X. BLUES
THERE are fashions in music as in anything else, and folk-song presents no exception to the rule. For the last several years the most popular type of Negro song has been that peculiar, barbaric sort of melody called "blues," with its irregular rhythm, its lagging briskness, its mournful liveliness of tone. It has a jerky tempo, as of a cripple dancing because of some irresistible impulse. A "blues" (or does one say a "blue"? What is the grammar of the thing?) likes to end its stanza abruptly, leaving the listener expectant for more — though, of course, there is no fixed law about it. One could scarcely imagine a convention of any kind in connection with this Negroid free music. It is partial to the three-line stanza instead of the customary one of four or more, though not insisting on it, and it ends with a high note that has the effect of incompleteness. The close of a stanza comes with a shock like the whip-crack surprise at the end of an 0. Henry story, for instance — a cheap trick, but effective as a novelty. It sings of themes remote from those of the old spirituals, and its incompleteness of stanza makes the listener gasp, and perhaps fancy that the censor had deleted the other line.
Blues, being widely published as sheet music in the North as well as the South, and sung in vaudeville everywhere, would seem to have little relation to authentic folk-music of the Negroes. One might imagine this tinge of blue to the black music to be an artificial coloring — printer's ink, in fact. But in studying the question, I had a feeling that it was more or less connected with Negro folk-song, and I tried to trace it back to its origin.
Negroes and white people in the South referred me to W. C. Handy as the man who had put the blueing in the blues; but how to locate him was a problem. He had started this indigo music in Memphis, it appeared, but was there no longer. I heard of him as having been in Chicago, and in Philadelphia, and at last as being in New York. Inquiries from musicians brought out the fact that Handy was manager of a music-publishing company, of which he is part-owner (Pace and Handy); and so my collaborator, Ola Lee
Gulledge, and I went to see him at his place of business, one of those old brown stone-houses fronting on West 46th Street.
To my question, "Have blues any relation to Negro folk-song?'' Handy replied instantly:
" Yes — they are folk-music."
"Do you mean in the sense that a song is taken up by many singers, who change and adapt it and add to it in accordance with their own mood? " I asked. "That constitutes communal singing, in part, at least."
" I mean that and more," he responded. " That is true? of course, of the blues, as I'll illustrate a little later. But blues are folk-songs in more ways than that. They are essentially racial, the ones that are genuine, — though since they became the fashion many blues have been written that are not Negro in character, — and they have a basis in older folk-song."
"A general or a specific basis?" I wished to know.
" Specific," he answered. " Each one of my blues is based on some old Negro song of the South, some folk-song that I heard from my mammy when I was a child. Something that sticks in my mind, that I hum to myself when I'm not thinking about it. Some old song that is a part of the memories of my childhood and of my race. I can tell you the exact song I used as a basis for any one of my blues. Yes, the blues that are genuine are really folk-songs."
I expressed an interest to know of some definite instance of what he meant, and for answer he picked up a sheaf of music from his desk.
" Here 's a thing called Joe Turner Blues," he said. "That is written around an old Negro song I used to hear and play thirty or more years ago. In some sections it was called Going Down the River for Long, but in Tennessee it was always Joe Turner. Joe Turner, the inspiration of the song, was a brother of Pete Turner, once governor of Tennessee. He was an officer and he used to come to Memphis and get prisoners to carry them to Nashville after a Kangaroo Court. When the Negroes said of anyone, 'Joe Turner's been to town,' they meant that the person in question had been carried off handcuffed, to be gone no telling how long."
I recalled a fragment of folk-song from the South which I had never before understood, but whose meaning was now clear enough.
Dey tell me Joe Turner's come to town. He's brought along one thousand links of chain; He's gwine to have one nigger for each link; He's gwine to have dis nigger for one link!
Handy said that in writing the Joe Turner Blues he did away with the prison theme and played up a love element, so that Joe Turner became, not the dreaded sheriff, but the absent lover.
Here is the result as Handy sent it out, though folk-songsters over the South have doubtless wrought many changes in it since then:
You'll never miss the water till the well runs dry,
Till your well runs dry. You'll never miss Joe Turner till he says good-bye.
Sweet Babe, I'm goin' to leave you, and the time ain't long,
The time ain't long. If you don't believe I'm leavin', count the days I'm gone.
Chorus
You will be sorry, be sorry from your heart (uhm),
Sorry to your heart (uhtn), Some day when you and I must part.
And every time you hear a whistle blow,
Hear a steamboat blow, You'll hate the day you lost your Joe.
I bought a bulldog for to watch you while you sleep,
Guard you while you sleep; Spent all my money, now you call Joe Turner "cheap."
You never 'predate the little things I do,
Not one thing I do. And that's the very reason why I'm leaving you.
Sometimes I feel like somethin' throwed away,
Somethin' throwed away. ,
And then I get my guitar, play the blues all day.
Now if your heart beat like mine, it's not made of steel,
No, 't ain't made of steel. And when you learn I left you, this is how you 'll feel.
Loveless Love, which Handy calls a "blues" ballad, was, he said, based on an old song called Careless Love, which narrated the death of the son of a governor of Kentucky. It had the mythical "hundred stanzas,'' and was widely current in the South, especially in Kentucky, a number of years ago. Handy in his composition gives a general philosophy of love, instead of telling a tragic story, as the old song did.
Long Gone has its foundation in another old Kentucky song, which tells of the efforts a certain Negro made to escape a Joe Turner who
vas pursuing him. Bloodhounds were on his trail and were coming perilously close, while he was dodging and doubling on his tracks in i desperate effort to elude them. At last he ran into an empty barrel that chanced to be lying on its side in his path, but quickly sprang mt and away again. When the bloodhounds a few seconds later trailed him into the barrel, they were nonplussed for a while, and by the time they had picked up the scent again, the darky had escaped.
The theme as treated in the blues is shown on the following page, where I reproduce by permission the sheet, like a broadside, on which it appears. It is interesting to note that the chorus varies with some verses, while it remains the same for others.
Handy said that his blues were folk-songs also in that they have their origin in folk-sayings and express the racial life of the Negroes. "For example," he said, "the Yellow Dog Blues takes its name from the term the Negroes give the Yazoo Delta Railroad. Clarkesville colored people speak of the Yellow Dog because one day when someone asked a darky what the initials Y. D.on a freight-train stood for, he scratched his head reflectively and answered, 'I dunno, less'n it's for Yellow Dog.'" Another one of his blues came from an old mammy's mournful complaint, "I wonder whar my good ole used-to-be is!"
He says that presently he will write a blues on the idea contained in a monologue he overheard a Negro address to his mule on a Southern street not long ago. The animal was balky, and the driver expostulated with him after this fashion:
"G'wan dere, you mule! You ack lack you ain' want to wuck. Well, you is a mule, an' you got to wuck. Dat's whut you git fo' bein' a mule. Ef you was a 'ooman, now, I'd be wuckin' fo' you!" ,
The St. Louis Blues, according to its author, is a composite, made up of racial sayings in dialect. For instance, the second stanza has its origin in a Negro saying, "I've got to go to see Aunt Ca'line Dye," meaning to get his fortune told; for at Newport there was a well-known fortune-teller by that name. " Got to go to Newport to see Aunt Ca'line Dye," meant to consult the colored oracle.
Been to de Gypsy to get mah fortune tole,
To de Gypsy done got mah fortune tole,
'Cause I 'se wile about mah Jelly Roll.
Gypsy done tole me, "Don't you wear no black."
Yas, she done tole me, "Don't you wear no black.
Go to St. Louis, you can win him back."
"LONG GONE"
Another "Cajey Jones" or "Steamboat BiU"
EVERYBODY IS SINGING
"LONG GONE"
With These Seven Verses
EVENTUALLY you will sing "LONG GONE" with a hundred verses
First Vene: Did you ever bear the story of Long- John Dean, A bold bank robber from Bowling Green, Sent to the jailhouse yesterday. Late last night he made his getaway.
Chorus: He's long gone from Kentucky, Long gone, ain't he lucky. Long gone and what I mean. He's long gone from Bowling Green.
Second Vene:
Long John stood on a railroad tie, Waiting for the freight train to come by. Freight train come by puffin' and ftyin'. Ought to seen Long John grabbin' the blind.
Chorus: He's long gone from Kentucky, Long gone, ain't he lucky. Long gone and what I mean, He's long gone from Bowling Green.
TUrd Verse:
They offered a reward to bring him back, Even put bloodhounds on his track. Doggone bloodhounds lost his scent. Now nobody knows where Long John went
Chorua: He's long gone from Kentucky. Long gone, ain't he lucky. Long gone and what I mean, He's long gone from Bowling Green.
Fourth Verse:
They caught him in Frisco and to seal his fate. At San Quentin they jailed him one evening late. But out on the ocean John did escape, Cause the guard forgot to close the Goldep Gate.
Chorua: John's long gone from San Quentin, Long gone and still sprinting. Long gone I'm telling you, Shut your mouth and shut mine, too.
Fifth Verse:
A gang of men tried to capture Dean,
So they chased him with a submarine.
Dean jumped overboard grabbed the submarine.
And made that gang catch a flyin' machine.
Chorus: Now's he's long gone and still a swimmin', Lo"g gone with them mermaid women, Long gone just like a fish. My that boy's got some ambish.
Sixth Verse:
A vamp thought she had Long John's goat. She took his watch and money right from his coat, John stole all she had now she thinks he's a riddle, He didn't leave her enough clothes to dust a fiddle.
Chorus: He's long gone from Kentucky, Long gone that guy ia some lucky, Long gone from this queen. Long gone from Bowling Green.
Seventh Verse: When proTntion said I'll lick John Barleycorn. I never thought she'd do any harm, Bat she's chased him strong, didn't stop to wait, And blacked his eye in every state.
Chorus: Now John's gone and he left me weeping, Long gone but only sleeping, But from the Drug Store we catch his breath. Long gone and scared to death.
Copyright 1920—PACE & HANDY MUSIC CO.. INC.* tit West 4dth Stmt, New York:
I asked Handy to tell me something of his musical experience before he featured this novel form of song. He said that he was from Florence, Alabama, and that his two grandfathers had had a better chance at education than most of their race — the slaves not being taught as a rule, and most of them being unable to read or write. He said simply, "My father's father and my mother's father stole an education." His wife, who was in the office with us, whispered to me in an aside, "They learned to figure in the ashes 1"
So the young boy started out with more chance than many of his race. He had an especial love for music, and he learned the folksongs that are a part of the heritage of the old South, of the past that is forever gone — learned them from hearing his elders sing them, and he sang them till they became a part of his being. He said that his mother would not allow him to sing "shout" songs, but only the spirituals. The "shout" songs were lively religious songs introduced to give the Negroes something of the emotional thrill that they might have had from dancing, if that amusement had not been sternly forbidden in many sections. The church would hold "shouts," when the benches would be pushed back and a lively tune played, and the worshippers would march up and down and around, their enthusiasm growing till they were all "patting and shouting." There is as much difference between the "shout" songs and the spirituals as between the beautiful old hymns and the Billy Sunday type of revival song.
He had some instruction in vocal music in the public school, where his teacher, a Fisk student, devoted an hour a day to practice in singing. Handy turned his attention to music when he left school and got a job with a show, and worked up, till finally he had his own band.
It was in Memphis that he wrote his first blues. A three-cornered election for mayor was on, and one candidate, a Mr. Crump, hired Handy's band for election advertisement. They played a thing Handy wrote and called Mr. Crump, which won the enthusiasm of the crowd whenever it was played. (Whether it won the election for Mr. Crump, I do not know.) After the composer had played this unpublished music for over two years, he offered it for publication. Practically every music publisher in New York turned it down, with the criticism that it was not correct harmonically, that it did not conform to musical traditions. But Handy says that he felt that it was a true expression of Negro life, and so he finally brought it out himself, calling it the Memphis Blues. It made a great hit.
Handy said that at first he had trained his band to play only classical music, ignoring their racial music. On one occasion, after they had given a concert, some other Negroes came out and asked if there would be any objection to their playing some of their music. He told them to go ahead. They had a banjo, a guitar, and a fiddle, and they played some of the genuine old Negro folk-songs. The audience cheered vigorously and threw money to them on the stage, Handy observing that they got more for their brief performance than he and his band had received for the entire concert. That set him tothinking of the values of the racial music of the Negroes, and he determined to develop his talents along the lines of Negro art.
I asked him if the blues were a new musical invention, and he said, "No. They are essentially of our race, and our people have been singing like that for many years. But they have been publicly developed and exploited in the last few years. I was the first to publish any of them or to feature this special type by name." He brought out his Memphis Blues in 1910, he said.
The fact that the blues were a form of folk-singing before Handy published his is corroborated by various persons who have discussed the matter with me, and in Texas the Negroes have been fond of them for a long time. Early Busby, now a musician in New York, says that the shifts of Negroes working at his father's brickyard in East Texas years ago used to sing constantly at their tasks, and were particularly fond of the blues.
Handy commented on several points in connection with the blues — for instance, the fact that they are written, he says, all in one tone, but with different movements according to the time in which they are written. The theme of this modern folk-music is, according to Handy, the Negro's emotional feeling apart from the religious. As is well recognized, the Negro normally is a person of strong religious impulse, and the spirituals are famous as expressing his religious moods; but they do not reveal all his nature. The Negro has longings, regrets, despondencies, and hopes that affect him strongly, but are not connected with religion. The blues, therefore, may be said to voice his secular interests and emotions as sincerely as the spirituals do the religious ones. Handy said that the blues express the Negro's twofold nature, the grave and the gay, and reveal his ability to appear the opposite of what he is.
"Most white people think that the Negro is always cheerful and lively," he explained. "But he is n't, though he may seem that way sometimes when he is most troubled. The Negro knows the blues as a state- of mind, and that's why this music has that name.
"For instance: suppose I am a colored man, and my rent is due. It's twenty dollars, and my landlord has told me that if I don't pay him to-day he'll put me and my things out on the sidewalk. I have n't got twenty dollars, and I don't know where to get it. I Ve been round to all my friends, and asked them to lend me that much, but they have n't got it, either. I have nothing I can sell or pawn. I have scraped together ten dollars, but that's positively all I can get and that's not enough.
"Now when I know the time has come and I can't get that twentydollars, what do I do? The white man would go to his landlord, offer him the ten, and maybe get the time extended. But what do I do? I go right out and blow in that ten dollars I have and have a gay time. Anybody seeing me would think I was the jolllest darky in town, but it's just because I'm miserable and can't help myself.
"Now, if a Negro were making a song about an experience like that, it would be a genuine specimen of blues."
Handy said that the blues were different from conventional composed music, but like primitive folk-music in that they have only five tones, like the folk-songs of slavery times, using the pentatonic scale, omitting the fourth and seventh tones. He says that while most blues are racial expressions of Negro life, the form has been imitated nowadays in songs that are not racial. While practically all the music publishers refused to bring out his compositions at first, now most of them publish blues.
He says that the blues represent a certain stage in Negro music. "About forty years $go such songs as Golden Slippers were sung. That was written by a colored man but is not a real folk-song. At about that time all the songs of the Negro liked to speak of golden streets and give bright pictures of heaven. Then, about twenty years ago, the desire was all for 'coon' songs. Now the tendency is toward blues. They are not, as I have said, a new thing, for they were sung in the South before the piano was accessible to the Negroes, though they were not so well known as now."
I asked Handy to tell me some$iing£,bout Beal Street Blues, one of his best-known expressions of life in the South.
"Beal Street is the colored thoroughfare in Memphis," he at\-swered. "There you will find the best and the worst of the Negro, life. There are banks there, and also saloons and dives. At the time the piece was written, Memphis was the most murderous city in th^ world. As the song says, 'Nothing ever closed till somebody had been killed.'"
"Is that true of Memphis now?'"' I inquired.
"Not so much so," he said slowly. " Since then an appeal has been made to the Negroes to close the saloons, and many of them complied. But the Monarch Saloon, the biggest there, is still open. It is owned by one of the three councilmen who control Memphis. It is a Negro saloon, and no white man is allowed to enter. It.'s caged about, so that no policeman can get in."
"Do you mean that that condition exists to-day?"
"Exactly!" he said with emphasis.
Handy spoke of a specimen of blues he had written which showssomething of the feeling of inequality of justice as between the black man and the white. He calls it Aunt Hagar's Children's Blues. "You know what I mean by that?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, I remember Ishmael," I assured him.
"I would n't wish to say anything that would reflect on my race," he said with a reverent pathos. "This is written to express what every Negro will understand, but which white people of the North could not. You know we sometimes speak of our race as Aunt Hagar's children."
It is not often that a student of folk-songs can have such authentic information given as to the music in the making, for most of the songs are studied and their value and interest realized only long after those who started them on their path of song have died or been forgotten. Rarely can one trace a movement in folk-song so clearly, and so I am grateful for the chance of talking with the man most responsible for the blues.
Even though specific blues may start indeed as sheet music, composed by identifiable authors, they are quickly caught up by popular fancy and so changed by oral transmission that one would scarcely recognize the relation between the originals and the final results — if any results ever could be considered final. Each singer adds something of his own mood or emotion or philosophy, till the composite is truly a communal composition. It will be noted in this connection that one of the songs given above announces of itself that, while it is first published in seven verses, people wiU soon be singing it in one hundred verses. (Negroes ordinarily speak of a stanza as a verse.) The colored man appropriates his music as the white person rarely does.
Blues also may spring up spontaneously, with no known origin in print, so far as an investigator can tell. They are found everywhere in the South, expressing Negro reactions to every concept of elemental life. Each town has its local blues, no aspect of life being without its expression in song. Here, as in much of the Negro's folksong, there is sometimes little connection between the stanzas. The colored mind is not essentially logical, and the folk-song shows considerable lack of coherence in thought. Unrelated ideas are likely to be brought together, as stanzas from one song or from several may be put in with what the singer starts with, if they chance to have approximately the same number of syllables "to" the line, Even that requirement is not held to, for a Negro in his singing can crowd several syllables into one note, or expand one syllable to cover half-a-dozen notes. The exigencies of scansion worry him but slightly.
The Texas Negroes are especially fond of blues, and have, as I have said, been singing them for years, before Handy made them popular in print. W. P. Webb published, some years ago, in an article in the Journal of American Folk-lore, what he called a sort of epic of the Negro, in effect a long specimen of blues, which the singer called Railroad Blues, which stuck to no one subject, even so popular a one as a railroad, but left the track to discuss many phases of life. Fragments of blues float in from every side, expressive of all conceivable aspects of the Negro's existence, economic, social, domestic, romantic, and so forth.
Morton Adams Marshall sends an admirable specimen from Little Rock, Arkansas, — which, however, was taken down in southern Louisiana, — reflecting one black man's bewilderment over the problems of love.
DON' CHER LOOK AT ME, CALINE!
Don' cher look at me, Ca'line,
Don' cher look at me!
You done busted up many a po' niggah's haht,
But you ain't a-goin' to bust up mine I
Oh, it's hahd to love,
An' it's mighty hahd to leave,
But it's hahder to make up yo' mi-ind!
A fragment sent by Mrs. Cammilla Breazeale, of Louisiana, expresses an extreme case of depression, without assigning any cause for it.
Ah got de blues, Ah got de blues,
Ah got de blues so doggone bad;
But Ah'm too damn mean — I can't cry!
A good many of these fugitive songs have to do with love, always excuse enough for metrical melancholy when it is unrequited or misplaced. Mrs. Bartlett, of Texas, sends two specimens having to do with romance of a perilous nature. The first one is brief, expressing the unhappiness felt by a "creeper,'7 as the colored man who intrudes into another's home is called.
FOUR O'CLOCK
Baby, I can't sleep, and neither can I eat; Round your bedside I'm gwine to creep.
Chorus
Four o'clock, baby, four o'clock, I'll make it in about four o'clock.
Mrs. Bartlett says of the next: "You will brand me as a shameless woman when you read this. I write it without a blush, however, and say that I have read as bad or worse in classic verse and fiction."
Late last night
When the moon shone bright,
Felt dizzy about my head.
Rapped on my door,
Heard my baby roar,
"Honey, I'se gone to bed!"
" Get up and let me in,
'Case you know it is a sin.
Honey, you have n't treated me right:
I paid your big house-rent
When you did n't have a cent."
" Got to hunt a new home to-night!"
Chorus
"Baby, if you 'low me One more chance! I Ve always treated you right. Baby, if you low me One more chancel
I'm goin' to stay with you to-night! Baby, if you 'low me One more chance, I'll take you to a ball in France. One kind favor I ask of you, 'Low me one more chance!"
Then this coon begin to grin,
Hand in his pocket,
Pulls out a ten.
Then her eyes begin to dance,
"Baby, I'll'low you
One more chance!"
My contributor adds, "Now that I have written it out, I am aware that there is a wide discrepancy between the first and second stanzas. Surely it was n't so much worse that Dr. Shaw blushed and faltered. I cannot account for the missing lines."
The central character in a ditty sent by Louise Garwood, of Houston, Texas, advocates adoption of more bellicose methods in dealing with the fair dark sex. No wheedling or bribing on his part!
Ef yore gal gits mad an' tries to bully you-u-u,
Ef yore gal gits mad an' tries to bully you,
Jes' take yore automatic an' shoot her through an* through,
Jes' take yore automatic an' shoot her through an* through!
A similar situation of a domestic nature is expressed in a song given by Gladys Torregano, of Straight College, New Orleans, through the courtesy of Worth Tuttle Hedden:
A burly coon you know, Who took his clothes an' go, Come back las' night. But his wife said, " Honey, I'sedone wid coon,I'se gwine to pass for white."
This coon he look sad,
He was afraid to look mad;
But his wife said, " Honey,
I can't take you back.
You would n't work,
So now you lost your home.',
Chorus
"Don't, my little baby, Don't you make me go! I'll try an' get me a job, Ef you 'll 'low me a show. All crap-shooters I will shun.
When you buy chicken, All I want is the bone; When you buy beer, I'll be satisfy with the foam. I'll work both night and day, I'll be careful of what I say, Oh, Baby, let me bring my clothes back home!
"Oh, Baby, 'low me a chance! You can even wear my pants. Don't you give me the sack. I'll be quiet as a mouse All round the house. Ef you 'll take me back, Tell the world I ain't shook, I'll even be the cook. I won't refuse to go out in the snow." "Don't you tell, my little inkstand, Life dreaming is over. So there's the door, And don't you come back no more!"
Mrs. Bartlett contributes another that describes the woes of unrequited love, which, she says, was sung by a colored maid she had some years ago:
Ships in de oceans,
Rocks in de sea,
Blond-headed woman
Made a fool out of me!
Oh, tell me how long
I'll have to wait!
Oh, tell me, Honey,
Don't hesitate!
I ain't no doctor, Nor no doctor's son, But I can cool your fever Till de doctor comes. Oh, tell me how long I'll have to wait! Oh, tell me, honey, Don't hesitate I
I got a woman, She's long and tall; Sits in her kitchen With her feet in de hall! Oh, tell me how long I'll have to wait! Oh, tell me, honey, Don't hesitate!
A brief song from Texas uses rather vigorous metaphors in addressing someone.
OH, HO, BABY, TAKE A ONE ON ME!
You keep on a-talkin' till you make a-me think Your daddy was a bulldog, your mammy was a mink. Oh, ho, Baby, take a one on me!
You keep a-talkin' till you make me mad, I'll talk about your mammy mighty scandalous bad. Oh, ho, Baby, take a one on me!
Whiffm' coke is mighty bad, But that's a habit I never had*
Oh, ho, Baby, take a one on met
A Negro lover does not sonnet his sweetheart's eyebrows, but he addresses other rhymes to her charms, as in the blues reported by Professor W. H. Thomas, of Texas.
A BROWN-SKINNED WOMAN
A brown-skinned wo - man and she's choc'late to de bone.
A brown-skinned woman and she's choc'late to de bone. A brown-skinned woman and she smells like toilet soap, A black-skinned woman and she smells like a billy-goat. A brown-skinned woman makes a freight-train slip and slide. A brown-skinned woman make$ an engine stop and blow. A brown-skinned woman makes a bulldog break his chain. A brown-skinned woman makes a preacher lay his Bible down. I married a woman; she was even tailor-made.
The colored man in a song sent by Mrs, Buie, of Marlin, Texas, obviously has reason for his lowness of spirits. Po' LVl Ella is a favorite in East Texas sawmill districts.
PO' LTL ELLA
J'll tell you somep'n that bothers my mind: J?o' li'l Ella laid down and died. I'll tell you ^omep'n that bothers my mind: jPo' li'l Ella laid down and died.
I would n't V minded little Ella dyin', But she left three chillun. I would n'tV minded little Ella dyin', But she left three chillun.
Judge, you done me wrong, — Ninety-nine years is sho' too long! Judge, oh, Judge, you done me wrong, — Ninety-nine years is sho' too long!
Come to think of it, it is rather long!
Howard Snyder heard one of the workers on his plantation in Mississippi singing the following song, which could not be called entirely a paean in praise of life:
I Wish I Had Someone to Call My Own
I wish I had someone to call my own; I wish I had someone to take my care.
I'm tired of coffee and I'm tired of tea; I'm tired of you, an' you're tired of me.
I'm tired of livin' an' I don't want to die; I'm tired of workin', but I can't fly.
I'm so tired of livin' I don't know what to do; You're tired of me, an' I'm tired of you.
I'm tired of eatin' an' I'm tired of sleepin';
I'm tired of yore beatin' an' I'm tired of yore creepin'.
I'm so tired of livin' I don't know what to do; I'm so tired of givin* an' I've done done my do.
I've done done my do, an' I can't do no mo'; I've,got no money an' I've got no hoe.
I'm so tired of livin' I don't know what to do; You're tired of me, an' I'm tired of you.
Other interests of the colored man's life besides love are shown in a song reported by Professor Thomas, of Texas. Note the naive confusion of figures in the first stanza, "a hard card to roll"
JACK O' DIAMONDS
Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds is a hard card to roll.
Says, whenever I gets in jail, Jack o' Diamonds goes my bail; And I never, Lord, I never, Lord, I never was so hard up before.
You may work me in the winter,
You may work me in the fall;
Til get even, I'll get even,
Til get even through that long summer's day.
Jack o' Diamonds took my money, And the piker got my clothes; And I ne-ever, and I ne-ever, Lord, I never was so hard-run before!
Says, whenever I gets in jail,
Pse got a Cap'n goes my bail;
And a Lu-ula, and a Lu-ula,
And a Lula that's a hard-working chile 1
And so the blues go on, singing of all conceivable interests of the Negro, apart from his religion, which is adequately taken care of in his spirituals and other religious songs. These fleeting informal stanzas, rhymed or in free verse that might fit in with, the most liberate of vers4ibertine schools of poetry, these tunes that are haunting and yet elusive, that linger in the mind's ear, but are difficult to capture within bars, have a robust vitality lacking in more sophisticated metrical movements. One specimen of blues speaks of its own tune, saying "the devil brought it but the Lord sent it." At least, it is here and lias its own interest, both as music and as a sociological manifestation. Politicians and statesmen and students of political economy who discuss the Negro problems in perplexed, authoritative fashion, would do well to study the folk-music of the colored race as expressing the feelings and desires, not revealed in direct message to the whites. Folk-poetry and folk-song express the heart of any people, and the friends of the Negro see in his various types of racial song both the best and the worst of his life.