band singer and then as a solo artist or in duet with others, included “That Old Black Magic”, “Moonlight in Vermont”, “Baby Its Cold Outside”, “Slippin’ Around”, “Come Rain or Come Shine” and her theme song, “It Might As Well Be Spring”. Whiting split her time between the two coasts—and beyond-- headlining on Broadway, acting in films and performing in both nightclubs and USO reviews until ultimately settling in Manhattan. There she was quick to move into television work in the earliest 1950s and in addition to guest appearances on contemporary variety shows, she and her sister Barbara had their own situation comedy, “Those Whiting Girls”, which furthered her celebrity. Important cabaret appearances and recordings continued through the 1960s and Whiting was even asked to play an uncredited role in a noted film, dubbing a singing track for Susan Hayward in ‘Valley of the Dolls’.

In the mid-1970s Whiting met Gay porn actor Jack Wrangler (twenty years her junior but who lived only until 2009) and the two developed a close, caring relationship, ultimately marrying. Famously, Whiting declared Wrangler only as “gay around the edges”. While the pair stated their relationship was never sexual, they had a partnership which saw Wrangler producing several of Whiting’s shows including in Broadway theatres. The marriage to Wrangler was her fourth; previously she’d had a relationship with actor John Garfield and then three unsuccessful marriages to others involved in film or theatre. Her second marriage, to musician Lou Busch, produced her only child, Deborah, who survives her.

While Whiting’s work in theatre and clubs sustained her name throughout the 70s, 80s, 90s and into the 2000s, she also became increasingly known as a social activist in this latter period. According to WBAI-FM air personality David Rothenberg, Whiting was a strong advocate for civil rights and civil liberties causes and was known in New York as a great supporter for progressive political campaigns. Rothenberg, a founder of the Fortune Society and a theatre publicist who ran for City Council in 1985, stated that she was always available to perform for fundraisers. In an on-air statement on January 15, he said her loss was great and that she’d been a much-loved figure in the progressive arts world.

Most powerfully, she is recalled as an AIDS activist who aligned herself with this cause before most other celebrities would, performing at the very first HIV benefit concert in 1982, San Francisco. She also organized and headlined many other such events and helped to sustain then little-known organizations which would grow into national advocacy and social service groups. The New Jersey blog ‘Plainfield Today’ featured an article on Whiting’s importance in trying to help the fledgling Hyacinth AIDS Foundation in a fundraising concert in the mid-80s:

“The Hyacinth AIDS Foundation…pioneered outreach and services to those with HIV/AIDS in the Garden State… The formation of the group coincided with the deepening health crisis -- and the subsequent awareness that HIV/AIDS was not a 'gay problem', but a communitywide health issue of enormous proportions. Thousands of dollars were raised by the Margaret Whiting event, at which the singer movingly talked about the friends and acquaintances she had lost to the AIDS epidemic…Whiting spurred RSVP members to get active in raising funds for medical research, providing social services and educating the community generally that what we were facing was a public health emergency” (http://ptoday.blogspot.com/)

Whiting maintained her role in activism, particularly in the company of Jack Wrangler, well beyond the early years of the AIDS epidemic, yet this fact has been elusive in current press. Her activist core aside, Whiting will be recalled as a favorite of the great American songbook. As she was beginning to experience a decline in health in 2009, Whiting was able to see something of a renewed interest in her career when her 1947 recording of the Julie Styne/Sammy Cahn song “Time After Time” was heard on the soundtrack of the Meryl Streep film ‘Julie and Julia.

(Photo: 'Life' magazine)

FILM REVIEW: "Phil Ochs--- There But for Fortune"

Film Review by John Pietaro

PHIL OCHS: THERE BUT FOR FORTUNE

Directed by Ken Bowser (www.philochsthemovie.com).

Released, January 2011, IFC Center, New York, NY; premiered at the Woodstock Film Festival, Woodstock NY, 2010.

Documentarian Ken Bowser walked up the aisle to the front of the IFC Center in Greenwich Village for the premiere of ‘Phil Ochs: There But for Fortune’ and explained that this film was some twenty years in the making. Twenty years for a documentary about a folksinger of a time that now seems far into the past, one who never lived to know of his place in the annals of topical music. Citing that Ochs’ brief life and briefer still career fell far short of the popular acclaim he struggled for, Bowser reminded the audience that, “it’s important that we who love Phil Ochs and understand his relevance let others know”. It was never supposed to be a closed society of the initiated, so spread the news---all the news that’s fit to sing. The protest singer’s vibrancy in performance, the visceral stir in his voice and the earnest plead on his face are back. The music’s depth, the urgency of the day and the living movements that Ochs was so central to are visible for all to see. Leaning awkwardly over a microphone while cradling his Gibson 6-string, James Dean haircut spilling over his forehead, cocked eyebrow revealing sardonic wit while the mouth produces an earnest portal for songs of pride and revolution, Ochs erupts onto the screen, something of a celluloid hero. Within the cinema that was once the legendary Waverly Theatre—a site frequented by Phil in the ‘60s, walking distance from his Bleeker Street apartment—it was easy to feel transported. And necessary. These times, too, need Phil Ochs.

At least partially erased from popular memory, Ochs is recalled today in an awkward hush. But wasn’t that a time? The singer didn’t just burst upon the early ‘60s folk scene intact--he was crafted out of pure determination and idealism. The product of a challenging, to say the least, childhood (Ochs’ sister Sonny and brother Michael both attest to their manic-depressive father and coldly disconnected mother), young Phil tended to be a loner who idolized film stars and fostered a burning, secret desire for fame. “The psychosis of the Eisenhower era”, as record producer Van Dyke Parks described it, implanted in Ochs’ the conflict that was to mark the years of protest to come. Deeply patriotic, the teenage Ochs began to understand something of the injustice in his midst and he began to see beyond the surface. In college while studying for a career as a journalist, Ochs befriended folksinger Jim Glover who introduced him to the music of Woody Guthrie and the Weavers; his writings took a notable turn to the left. And after years of study on clarinet, Ochs obtained his first guitar, winning it from Glover in a bet when he wagered that Kennedy would beat Nixon in the ’60 election. Ochs never retreated.

The writing of topical songs came easily---they flowed at a blurring rate and offered up-to-the-moment social commentary. Phil noted that “every newspaper headline is a song” and before long his performances in Greenwich Village nightspots led to a major record contract and a national tour. The film offers a look into the tumultuous relationship he shared with another stalwart of the Village scene, Bob Dylan. While they were friends as young men, Dylan’s star shined considerably brighter than Ochs and as he rose to new heights, Ochs always felt at least a step behind. The rivalry haunted him. Still, Ochs’ impact was deeply touched by the activists who soon felt forsaken by Dylan. Cultural critic Christopher Hitchens, among the notable talking heads who offer wonderful insights, stated that “There was a difference between those who listened to Dylan and those who even knew who Phil was. Anyone could like Dylan”.

Eluded by wider popular acclaim, he staunchly maintained an immersion in protest music even as he graduated beyond its standard fair of singer and guitar. By his third studio album, Ochs’ transition was not into the realm of folk-rock--as his peers had moved into--but to an expansive, concept-driven format that made full use of orchestration and a variety of genre. String quartets, honky-tonk piano, woodwinds and electronic music provided a sweeping soundscape for Phil’s resounding tenor. Seemingly always aware of, yet in battle with, the tragic destiny of mental illness that would later claim him, Ochs fueled his passion with alcohol and work. But the brilliance of his music was never enough to satisfy the burning restlessness within the man or his conflicted self-image, equal parts self-important and shattered.

‘Phil Ochs: There But for Fortune’ offers powerful insights into the choice songwriter of in-the-know progressives. The film is a whirlwind tour through his music, his politics and his personal demons, with stopping points which include skillfully edited performance and interview footage, news reels and rare photographs. First person remembrances are provided by Ochs’ family as well as fellow folkies Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, Dave Van Ronk, Jim Glover, Judy Henske, and Peter Yarrow (the elusive Dylan was, as Bowser described, unavailable for interviewing). Overall, the film is a fascinating view into the urgency of the times, the movement culture, and the folksong community’s response to Civil Rights, Vietnam, labor strife, and the murders of the Kennedys, Medgar Evars and Martin Luther King. Ochs was inflamed with activism and willingly thrust himself into the street heat---this is where he differed from the rest! Other important historic segments in the film are the interviews of Yippie founders Paul Krasner, Ed Sanders (of the Fugs) and, via archival footage, Abbie Hoffman. Hearing the personal recollections of the debacle of the 1968 Chicago Democratic Convention protest, along with footage of the police riot and ensuing despair, was riveting. Tom Hayden, never far from his radical roots, again offered moving commentary. The assaults by the Chicago police, the loss of an anti-war presidential candidate, and the dissolution of the activists base, post-’68, had a terrific impact on the already wavering Ochs. Sanders said that Phil saw the protestors as, influenced by 1930s radicalism, part of “a united front against the war”. Once it was broken, he began to state that he’d died in Chicago along with democracy---or at least the movement.

While Ochs later years are painful to observe, the power of the songs stands strong. It is almost unfathomable that Ochs was only 35 at the time of his death. Yet Bowser is sure to illustrate some of the exciting highlights of his later period, including his organizing of large-scale events such a his celebratory ‘the War Is Over’ concert in Central Park and the ‘An Evening With Salvador Allende’ in honor of the Chilean people whose radical democracy was stolen from them by a US-backed coup. Overall, the film does exactly what we, who have been waiting for something, want it to do. It offers a close-up view of this man who has often been deemed the protest song’s grandest voice. You’ll peer into the broken life of Phil Ochs but this image will be far surpassed by his promise of a new day. And, hell, if this is not enough to inspire you to attend the next rally for social change, then the music cannot miss. “I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore”, “Changes”, “The War is Over”, “White Boots Marching in a Yellow Land”, “Draft Dodger Rag”, “My Kingdom for a Car”, “Chords of Fame”, “No More Songs”, “Links in the Chain”, “The Ballad of Medgar Evars”, “Harlan Kentucky”, “We Call for No Wider War”, “When I’m Gone”. “There But for Fortune” and it rolls on and on, through the decades and the next senseless war.