Odetta, Honored at Banjo Jim's
By Safia Jama Cross
One cold Saturday night last December, Odetta arrived at Banjo Jim's. She was there to see her friend, singer-songwriter Emory Joseph, perform. Later that evening, the country band Cheatin' Hearts sang a Leadbelly song and Odetta rose to sing, delighting the crowd.
On May 8th, 2008, Odetta came back to Banjo Jim's for a tribute organized by friends and open to the public.
"I heard Odetta had a really great time here that night," said Timothy Hill, waiting to perform at the tribute, which included performances by David Amram, Guy Davis, and Christine Lavin. "She said it reminded her of the old days in the folk clubs in the Village, when people really cared about the music."
Odetta Holmes Felious, born in 1930, trained in opera before turning to folk music (opera's doors were not open to a young black woman in the 1950's). She became a prominent figure in the folk scene of the 1960's, performing at the first Newport Folk Festival in 1959 and at the March on Washington in 1963. Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, and Janice Joplin have all cited her as a major influence.
An hour before the show, a line had formed around the block, and the small room quickly filled to capacity (the sound guy was annoyed that his wife's friends couldn't get in). Filmmakers D.A. Pennebaker and Chris Hegedus sat in the front row and the evening's host, vintage hippy and official clown of the Grateful Dead, "Wavy Gravy," formerly known as Hugh Romney, blessed the stage with smoke from what looked like a small joint.
"He wants us to get a contact high," said a petite brunette woman who introduced herself as Dale. "I hated that stuff in the 60's." Then word got around that it was sage: before each show, Wavy Gravy conducts a native ritual, blessing the space in which he performs.
A film crew was present, at work on a documentary on the life of Wavy Gravy (who famously said from the stage at the original Woodstock, "What we have in mind is breakfast in bed for 400,000!") The film is directed by Michelle Esrick, who helped to organize the tribute, and Executive-Produced by D.A. Pennebaker.
Wavy Gravy wore a tied-dyed shirt, white sneakers with tied-dyed shoelaces, and a black bowler hat. He held a leash attached to a small plush platypus sporting a button that read, "Less Stuff, More Fun." He settled down into a chair, put on a red clown nose, and shuffled through his notes.
"I can't read this," he said, rejecting an index card filled with introductory remarks written in pen. "Can you rewrite it bigger please, using a Sharpie?"
Soon, the front door opened and Odetta entered, wearing a camel shawl and a multi-colored knit beret. The room erupted in cheers and applause. She smiled brightly. Someone in the VIP section, consisting of eight folding chairs, lost her seat and Odetta was now in the audience, front and center.
Opening the evening's festivities, Wavy Gravy said, "If you took the brown antacid—"
The older folks in the audience cracked up at the reference to Woodstock 1969.
Soon, local bluegrass band Vincent Cross and Good Company took the stage and began an upbeat rendition of Sitting on Top of the World. The audience swayed and sang along to the chorus.
And now she's gone, but I don't worry, I'm sittin' on top of the world.
Chaney Sims, daughter of bluesman Bill Sims, was also on the billing. She stood sipping tea and clutching a plastic bag for two hours as she waited for her set. When she began her performance, barefoot, she took out a terrycloth towel and some raw greens. "I'm washing collard greens in Banjo Jim's," she laughed. "I bet that's a first!" But her medley of monologue and song turned serious, tearful even, as she said to Odetta, "We've never met, but I wanted you to know that you helped me to realize that I am somebody."
After eleven, the room was straining at the seams. "The dam's gonna break!" said a man from his safe perch on a bar stool.
Finally, Wavy Gravy introduced the guest of honor.
"Martin Luther King Jr. called her the Queen of American Folk Music ... I present Odetta!"
She began to sing, accompanied by piano, and the distinction between stage and audience faded ... people crouched down at her feet, the people behind them stood, and the people behind them sat up on the bar. Her voice sank dangerously low, paused, and then warbled into a soprano. Aches and pains from hours of standing or sitting were forgotten as Odetta began House of the Rising Sun.
When I was a young girl, I used to seek pleasure.
When I was a young girl, I used to drink ale.
Out of an alehouse, into a jailhouse. My body is ruined.
They left me here to die.
Upon finishing, she asked, "I wonder, can I sing two more songs?"
"Sing four!"
"Sing sixteen!"
Ten minutes later, some younger folks at the bar began chanting:
"O-DET-TA! O-DET-TA!"
Would she sing another? The room was silent, waiting.
"She said no," said Emory Joseph, who had performed a bit earlier.
But there was still the finale: Odetta led the room in singing the folk anthem This Little Light of Mine, and the voices of everyone in the room melted into one.
All around the world, I'm gonna let it shine--let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
Sometime after midnight, proprietor Lisa Zwier-Croce, known as Banjo Lisa, stood outside. She was flushed, jubilant.
"I heard Odetta, and I was healed," she said.
Safia Jama Cross is a freelance writer based in New York City.
Photos by Mark Amrhein. View his photo gallery here.
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