MUSIC: Pete Seeger passed away last night. Fortunately he lived long enough to miss the Grammy’s. I hate to think of what they would have done as a tribute to him. A techno, hip-hop, country medley of Pete’s songs. Do we really need a rap version of Where have all the flowers gone? Well played, Pete.
I’ve always been a great admirer of Pete Seeger, his work and his music. I don’t think Pete cared much about admiration. Or how many plays he was getting on SoundCloud or iTunes. He was always himself and said what he meant to say. Or he wouldn’t say what they wanted him to say. Although I heard him in concert the event I’m thinking about today was at a hotel at one of the Folk Alliance meetings in Washington D.C. in the 90s. He was talking and singing to a small meeting room full of wannabe “Petes” —musicians like myself that were there to be discovered (if that is possible in folk music.) It was more of a conversation, a musical chat. He was always more interested in sharing than being a star. Most of us put our egos back in our guitar cases and soaked up the wisdom.
Back when I was a 10 or 11-year-old kid learning guitar from my sister Barbara, Pete Seeger’s instruction records were one of my teachers when she was off at college. Music lessons were a big deal in my family. I had piano lessons, violin lessons, voice lessons and probably other instruments I can’t remember. But none of them stuck or sunk in. Somehow, teaching myself with the help of Pete worked where all the lessons and practicing didn’t. The books came with an LP record so you could hear what it was supposed to sound like. I remember the first song was done in one chord without any changes – I gave my love a cherry. I could actually do that and it made me feel more confident. Later someone lent me a 5 string banjo and I used his banjo instruction book to get started. Whatever little bits of banjo I can still play are from those lessons. Then my dad gave me the Weaver’s Song Book and I learned a lot of the songs in there. Still use the songbook today.
