I always wanted to live in Greenwich Village. Since I was a kid and read Edna St. Vincent Millay. Since I read Kerouac and the Beats. Since I got into Charlie Parker and Billie Holiday. And, in college, when I discovered the folk movement of the 60’s. I always felt out of place in a small town. I knew I wanted to be a writer. And a singer. And be onstage. And I knew I had to get to New York City to do that and I had a feeling that once I got there, I’d find my path.
For two years, I lived in the maid’s closet of a pre-war 2 bedroom Upper West Side apartment for $400 a month. The minute I could, I went south to the West Village. Had a place on Morton off Hudson. Walking distance to University Square, Bleecker Street, the Minetta Tavern, Washington Square Park, Kettle O’Fish, The Bitter End. I got my first gig at The Bitter End. Paul Colby saw me play a song and offered me a gig. I knew it’s history — the photographs are on the walls. At the time, in the mid-late 90’s, my voice and style was a bit out of time. I got compared a lot to Joan Baez, and, at least in the music industry, it wasn’t a compliment (like, ‘you sound too much like Joan Baez to get a record deal,’ and, ‘your songs are very folky’ as if folk was a bad word). I became obsessed with the folk scene of the 60’s and read everything and listened to everything I could. So, it was an incredible feat of absolute luck that it was Judy Collins who discovered me and gave me my career and validation that my vibrato-laden voice was enough and I’d find my way.
One winter day, I had played Club Passim in Cambridge the night before. Now, Club Passim was famously Club 47, where Joan Baez got her start. It was a famed folk club. Still is. Passim is one of my favorite places to play. The history runs deep. So, I’m driving back to NYC and my cell phone rings. I’m driving and this is before AirPods and bluetooth. I thought about ignoring it, but picked it up.
“Hello, Amy. This is Judy. Judy Collins,” the sing-songy voice said. I’d met her and been signed by her label and played a few shows with her, but she’d never just …. you know… called me…. She asked what I was doing and I told her I was driving home to NYC from playing Club Passim.
“Oh! Club 47! I used to love playing there. You know Joanie used to stand at the back when someone was playing and loudly sing harmonies when nobody knew her. She knew how to get attention. I loved that club, though, Erik Anderson…” and then she started spouting off names. I couldn’t believe this. I was listening intently but wishing there was a way I could just record this conversation. She continued, “I remember driving through a blizzard one morning after my show to get back to the Village in Time to play Gerde’s.” Gerde’s Folk City. One of the most famous folk clubs of the 60s. Duh. At this point, I’m dying.
“I remember being at the bar when this scruffy kid came up and sang. Oh, we all thought he had the most horrible voice…” and she continued to talk about his songs and I realized she was talking about meeting Dylan.
I travelled and played with Judy many times. She taught me how to do stage makeup for theaters. She sang Happy Birthday to me in her dressing room. I got to sing “Amazing Grace” with her at the Woody Guthrie Folk Festival. And I’ve heard many stories. I’ve gotten to play with Tom Paxton. Heard his stories. Noel “Paul” Stookey. I’ve been blessed to meet so many of the folk stars from that era. Never met Bob. Never met Joan.
But I watched “A Complete Unknown” transfixed. I’ve read all the books. Poured over Dylan’s lyrics (like everyone, I own the Complete Lyrics). I spent a month trying to memorize “Chimes of Freedom” to cover it and failed. I loved every minute of it, regardless of some not-so-historically-accurate-moments (and the utter fail of not really having Dave Van Ronk as a central character in the beginning). And then, last night I re-watched “No Direction Home.” Tonight I watched all other docs I found on Bob and Joan.
I did a house concert in Toronto about 15 years ago. The host had asked me to come early. He wanted to show me something. I got there and this older couple introduced themselves and invited me in. He took me to a room that had an entire wall of cassette tapes. He said, “I’ve wanted to host you for a long time, because I know you’d, of all people, be interested in these tapes.” Cassette tapes that were marked “Bob & Dave VR WBAI 1961”, “Joan Newport 1963” etc. A wall of them. Turns out, this man was one of Suze Rotolo’s (Dylan’s girlfriend) best friends in The Village and a member of the communist party. He was friends with Van Ronk used to listen to the late night WBAI radio shows that Van Ronk and Dylan would go to and do comedy routines while Van Ronk played his music, including the “House of the Rising Son” arrangement that Dylan kind of stole. This man left the States and moved to Canada, where he met up with Leonard Cohen. I’m doing a house concert at this guy’s house and all I want to do is stay for a week and listen to all of these recordings. I connected him with the Boston Folk Music Society/Museum. I haven’t seen him since.
I was born in 1968. My parents weren’t at all into folk music, so I didn’t grow up with it. I found it in college. And although I was inspired by Joni Mitchell when I started to write, I was also inspired by Matthew Sweet and Tori Amos and all sorts of music. I never thought of myself as a folk singer. Until someone told me I was.
I’m glad I have my voice. I’m hoping this movie turns a lot of kids onto the kind of music that I now love and write. So if you need me, I’ll be trying to memorize some Dylan…
The voice in your lyrics puts new soles on my old boots.
Great to hear how your music and lyrics have formed , flows through the music that you wrote, write and sing today. Those influences have made a beautiful mix in you !