Bright, Victoria
15-17 November 2024
This gathering takes place on beautiful Dhudhuroa, Taungurung, Waywurru, Gunaikurnai and Jaithmathang Country.
Far From Home
I’m Gary Crockett, a banjo player, former history curator and traveller. Like many people who fall under the banjo’s spell, I’m drawn to the instrument’s sound and character, and of course the challenge of playing it. But I’m also fascinated in the banjo’s story. Here’s an instrument that originated on the Caribbean slave plantations of the late 1600s that has travelled forwards to the present day, almost unchanged in design and embodied culture.
With me today, on fiddle, is Ruby Pandolfi, who shares my interest in decolonisation and truth telling, and unlocking secrets held in music. Ruby and I, along with Euan Lindsay are currently working together on a trio project so stay tuned. I’m so grateful for us to play together this weekend.
Lurking in the sounds, tunes and, indeed, the very design of the banjo, is an astonishing and uncomfortable story of human suffering and survival – of cruelty, injustice and pain on a massive scale, of worlds turned upside down, and also of resilience, strength, community and joy. I can’t think of another instrument like it, or with the same time-travelling credentials.
For me, as a musician captivated by the banjo and the magic it brings to the tunes it conjures, I’m not only aware of the weight of this story, but also the importance of not forgetting. As they say, truth withers in darkness. Far too much of the banjo’s past is hidden in plain sight. The aim of this performance is to see it, share it and celebrate it.
We cannot talk about the Banjo without talking about the institution of slavery which is why we have the Banjo. [Rhiannon Giddens]
The banjo, as we know it today, was first documented by European colonists on the Caribbean slave plantations around 1680. In later years it was observed in south eastern America. For centuries it was built and played exclusively by people of African descent, only entering the worlds of non-black musicians in the early 1800s. Scholars believe that banjos have long played a central part in religious ritual, ceremonial gatherings, communal life, and, along with drums, dance, song and beliefs, defined the social and cultural identity of countless generations of people caught in the upheaval of slavery and the calamitous African diaspora.
Held deeply in this remarkable instrument, in its unique and unruly sound, and in its unchanged design, are the voices of people making sense of lives thrown into chaos and uncertainty. Sent far from home. The banjo embodies this terrible ordeal, spanning centuries of trauma and injustice, along with an extraordinary story of survival and strength. Listen carefully and the banjo will share its secrets – of protest, faith, resilience and strength, of people having traveled far, having lived through pain, stories of triumph and pride.
The importance of celebrating this extraordinary journey has never been more relevant, as histories continue to be rewritten and shameful pasts forgotten.
I’ve divided this set into 4 parts – with each exploring themes of exile and upheaval along with people and communities lost and found. I’ll start off by flipping the idea of banishment and woe, and instead banish woes.
BANJO – Pisgah ‘Woodchuck’ with Nylgut minstrel strings
BANISH MISFORTUNE
Unknown origin, c1800
The origins of the obscure Irish tune Banish Misfortune are unknown although it was first transcribed by the music collector William Bradbury Ryan in a compendium called 1050 Reels and Jigs, Hornpipes and Clogs, Boston 1883.
Part 1
A Banjo On My Knee
The Old Plantation is a watercolour painted in the late 18th century on a South Carolina plantation by the estate’s owner John Rose. It is regarded as the earliest depiction of slaves on the North American mainland, gathered together outside of work – featuring dancers, a gourd banjo player, percussion instruments, and household items. More info here.
The banjo has gravity like no other instrument. Put one on your knee and you realise that it’s both light and heavy. It’s impossible, however, to grasp its incredible and improbable story. First conceived and played on slave plantations along the Caribbean coast around 1700, and given the name Strum Strump (among other descriptors) by European travellers, the banjo carries an awesome and brutal legacy. It’s also an instrument of hope, solidarity and joy – which is why it featured so prominently in civil rights protests of the 20th century and why it continues to delight and inspire. It’s so much more than a musical instrument – it’s a doorway into a whole other world, an unruly and irrepressible instrument and a kind of lucky charm.
BANJO – Jeff Menzies fretless banjo with grain measure pot, tacked calfskin head and animal gut strings
OH SUSANNA
Stephen Foster, 1847
Here’s where a single song gets a whole section of its own. As a story of slavery, love and sorrow, Oh Susanna is not unique or exceptional. But there’s something about its simplicity and gentleness that me makes it one of the most perfect songs I’ve ever heard and played. It’s the ultimate folk meme. The story it tells, of a final journey, heading home, of yearning and resignation, of self pity and pride, of life in the fickle hands of fate, is the core foundation of popular music to this day. It’s the history of slavery, its cost and aftermath, told in a few verses. It is surely one of the most well known and loved tunes of our time. Oh Susanna was written in 1847 by 21 year old Pennsylvanian Stephen Foster (July 4, 1826 – January 13, 1864). Interestingly, while Foster composed songs for the minstrel stage, becoming wealthy and well known, he had Abolitionist sympathies and sadly died of a broken heart, aged 38, during the Civil war.
Part 2
My Heart, My Heart, Is Breaking
BANJO – Recording King ‘Madison’ model with goat hide head and Nylgut medium strings
ALICE GREY
Mrs. P Millard, c1800
As Sydney’s population swelled with free settlers after the 1820s, its perception of convicts grew darker. It seemed like the countryside was awash with runaways. The colonial newspapers stoked fear with stories of convicts on the loose, terrorising, thieving and murdering. In reality, convicts were regularly arrested for drunken, lewd and disruptive behaviour at night. Often accompanying these reports were names of songs and tunes being whistled, sung or performed. Seen in the 1830s as adding to mischief and lawlessness, these songs today are the most direct link we have to the voices and aural landscape of convict Sydney.
The song Alice Grey comes from a Sydney newspaper article published in 1833. According to the police report, a night constable patrolling the Sydney Domain found the convict John Hardly drunkenly slumped against a tree, singing heartily and noisily blowing a military bugle while allegedly pouring grog through the funnel. The song being sung was Alice Grey, a supposedly well known to the newspaper’s readers. For punishment, Hardly spent the next few weeks on the town Treadmill.
Here’s a snapshot of convict Sydney. The Aboriginal Country surrounding Warrane (Sydney Cove) was occupied by British soldiers in January 1788, but was never relinquished by the Gadigal. The strangers arrived in ships carrying provisions and materials to establish a colony. They also brought prisoners, called convicts, both men and women, to build their own homes, farm the land and sustain the settlement.
Sydney wasn’t a prison. Transported convicts never stepped ashore in chains. In the early years convicts and ex-convicts were indistinguishable from each other and often lived in the same houses and worked side by side. After 1820, convicts were separated from the growing civilian population, lodged in barracks and factories or assigned to large farming estates and land clearing gangs. Out on the frontier, they were pivotal in the ongoing destruction of Aboriginal country. Convicts who committed crimes in the colony were banished to remote penal stations, sent to build roads or labour on large construction projects. Many convicts still lived and worked in town. Between 1830 and 1840, as Sydney spread outwards and it’s free population expanded with ex-convicts and immigrants, convicts became outsiders, while the system was made harsher and more punishment based.*
As Sydney grew freer, its perception of convicts grew darker. It seemed like the countryside was teaming with runaways. The colonial newspapers stoked fear and anxiety with stories of convicts on the loose, terrorising, thieving and murdering. A common occurrence was convicts arrested for drunken and lewd behaviour at night – for dancing in the streets or upsetting the peace.
Often accompanying these reports were names of songs and tunes being whistled, sung or performed. Seen in the 1830s as adding to mischief and lawlessness, these songs today are the most direct link we have to the voices and aural landscape of convict Sydney.
* The last convict ship docked in Sydney in 1840. The convict system in New South Wales (and the NSW Convict Department) officially closed down in 1848. The last convict ship landed in Western Australian in 1868.
Part 3
The Battle Cry Of Freedom
The banjo is also a truth-teller and lurking in its plunky and disorderly sound are the voices of people who both faced and overcame great adversity. Its construction, and the way it’s assembled, remains almost unchanged since its first recorded appearances in the Caribbean slave colonies from the early 1700s. Its role as part of religious ceremonies and unauthorised gatherings of both enslaved and free workers, and ongoing efforts to have it banned over the centuries, indicates that the banjo carried more cultural and spiritual significance to enslaved and creole communities than we know. Until the early 1800s, the banjo was built and played exclusively by African American musicians both free and enslaved, far from white colonial society, and typically dismissed as primitive, crude and baffling. After 1820 the instrument (now called the banjo) rose to international fame as the iconic sound of minstrel performances that captivated audiences from London to Sydney. During the 1860s, banjos were heard everywhere – at religious and secular gatherings, in theatres, homes and bars, in towns and cities, and on bloody civil war battlefields. The banjo has come a long way – far from home perhaps – but remains filled with the stories, experiences and aspirations of its early incarnations. Listen closely and you’ll hear them.
BANJO – Ome ‘Tupelo’ with 12 inch pot
THE BATTLE OF CEDAR CREEK
Attributed to Private J. Pressley, 1864
SAY, BROTHERS/THE NEW JOHN BROWN SONG/BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC
Traditional camp meeting hymn c1700/William Weston Patton 1861/Julia Ward Howe 1862
THE SECESH (SHILOH)
John Hartford, 1990
The Battle Of Cedar Creek is a gently repeating tune handed down over the years recalling a fierce confrontation in the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia USA, on 19 October 1864 in which early confederate successes were reversed with devastating casualties, culminating in a decisive union victory. According to sources, 10 year old Howard Zane learned this tune in the late 1940’s from his uncle Bob Pressley, whose father Private J. Pressley of the 3rd Alabama Volunteer Infantry Regiment (and a banjo player) created it to commemorate the sacrifices of his fellow soldiers. The tight little fiddle tune Secesh is a modern ring-in, with solid old-timey bonafides, written by John Hartford and featured in Ken Burns’ 1990 documentary The Civil War. The final medley in this section is pure living folk, spanning centuries of a single tune’s transformation through cultural change. John Brown’s Song (also known as John Brown’s Body) was a well known marching song about the executed abolitionist John Brown, hugely popular on the Civil War battlefields and beyond. Arising from the ‘camp meeting’ revivalist movement of the 18th century as the folk hymn Say Brothers, and probably deriving from traditional work chants and sea shanties, the song evolved through innumerable versions with a wide range of often political narratives and rallying calls, eventually to be given new lyrics by the poet and abolitionist Julia Ward Howe as Battle Hymn of the Republic which she sold to the Atlantic Monthly for five dollars in 1862. Pete Seeger’s version of John Brown’s Body released in 1959 drew new attention to its civil rights origins, quickly making it a folk revival anthem.
Part 4
And The Weeping Willows Around Me Blow
BANJO – Pisgah ‘Woodchuck’ with Nylgut minstrel strings
CHARLOTTE TOWN
Gary Crockett, 2022
YOUNG REPOLEON
Unknown origin, per Dee/Daniel/Joseph Hicks, c1800
DON’T BURY ME DOWN IN THE COLD COLD GROUND
Gary Crockett, 2022
These songs summon restless, time-travelling spirits. The first, Charlotte Town, written by me, weaves together the uncertainty, sorrow and hopes of a soldier weary with war. The next song, Young Repoleon, more of a fever dream than a ballad, seems to have drifted into the American colonies from across the Atlantic in the early 1800s and loosely references the defeat of Napoleon Boneparte’s army in Moscow in 1812 and his subsequent exile on St Helena in 1815, narrated by Napoleon’s fictitious son, Repoleon who dies young and unfulfilled. The melody appears to be adapted from the old folk tune Bonny Bunch of Roses and was collected in the mid 1900s from the Hicks family of Fentress County, North Eastern Tennessee, by the Library of Congress. In 1999 the song was recorded by the Californian artist Jody Stecher, on which my version is based. The final song, Don’t Bury Me Down in The Cold Cold Ground, written recently by me, is pure ‘dying cowboy on the Prairie’ trope, although chimes nicely with a world-weariness and dust-to-dust existentialism all of us can relate to today.
Songs
BANISH MISFORTUNE
Unknown origin, c1800
(Instrumental)
OH SUSANNA
Stephen Foster, 1847
I came from Alabama, with a banjo on my knee
I’m going to Louisiana, my true love for to see
It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry
The sun so hot I froze to death; Susanna, don’t you cry
Oh! Susanna, oh don’t you cry for me
Cause I’ve come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee
I jumped aboard the telegraph, and travelled down the river
The ‘lectric’ fluid magnified, and killed a hundred sailors
The bull gone bust, the horse run off, I really thought I’d die
I shut my eyes to hold my breath, Susanna don’t you cry
Oh! Susanna, oh don’t you cry for me
Cause I’ve come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee
I had a dream the other night, when everything was still
I thought I saw Susanna coming down the hill
The buckwheat cake was in her mouth, a tear was in her eye
Says I, I’m coming from the south, Susanna, don’t you cry
Oh! Susanna, oh don’t you cry for me
Cause I’ve come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee
I soon will be in New Orleans, and then I’ll look all round
And when I find Susanna, I will fall upon the ground
And if I do not find her, this man will surely die
And when I’m dead and buried, Susanna, don’t you cry
Oh! Susanna, oh don’t you cry for me
Cause I’ve come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee
ALICE GREY
Mrs P Millard, c1800
Sung by John Hardly in the Sydney Domain, 1833
She’s all my fancy painted her, She’s lovely, she’s divine
But her heart it is another’s, She never can be mine.
Yet loved I as man never loved, A love without decay
Oh, my heart, my heart is breaking, For the love of Alice Grey.
Her dark brown hair is braided o’er, A brow of spotless white
Her soft blue eye now languishes, Now flashes with delight.
The hair is braided not for me, The eye is turned away,
Yet my heart, my heart is breaking, For the love of Alice Grey.
I’ve sunk beneath the summer’s sun, And trembled in the blast,
But my pilgrimage is nearly done, The weary conflict’s past.
And when the green turf wraps the grave, May pity haply say,
Oh, his heart, his heart was broken, For the love of Alice Grey.
THE BATTLE OF CEDAR CREEK
Attributed to Private J. Pressley, 1864
(Instrumental)
SAY, BROTHERS (PART)
Traditional folk song, camp meeting hymn, c1700
Say, brothers, will you meet us (x3),
on Canaan’s happy shore.
JOHN BROWN’S BODY (PART)
William Weston Patton, 1861
Old John Brown’s body lies a moldering in the grave,
While weep the sons of bondage whom he ventured all to save.
But though he sleeps his life was lost while struggling for the slave.
His soul is marching on.
Glory, hally, hallelujah (x3), his soul is marching on.
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC
Julia Ward Howe, 1862
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord,
he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored.
She has loosed the fateful lightning of her terrible swift sword,
the truth is marching on.
Glory, glory hallelujah (x3), the truth is marching on.
I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
they have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps.
I have read his righteous scriptures by the dim and flaring lamps,
the truth is marching on.
Glory, glory hallelujah (x3), the truth is marching on.
THE SECESH (SHILOH)
John Hartford, from the album Songs Of The Civil War, 1991
I put my napsack on my back,
my rifle over my shoulder.
I am going away to Shiloh,
and there I’ll be a soldier.
CHARLOTTE TOWN
Gary Crockett, 2023
The rain it pays no attention to the feelings of the dog.
The rabbit is of no consequence to the movement of the tides.
I went down to Charlie Town, wanna get my fortune read.
Things I heard there, I must confess, don’t believe a word she said.
A soldier’s life is full of woe, take my hand I’ll comfort thee.
Throw away all your uniforms, go and set your prisoners free.
Throw your canons in the fire, throw your cannon balls there too.
Throw your sabres and bayonets, alchemise them all anew.
Sweep the graves of your enemies and plant a weeping willow high.
As the cool wind blows through the leaves, listen to the mothers cry.
(So it’s) hot corn bread when I wake up, coffee in the bed I lay.
I’ll be dead a long long long time, but in heaven’s gate I’ll stay.
When I cross to the other side, with a broom I’ll sweep my way.
‘Til this soldier’s long dead and gone, I wanna hear the banjo play.
YOUNG REPOLEON
Unknown origin, per Dee/Daniel/Joseph Hicks, c1800
Up stepped young Repoleon and he took his mother by the hand.
Said mother don’t be angry for I am able to command.
And I take 500 thousand and across the mountains I will go,
and I never will return again till I conquer the bonnie bunch of roses.
Oh son don’t you talk so venturesome for england is the heart of old.
It’s England, Ireland, Scotland, they’re unity shall never grow old.
Remember your dear father on St Helena lying low,
and if you’d follow after beware of the bonnie bunch of roses.
But mother he was loyal and unto you he did prove true,
until that fateful afternoon upon the plains of Waterloo.
Then I take five hundred thousand and through tremendous dangers go,
and I will conquer Moscow and return to the bonnie bunch of roses.
And I raised him a terrible army and kings and dukes they joined the throng.
They were so well provided, they might have swept the world along.
But when they came to Moscow, they were over-powered by the ice and snow,
and Moscow was a blizzard, and he lost the bonnie bunch of roses.
Up sat young Repoleon, as he lay on his dying bed,
saying if I lived I would have been glad, but I dropped my youthful head.
But when my bones lay buried, and the weeping willows around me blow,
the name of great Repoleon will outshine, the bonnie bunch of roses.
Augustus Earle 1829, Watercolour. Napoleon’s Tomb on the Island of St Helena.
National Library of Australia nla.pic-an2838580.
DON’T BURY ME DOWN IN THE COLD COLD GROUND
Gary Crockett, 2022
Don’t bury me down in the cold cold ground,
just lay me on the trail.
And the wild dogs and deer and porcupines,
and the black bears will go by me.
Don’t put a stone with my name drawn on.
Don’t plant no willow tree.
Don’t let your eyes dine on an old grave of mine.
No hymns you’ll sing for me.
Don’t beat the drums slow or play the pipes low,
just polish my tall black shoes.
And make my belt shine, hang my clothes on the line,
and wear my old hat sometime.
Don’t wind up the clock or my best Sunday watch,
no need to tell the time.
And scratch off the name from my walking cane,
and lay it by my side.
And go down the stairs and saddle my mare,
and lead her from the stall.
And go out at night, in the starry moonlight,
and by me gently roam.
Put up a tent when the rains set in,
and the winds of winter bite.
Take it down when the sun shines so,
my bones will turn to white.
THE [DE] BOATMEN’S DANCE
By Daniel Decatur Emmett (1815-1904), Leader of the Virginia Minstrels and published in 1843 by C.H. Kieth, Boston.
short run (1-2-3 …) x 2
high run (high row …) x 2
verse run (C,G,G,G,C,G…)
chorus run (dance the boatmen dance)
short run
High row the boatman row / floating down the river the Ohio.
The boatman dance, the boatman sing, the boatmen up to everything.
And when the boatmen gets on shore, he spends his cash and works for more.
[Chorus] Dance the boatmen dance, Oh dance the boatmen dance.
O dance all night to the board daylight, and go home with the girls in the morning.
High row the boatman row / floating down the river the Ohio.
The boatman is a thrifty man, There’s none can do as the boatman can.
I never see a pretty gal in my life, But that she was a boatman’s wife.
Dance the boatmen dance, Oh dance the boatmen dance…
High row the boatman row / floating down the river the Ohio.
I went on board the other day, To see what the boatmen had to say.
There I let my passion loose, An’ they cram me in the callaboose.
Dance the boatmen dance, Oh dance the boatmen dance…
High row the boatman row / floating down the river the Ohio.
The oyster boat she keep to the shore, the fishing smack should venture more.
The schooner sails before the wind, the steamboat leaves a streak behind.
Dance the boatmen dance, Oh dance the boatmen dance…