How many folk songs must a man listen to before he calls it a day?
The answer, my friend, is this: There’s always time for one more folksy song, no matter how hokey the lyrics or dated the message, when it is lovingly sung and shared. Ask the people who took time out recently at The Mutiny, a darkly cozy bar on Chicago’s Western Avenue, to sing out old folk-protest standards and drink to the message of social change.
Dubbed the Social Justice Hootenanny by its organizers from the Chicago School of Professional Psychology, the sing-along featured musicians from the Old Town School of Folk Music. Joining in from their bar stools and spots on the floor was a crowd of about 60, from kids decked in low-riders and college sweat shirts to comparative old-timers, some long-haired and balding, some in flannel and berets, who could remember when folk-protest songs first seared the nation’s consciousness.
“Often we passively listen [to music] but don’t participate anymore,” organizer Janna Henning, 42, told the crowd. “We decided to have a hootenanny where it’s dark and there’s liquor and people will sing with us.”
After Henning reminded the crowd that “liquid courage is available for purchase at the bar,” the crowd settled comfortably into drinking, singing along with the performers and occasionally chatting with each other.
Meanwhile, the performers tapped into a well of earnestness as they sang such songs as Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “The Times They Are a Changin'” and Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” (“there’s something happening here . . . “). Many of them seemed swept up in the moment as they clenched their eyes shut, tapped a foot, swayed and strummed on guitar.
“Sing along on the `ohs’ and on `the harmony,'” performer Steve Baker of Chicago told the crowd as he launched into “Peace, Love and Understanding”:
“As I walk on through troubled times/My spirit gets so downhearted sometimes/So where are the strong and who are the trusted/And where is–” and the crowd belted out: “the harmony, sweet harmony?”
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After his performance, Baker, 32, stopped for a chat. Today’s music isn’t as powerful as some older music, he said.
“I think popular music has plateaued; it all sounds similar,” he said. “It maybe sedates us more than inspires us.”
Not that there’s no good stuff out there, said Baker, who repairs guitars for a living. He calls Wilco, Chicago’s hometown heroes, “relevant and powerful.”
“I think music is still powerful on an individual basis,” he said. “Can it help change a great number of people? I don’t know.”
Louise Dimiceli-Mitran’s performance didn’t invoke happy nostalgia–it harked back to the bad ol’ days of sex discrimination.
“The Engineer Song,” which she told the crowd she first sang at a feminist convention ages ago, was refreshingly dated: “An engineer could never have a baby/Remember, dear, that you’re a girl./So I became a typist and I studied on the sly . . . “
Dimiceli-Mitran, 50, is convinced of music’s power.
“As someone who bases her life on it, you damn betcha!” the Chicago music therapist declared after her performance.
The next wave
But for the most part, today’s music isn’t leading the way anywhere, she said.
“The ’60s and ’70s were so focused on political and civil rights, and you could tell by the music,” she said. “Today all the songs you hear are about love; they don’t put other songs on the radio. We’re so oversexed these days! But it’s changing. There’s growing political dissent, a growing call for change. Maybe music will follow. Usually, it’s been first.”
To Julie Friend, 23, a student at the School of Psychology who sat in the crowd with pals, the messages of civil rights, equality of the sexes and other social issues don’t resonate in today’s music because “we know all that.”
“People are more aware of social problems today and more willing to pitch in to help,” she said. “We grew up learning that. People say young people are apathetic, but we’re the opposite. We’re more in tune today.”
Dimiceli-Mitran, who enjoys listening to the soothing sounds of James Taylor and Norah Jones, also gave a nod to music’s future, saying, “The new wave of music is healing.”
“I work with cancer patients, and I see what music can do,” she said. “Also, there’s a call to community. Look at the growth of drum circles, including in Chicago.”
The debate over new music versus old could go on into the night. But the shared optimism of performer Dimiceli-Mitran and crowd member Friend was reflected in perhaps the night’s most jubilant moment, as the crowd heartily chimed in on the Beatles’ “Revolution.”
In spirited falsettos, their voices rang out high and clear: “Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right . . . all right . . . all right . . . “
