Negro Songs
by Ian Cameron
The Musical Times, Vol. 63, No. 952 (Jun. 1, 1922), pp. 431-432
[This short article by Cameron is before 1923 so it is without copyright restriction. The lyrcs are standard it's interesting to note the edited, "preacher won't steal" in the 2nd set of lyrics (You Shall Be Free). R. Matteson 2011]
NEGRO SONGS
By IAN CAMERON
Down on the Suwanee River, Massa 's in the cold, cold ground, My Old Kentucky Home, and other of Foster's and kindred melodies, known as Plantation Songs, are songs that the white man has put into the negro's mouth. The truth is the negro seldom sings them. They are not his in the truest sense. The real negro melodies are more or less grotesque, and sung to tunes that are partly creations and partly adaptations of songs he has caught imperfectly. I have heard many negro songs in the fields and tobacco stemmeries, and I do not recall that on any of these occasions the negroes sang, unless by special request, the so-called Plantation Songs.
Negroes are extremely emotional. Their favourite songs are religious with weird minor strains. After the religious songs come those of some phase of their own lives, and of the animal life about them. Joel Chandler Harris has caught this more truly than any other writer. The talk of his negroes is often heard in their songs. Brer (brother) rabbit, brer owl, brer bear, &c., are sung about. The rabbit particularly, being very common in the south, is lauded as a very astute and cunning creature. This is a peculiar negro oddity, for the rabbit is anything but cunning.
It has been pointed out very clearly by Roy Cohen- whose crap-shooting negroes have figured in the pages of the Saturday Evening Post for the past year or two, and who have also had their day on the New York stage-that the
negro's humour is wholly different from that of the white
man. The negro will be greatly amused, and will laugh
loudly in boisterous appreciation over a situation that,
apart from his almost childish point of view, has nothing
humorous about it. Even in his songs the humour lies
usually in the odd twist of the words, and in his inimitable
way of saying the most trivial things. It is impossible to
reproduce this in type. The negro must be heard in the
fields and in his country churches, when he thinks he has no
white hearer. If you ask him for a song he is apt to 'show
off,' and to imitate a manner instead of being natural. The
best real negro songs are heard in the lonely woods of the
south, or in the fields behind the plough, or as he rides to
and from his work on the back of a mule.
Very often the words of these songs are unintelligible.
The negro coins words to suit himself, and runs them
together in a queer jargon. He is inordinately fond of big
words. His misuse of them would fill Mrs. Malaprop with
envy. 'Now, brethren,' I heard one very pompous negro
preacher explain to his flock, 'dis is de way dat reads in de passage mataposick langwidge of de scriptur.' But
he did not explain what he meant by 'mataposick.' That
sounding word was his passport to learning. In his humorous songs the negro frequently chuckles to
himself, doubtless tickled by some personal experience that
the words recall, or over the dilemma of 'dat nigger' in a
like experience. I remember to have heard a tall Carolina
negro singing-as he walked along by himself, setting his
feet obliquely as though, in negro parlance, ' he had bones in
his feet'-the following words to a sort of chant with many
quavers and minors:
Aint hit a pity?
I doan know,
She didn't say nothin',
But she slam de do'.
She sho done dat ;
Whar's a nigger to go ?
She didn't say nothin',
But she slant de do'.
Well, I got a catfeesh,
Ef I got to go,
I aint gwine hongryj Cause she slam de do'.
(Chuckle.)
This song is purely negro. It has been sung many times,
and with many verbal changes to fit the occasion and the
humour of the singer. It is a hit at the 'old 'oman,' who
would get 'cantankerous.' Songs of this kind, with a sly
dig in the ribs, are much relished by negroes.
Another similar song runs as follows-and let it be said
in passing that most negroes cannot understand a man
'that won't take a drink ':
Gwine buy a ba'l o' whiskey,
An' throw way de cup,
An' I sho gwine pass
All de hypocrites up.
You shell be free,
You shell be free,
De good Lawd sets you free.
Some folks say dat
A preacher won't steal,
But I cotch one
In my corn-fiel'.
You shell be free,
You shell be free,
De good Lawd sets you free.
Ef I wuz a chicken
I'd roos' mighty high
When dat ole preacher
Comes a-shashain' by.
Vou shell be free,
You shell be free,
De good Lawd sets you free.
A song called Ole Molly Hyar, the rabbit, is heard
everywhere in the country. In it are introduced the
opossum, the coon, and the bear. The tune is lively, and
sung with great gusto, especially when work is done:
Ole Molly Hyar,
What you doin' dar,
A-settin' in de cornder,
Smokin' a segyar?
Ole brer coon
I gwine see you soon,
I gwine to make yo' 'quaitance
By de light o' de moon.
Yu may hang yo' haid,
An' play yo' is daid,
But ole Mister possom
Yo' game's done played.
On a still night I have heard negroes singing in their
churches at the distance of half a mile. Their voices are
wonderfully melodious, and as a rule very strong. They
sing with the utmost abandon, the women especially giving
a peculiar tremolo effect to the words. The hymns in the
country. churches are almost invariably lined out by the
preacher and taken up by the congregation. Familiar
hymns are used, buit the negro has a way of changing them
that is indescribable. There are many that may be called
exclamatory refrains, like:
Jesus went down in de wateh,
Yes, my Lawd i
I gwine to follow my Jesus,
Yes, my Lawd !
A great favourite at one time was Szwing Zow, sweet
Chariot:
Swing low, sweet Chariot,
Comin' fo' to car'y you home,
Swing low, sweet Chariot,
Comin' fo' to car'y yo' home.
Of course the American negro is changing rapidly.
The old type is not often found, but a lot of stuff has been
written about their servitude to-day in the south. A wellbehaved
negro is liked by the southern people in a way that
none but a southern man can understand. It is only the
'uppity' type that is disliked. Crowds of white men yet
gather to be entertained by negro songs and dances, as
in the old days. A few extremists, whose opinion is
worthless, speak of 'a negro having no soul.' Thousands
of dollars are given by whites to negro causes of religion and
education, but negro agitators do far more harm than good.
One of the tenderest of negro airs I heard sung when I
was a boy by an old white-haired negro who was held in
affectionate regard by the whole town. As I remember the
song, it was sung very softly, and with unfailing pathos:
Way down in de pastah
Sheep bells is ringin',
Fiel-larks is a-singin'
So fyah :
Way down in de pastah
Shaddahs gittin' longah,
Hyeh de bells a-tingin'--
Dey comin' home.
Way down in de pastah
Sheep's a-walkin' fastah,
Sparrahs is a-singin'
So fyah :
Way down in de pastah
Gitti!' kindah lonesome--
Bells is clingin', clingin';
Dey comin' home.
Way down in de pastah,
Shaddahs is a-fallin',
Fiel-larks is a-callin',
So fyah :
Stayars is a-shinin',
Yes, Lawd, I'se comin',
Angels is a-singin'-
I'se comin' home.
No self-respecting negro of the old type will ever be
'sassy' to a white 'gen'lman,' but he will by sly innuendo
of saying and song express his opinions, his wishes, and his
sarcasm. HIe will sing at his work about the place, and he
expects to be heard. If taken to account for his song he
will turn it off with a laugh. This trait is thoroughly understood
by the whites, who, as the negro expresses it, are of
' we-all's fambly'-that is, of the old order. F*or' de po'
white-trash' the negro has nothing but scorn, and does not
hesitate to say so openly. Here is one of these songs of
sarcasm in part:
My ole missis she promus me
When she died she'd set-a-me free;
But now ole missis is daid an' gone,
An' here's po' nigger a-hoein' de cawn.
My ole missis was kindeh shy
Wid rale hog-meat and punkin' pie;
An' her buttermilk was tolerble thin
She give her nigger sop his cawn-pone in.
Noah, frequently pronounced Norah by the country
negro, is a favourite Biblical character. The fact that he
got drunk seems to add to his popularity among the
negroes. They take what is known as the 'sinner's weak
kneed comfort' in the fact:
De Lawd say to Norah des build me a-nark,
An' Norah he made hit outer hickory bark,
An' he pitched hit tight 'ithout an' 'ithin,
An' den he 'vited all de animiles in.
De animiles come in two by two,
De elerphunt an' de kangaroo ;
An' Norah he say to his boy Shem :
Dese is all dey is an' dat is all dem.
Den ole Miss Norah she git mighty high
A settin' up dar so high an' dry;
Dat's de way o' a 'oman, dey is jes like dat,
Dey all gits uppity when dey's livin' on de fat.
But de Lawd he sont her a tho'n in de flesh;
'Cause she got biggoty an' kindeh fresh,-
Norah got drunk on de blackbe'y wine,
An' den de had trouble all along de line.
But de Lawd he 'gived 'em, and bimeby
De got to a place whar hit wuz dry,
An' Norah got out, an' he tuck off he hat
And he called his altah Mount Narryrat.
The negro's prime favourite, however, is the chicken
song, that has as many different versions as there are
different breeds of chickens. One that is frequently sung
runs like this :
Chicken, chicken, you may-go up in a berloon,
Chicken, chicken, you may roos' behin' de moon,
But, chicken, chicken, wharever yo' may be,
Oh, chicken, chicken, yo' kyant roos' too high fo' me.
These songs may be heard to-day all over the southern
part of the United States. When they pass (may the day
be distant !), and a new 'uppity' negro supplants the old,
I am firmly convinced that he will be less happy, less
prosperous, and far less educated in the good manners of the
heart.