I missed that post! Cool.

Murder ballads are seriously interesting - traditional ones, I mean. Some are documentary, but the main folklore theory is that they serve as a culturally-transmitted form of birth control. If you listen to enough of the things, you'll be far less likely to wander off into the woods with your sweetheart.

Long Black Veil always gets me, no matter who sings it.

Well, for my money, the Porter Wagoner song linked carries on the tradition better than any of the neo-folkie stuff.

Does the murder ballad have its roots in Appalachian music? I would have thought it went even further back than that. I'd even think that it goes as far back as something like Greek epic poetry and its progeny. I'd love to see a history somewhere, if anyone knows of one.

Oh, I'm sure it does, but the place where it lives in modern popular song is in country music, and guys like Wagoner and Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard and even Andre Williams in the cover linked above sing it in voices that make it all believable.

Does the murder ballad have its roots in Appalachian music?

No, they go back several hundred years at least to the European ballads - the Child Ballads collection contains a number of them.

jon, your taste is good, but I'm not talking about modern folkies. Incidentally - Johnny Cash, Porter Waggoner, Hank W., Merle and the whole gang were raised on old-time music and probably heard all the traditional greats at their parents' knees. The tradition heavily and directly influenced their writing.

In case I wasn't clear. The European ballads travelled to America with the Scots-Irish who settled in Appalachia. They retained the song form and, of course, created countless variants and also wrote their own brand-new ballads.

Murder ballads have been around since medieval times (crappy Wiki). They've been around at least as long as printing in the English language (16th century), which means, conceivably, they were around before then.

Thanks for the link, Miko.

God, that is a crappy wiki.

"A subset of broadsheet ballads" - not quite.

Don't mind me, MIko. I just have a beef with the term 'folk music' since it implies this 'purity' that hasn't existed since the invention of the radio and phonograph, if even then. and the word makes me think of the people who booed Dylan for playing rock and roll and thought that the Kingston Trio were better than Chuck Berry.

Or what Miko said. As most folk musics, or folk art, evolves it will take on whatever the local flavor may be. So, "Barbarie Ellen" becomes "Barabara Allen," "Wexford Girl" becomes "Knoxville Girl," etc. and so forth.

Dammit, I'm going back to work. Too slow on the posting...

Yeah, I don't like the term 'folk music' either. It's been really blurred through too-general usage and does carry that whiff of purism that doesn't belong in musical analysis at all. A lot of people I work with prefer 'traditional' but even that's problematic, because some songs in the 'tradition' do have known authorship. Et cetera, et cetera.

Don't go back to work, sleepy_pete! Add to the melee!

I like "roots music," since you can apply it across genre to (near) equal effect.

I just call it by the genre it actually belongs to: Dock Boggs is a country singer, Lightnin' Hopkins is a blues singer, and while they both certainly learned traditional songs they also had contact with the radio and records as well so they were exposed to 'popular music,' (which I put it quotes, since they were playing popular music, too, just a different kind).

that whiff of purism that doesn't belong in musical analysis at all.

I was rereading one of Griel Marcus' books on Dylan recently and there's a great passage about the Newport Folk festival:

"To the folk community" said Michael Bloomfield, who had been a part of it, "rock'n'roll was greasers, heads, dancers, people who got down and boogied. Lightnin' Hopkins had made elecric records for twelve years, but he didn't bring his electric band from Texas. No, sir, he came out at Newport like they had just taken him out of the fields, like the tarbaby."

There's a lot of insight in Bloomfield's observations, about how the purism of the festival helped perpetuate racial steretypes and the irony of the folkie's disdain for rock's 'get down and boogie' since a lot of the traditional music was for getting down and boogieing too.

Here's one from Iron & Wine/Calexico: "History of Lovers".

("Blood made her heart change its beating" is one of the bestest lines ever.)

And, one of the best murder ballads ever, Marty Robbins' "El Paso." Part of its greatness lies in the fact that the music builds to reflect the drama in the lyrics. Love it.

And one more: Jimmie Rodgers with "Frankie and Johnny".

≡ Click to see image ≡

Get down, get down little Henry Lee
and spend the night with me
for the very best lodging you can afford
cannot compare with me
No I can't get down and I won't lie down
and spend the night with thee
for there's a pretty little girl in that merry green land
that I love far better than thee

Well she leaned against a barbed wire fence
just for a kiss or two

with that switchblade knife held in her hand
she plunged him through and through

come all you ladies in this town
a secret for me keep
for this diamond ring I wear on my finger
I never shall forsake

Some take him by his lilly white hands
Some take him by his feet

We'll throw him in a 100 foot well
where the water runs dark and deep.

Lie there, lie there little Henry Lee
'till the flesh falls from your bones
for that pretty little girl in your merry green land
still mourns for your return

(repeat 1 time)

This version by a friend. It's good, I think.



Are we mostly not using yousendit now, I'm out of the loop

mudpuppie, I LOVE! Marty Robbins.

Yay, thank you for the riches of music!

I like "roots" too. Though I haven't attended yet, this festival really looks great to me for its confident nose-thumbing at genre and assertion that 'roots' can take in an incredible variety of performance styles and sounds.

As I look up at the sky
My mind starts trippin', a tear drops my eye
My body temperature falls
I'm shakin', and they breakin', tryin' to save the Dogg
Pumpin' on my chest and I'm screamin'
I stop breathin', damn I see demons
Dear God, I wonder can ya save me
I can't die my Boo-Boo's bout to have my baby
I think it's too late for prayin', hold up
A voice spoke to me and it slowly started sayin
"Bring your lifestyle to me I'll make it better"
And how long will I live?
"Eternal life and forever"
And will I be, the G that I was?
"I'll make your life better than you can imagine or even dreamed of
So relax your soul, let me take control
Close your eyes my son"
My eyes are closed

Murder... "murder was the case that they gave me"

I'm fresh up out my coma
I got my momma and my daddy and my homies in my corner
It's gonna take a miracle they say
For me to walk again and talk again but anyway
I get, fronted some keys, to get, back on my feet
And everything that nigga said, came to reality
Livin like a baller loc
I'm havin money, and blowin hella chronic smoke
I bought my momma a Benz, my Boo-Boo a Jag
And now I'm rollin in a nine-trizzay El Do-Rad
"Just remember who changed your mind
Cuz when you start set-trippin', that ass is mine"
Indeed, agreed proceed to smoke weed
Never have a want, never have a need
They say I'm greedy but I still want mo'
Cause my eyes wanna journey some more, really doe (check it out)

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord, my soul to keep
If I should die, before I wake
I pray the lord, my soul to take

Murder was the case that they gave me
"Murder was the case that they gave me"

No more indo, gin and juice
I'm on my way to Chino, rollin on the grey goose
Shackled from head to toe
Twenty-five with a izz-L, with nowhere to gizzo, I know
them niggaz from the other side recognize my face
Cause it's the O.G. D-O-double-G, L-B-C
Mad doggin niggaz cuz I don't care
Red jumpsuit with two braids in my hair
Niggaz stare as I enter the center
They send me to a level three yard, that's where I stay
Late night I hear toothbrushes scrapin on the floor
Niggaz gettin they shanks, just in case the war, pops off
Cause you can't tell what's next
My little homey Baby Boo he took a pencil in his neck
And he probably won't make it, to see twenty-two
I put that on my momma, I'ma ride for you Baby Boo

Murder... "murder was the case that they gave me"

Yo.. I don't know what was on y'all niggaz birds(?)
to go up to the boat - and start robbin old folks
Now see you done messed with the wrong old lady
You done went wild; yo, check it..

There was a Hardy Boy mystery I tried to solve again
Dude that broke in my crib - it wasn't involvin him
Four in the mornin, my phone ringin
I'm thinkin, "Who da fuck is this," on the other line screamin
Told em, "Keep(?) down," but they was breathin hard
It was my grandmother tellin me that she had been robbed
I told her hold (hold) tight (tight), I'd be right over
Freezin but this situation made the night colder
Knew this was the night (that what?) that she played poker
with some friends in a club at the boat gettin bub'
Said she seen these thugs on the boat for a while (uhh)
Not gamblin but every now and then they'd smile
Then BLAOW! They had(?) Mag's
and told everybody, "Put your shit in the bag"
Made people strip naked, quicker than a Luke record (what?)
Had the place took in a minute and some seconds
Asked her how many of it was em? (How many of it was em?)
Said she couldn't remember
She was spooked and buzzin, couldn't describe em
cause it happened too fast (what?) said they looked like me
with they pants hangin off they ass
Got her some water - and begin to think
How these niggaz take her wig, her bracelet and her mink?
Somebody round the crib know the deal (uhh)
Whoever did it better have Blue Shield for real
cause yo, it's the big payback..

{*cuts n scratches*, Com ad-libs}

[Common]
Later that day I went to the 'shop, to see what was up
Them niggaz probably knew somethin plus I needed a cut
Walked in they was playin Jigga (jihh-gga..)
Discussin how Da Brat titties done got bigger
These niggaz next to me, was talkin bout the heist
Whoever did it even got Jordan for his ice
Said that it was done so precise the cops ain't know nut-nin
Had to use all my might not to ask no questions
Put down the magazine, went to the pop machine
Noticin these cats, had the Bling Bling
They wouldn't be talkin if they did it; it could be they team
A week ago neither one of these niggaz had a ring
This Hype(?) came in, sellin CD's; said the BD's
was braggin bout robbery they had done
By now, I'm thinkin bout my gun if I see gramps bracelet
I'ma play racist (and what?) and make niggaz run
It's the big payback..

{*cuts n scratches*, Com ad-libs}

[Common]
My imagination roamed as I got in the chair
Thinkin - when shit went down, I was I was there
Fuckin with fam' - who you are, I don't care
Have your guys pourin liquor witch'ya name in they swear
These chicks claim they was there, knew the niggaz who done it
Said it was Smoke and them from the Wild 100's
Eight million stories got me runnin in place, it's gettin tricky
(like who?) like dude, that do drum'n'bass
There was a air in the place, that made me suspicious
Normally, they'd be talkin like bitches
My barber cut me with a quickness (what?)
Asked him where he got the new bracelet;
he said it was his sister's - I knew then
What made it official, he gave me my change
The money clip had gramp's initials (c'mon)
As I, whooped his ass up, six niggaz masked up
Pulled up in a Cadillac truck {*gunfire*}

[police scanner]
.. three-alarm fire ?? and a possible homicide
The building is entitled "The Ultimate Barbershop"
There are six unidentified bodies in the building
They are all presumed dead
I repeat they are all presumed dead
However there are no suspects
I repeat the subjects are at large
we might need some backup..
Inform O'Malley that we need backup, over..

Bust it
Hey yo, I just left the studio, and it's about 2 in the morn'
I just finished doin a song
Now I'm ready for sleep
But first I want spaghetti to eat
And there's a good Italian restaurant right up the street
So I jumped in the jeep, stash the heat under the seat
Then I got a beep
My voice is harsh, barely can speak
I called back on the cell
It's Coley, mad as hell
He told me to listen well as he started to yell
"I just seen Mike and Ben with your wife and a friend
And they just got a room at the Holiday Inn"
"It's my wife, you sure?"
"Damn sure
I saw the whore soon as she walked through the door"
"Yo, say no more, which one?"
"The one in Jersey, son, right over the bridge"
"We goin' hurt them hoes"
"And hurt both of 'em kids"
Now I'm in the Range
Switchin' lanes, doin a buck and change
I can't wait to touch the lames and them fuckin' dames
Reach the destination, grab the heat without no hesitation
These niggas fuckin' up my reputation
I saw Coleone holdin the chrome
Ice-grill, lookin' like he had a license to kill
And he had somebody else with 'em layin' the cut
Lookin like he can't wait to start sprayin' shit up
"Yo, who that in the background?"
"It's Tommy Giss"
"Oh, I didn't recognise you with your hat down
Son, you ready, we got this whole shit mapped out
I hope you ain't scared--there's no time to back out"
"Yeah, we gon' take the back route
And pull our gats out and throw our masks on
We ain't leavin till everyone's dead and all the cash gone"
"We goin' get our laugh on when we through
But right now we got a job to do"
"So let's do it"
Hey yo, I stepped to the desk clerk
Put the gat to her dress shirt
Told her to listen up before she get hurt
"They just walked in, party of four, two chicks, two males
What room they got?"
She paused and said "212"
Took the steps now I'm out of breath
I gotta stop smokin'
Them cigarettes goin' be the cause of my death
My heart beatin fast now, cause it's about to pop off
Saw the door, let the Glock off, tore the lock off
Took a deep breath, then ran inside at a quick pace
I felt disgraced, I should've shot the bitch in the face
Then my other two niggas ran in
Each had a cannon
Ready to take care, what we been plannin'
"These two crab cats, we know they hustle upstate
We know they got stacks
'Cause they don't fuck with nothin' but weight"
We got the cuffs and the duct tape and put 'em to use
Then told 'em when this is over we be lettin 'em loose
And then I kicked Mike in his face
and watched his head jerk back
"You wanna live then tell my nigga where you stash the work at"
He gave me the address then I ran outside
But first I took the keys to his van outside
And when I got there, I found 50 keys in a stash
A hundred pounds of grass, and two million in cash
I was dumb glad
The shit didn't fit in one bag
So I got three, filled 'em all up to the teeth
And put the bags in the van, then I locked the truck
When I got back, Coley done popped them punks
"Hey yo', fuck it L, we might as well pop these stunts"
Now that's four bodies
Two outta-towners and two hotties
And after that we ain't sleep for three days
We hit the PJ's, split the money three ways
Now we all laughin' hard, gettin nice and weeded
Celebratin', nigga, heist completed

Let us not forget poor Omie Wise.

(one of my faves. . .Ma Rainey is who I heard the recording of but it's credited to Bessie. I am mp3less here though, regrettably.)

Judge you wanna hear my plea, before you open up your court
But I don't want no sympathy, 'cause I done cut my good man's throat

I caught him with a trifling Jane, I warned him 'bout before
I had my knife and went insane, and the rest you ought to know

Judge, judge, please mister judge, send me to the 'lectric chair
Judge, judge, good mister judge, let me go away from here

I wanna take a journey, to the devil down below
I done killed my man, I wanna reap just what I sow

Oh judge, judge, lordy lordy judge, send me to the 'lectric chair
Judge, judge, hear me judge, send me to the 'lectric chair

I love him so dear, I cut him with my barlow1, I kicked him in the side
I stood here laughing o'r him, while he wallowed around and died

Oh judge, judge, lordy judge, send me to the 'lectric chair
Judge, judge, sweet mister judge, send me to the 'lectric chair
Judge, judge, good kind judge, burn me 'cause I don't care

I don't want no one good mayor, to go my bail
I don't want to spend no, ninety-nine years in jail
So judge, judge, good kind judge, send me to the 'lectric chair