Langston Hughes and the Blues.
African-American writer Ralph Ellison said that although the blues are often about struggle and depression, they are also full of determination to overcome difficulty “through sheer toughness of spirit.” This resilience in the face of hardship is one of the hallmarks of the blues poem.
The Weary Blues
Langston Hughes, 1902 – 1967
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man’s soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan—
“Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
Ain’t got nobody but ma self.
I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
And put ma troubles on the shelf.”
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more—
“I got the Weary Blues
And I can’t be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can’t be satisfied—
I ain’t happy no mo’
And I wish that I had died.”
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.
The Weary Blues is the title poem of Langston Hughes’ first published collection of poetry from 1926.
Hughes was one of the major figures of the Harlem Renaissance, a movement that emerged in New York after World War One.
Hughes immersed himself in the shady nightlife of the era which was centered around Lennox Avenue in Harlem. This was the height of Prohibition and the Depression. White folks traveled to Harlem ostensibly to hear authentic African American music, but in reality they came as tourists, to hang out in the environs of bootleggers and poor folks, and had little real interest in African American culture.
The major venue in Lennox Avenue was the Cotton Club, which featured African American performers, but African American were not admitted as patrons, hence the ‘real’ music, and the real culture migrated away from the big tourist venues and into small dive bars like the one Hughes writes about.
Syncopation is a feature of both Blues and Jazz music, and refers to the technique of intermittently ‘swinging’ off the beat.
A solid rhythm is established by the bass and drums, while the solo instruments like the trumpet, sax, or guitar, stress notes that are a little ahead or behind the beat.
The musician in Hughes’ poem is a solo pianist. He would have laid down a strong rhythm with his left hand on the bass notes, and syncopated with his right hand and his vocals.
Crooning means to sing in a soft humming manner. In later years the the use of the microphone meant that one vocalist could sing softly and still be audible over an entire orchestra playing at full volume, but the microphone would not have been in common use in Harlem in the 1920s, so in this case it refers to the pianist allowing the somewhat independent melodies of his right hand, left hand, and vocals to weave in and out one another in a magical blend.
In the poem Hughes weaves the performer’s lyrics in and out of the narrative.
The Weary Blues was the title of a popular blues song by Artie Matthews, and Langston Hughes may have taken his own title from the Matthews song, although Hughes’ blues musician isn’t singing the Matthews song.
This is
The Weary Blues
by Artie Matthews.
Well, I know that things won’t be the same
And I know that you’re the one to blame
When you broke my heart and made me cry
I am gonna bid my weary blues goodbye
Weary blues have made me cry
Well, these weary blues I’m gonna bid goodbye
I know, I won’t forget you but I’ll try
You know I am gonna bid my weary blues goodbye
Well, I know that things won’t be the same
And I know that you’re the one to blame
When you broke my heart and made me cry
I am gonna bid my weary blues goodbye
Weary blues have made me cry
Well, these weary blues I am gonna bid goodbye
I know, I won’t forget you but I’ll try
I am gonna bid my weary blues goodbye
I am gonna bid my weary blues goodbye
How to Write a Blues Song.
Traditionally, Blues performers would improvise, which means they would make up the song while they were actually performing it. Consequently, vocalists would repeat the first line of each verse in order to give themselves time to think up a rhyming third line.
You can see this happening in Hughes’ poem:
“I got the Weary Blues And I can’t be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues And can’t be satisfied—
I ain’t happy no mo’ And I wish that I had died.”
This also brings up a difference between poetry and song.
Notice the meter here is very loose, and this would be because the rhythm would be established by the pianist’s left hand playing the bass notes, so there would be no need for an established meter in the lyrics.
In fact, it might be better not to have a meter in lyrics as this would give greater scope for syncopation.
Most of the folks who travelled uptown in the 1920’s to rub shoulders with African American artists (albeit from a distance) believed that syncopation and improvisation showed lack of expertise on behalf of the musicians.
In fact the opposite is true. Syncopation and Improvisation require immense technical musical knowledge, and virtuoso performing skills. These features reached their pinnacle in the BeBop jazz movement in the post World War Two era, and particularly in the music of Charlie Parker.
Blues songs loosely follow the pattern of ballads.
A ballad has a four line verse following this sequence:
1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and
1 and 2 and 3…
(and) 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and
1 and 2 and 3…
The paired syllables can either be iambs (with the stress on the even syllables) or spondees (with the stress on the odd syllables).
The caesura at the end of line 2 tends to bring in the first syllable of line 3 just ahead of the beat. Try reading the above sequence and see how it works. See how the “(and)” at the start of line is kind of squeezed in.
That is syncopation.
What to write about:
If the narrator of a confessional poem tends to be an anti-hero, turning his blame inwards, then the narrator of a blues tends to be more heroic, struggling against real, external problems like poverty, lost love, hunger, homelessness, the need to move on, violence, crime, overwork, and weariness with life.
Which is not to say that a blues can’t be confessional, and the songs often tell of characters who make matters worse for themselves with their own self-destructive tendencies.
It might be a broad generalization, but we could say that Jazz is about instrumental performance––even if the instrument is the human voice. When the jazz singer Ella Fitzgerald sings ‘Polka-dots and Moonbeams’ we have no interest whatsoever in the lyrics, but every interest in the way she sings them.
Conversely Blues is about the narrative of the song, even if the narrative is suggested by the instrumental notes of a piano:
As Hughes tells us:
“He made that poor piano moan with melody…”
It’s as if the piano itself is singing.
Or as Tom Waits sings:
The piano has been drinking; not me.
Robert Johnson.
According to legend, as a young man living on a plantation in rural Mississippi, Johnson had a tremendous desire to become a great blues musician. He was instructed to take his guitar to a crossroad near Dockery Plantation at midnight. There he was met by a large black man (the devil) who took the guitar and tuned it. The devil played a few songs and then returned the guitar to Johnson, giving him mastery of the instrument. This was a deal with the devil mirroring the legend of Faust. In exchange for his soul, Johnson was able to create the blues for which he became famous.
Blues on Yellow
The canary died in the gold mine, her dreams got lost in the sieve.
The canary died in the gold mine, her dreams got lost in the sieve.
Her husband the crow killed under the railroad, the spokes hath shorn his wings.
Something’s cookin’ in Chin’s kitchen, ten thousand yellow-bellied sapsuckers baked in a pie.
Something’s cookin’ in Chin’s kitchen, ten thousand yellow-bellied sapsuckers baked in a pie.
Something’s cookin’ in Chin’s kitchen, die die yellow bird, die die.
O crack an egg on the griddle, yellow will ooze into white.
O crack an egg on the griddle, yellow will ooze into white.
Run, run, sweet little Puritan, yellow will ooze into white.
If you cut my yellow wrists, I’ll teach my yellow toes to write.
If you cut my yellow wrists, I’ll teach my yellow toes to write.
If you cut my yellow fists, I’ll teach my yellow toes to fight.
Do not be afraid to perish, my mother, Buddha’s compassion is nigh.
Do not be afraid to perish, my mother, our boat will sail tonight.
Your babies will reach the promised land, the stars will be their guide.
I am so mellow yellow, mellow yellow, Buddha sings in my veins.
I am so mellow yellow, mellow yellow, Buddha sings in my veins.
O take me to the land of the unreborn, there’s no life on earth without pain.
Sence you went away
James Weldon Johnson, 1871 – 1938
Seems lak to me de stars don’t shine so bright,
Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light,
Seems lak to me der’s nothin’ goin’ right,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me de sky ain’t half so blue,
Seems lak to me dat ev’ything wants you,
Seems lak to me I don’t know what to do,
Sence you went away.
Seems lake to me dat ev’ything is wrong,
Seems lak to me de day’s jes twice es long,
Seems lak to me de bird’s forgot his song,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me I jes can’t he’p but sigh,
Seems lak to me ma th’oat keeps gettin’ dry,
Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye,
Sence you went away.
Riverbank Blues
Sterling A. Brown, 1901 – 1989
A man git his feet set in a sticky mudbank,
A man git dis yellow water in his blood,
No need for hopin’, no need for doin’,
Muddy streams keep him fixed for good.
Little Muddy, Big Muddy, Moreau and Osage,
Little Mary’s, Big Mary’s, Cedar Creek,
Flood deir muddy water roundabout a man’s roots,
Keep him soaked and stranded and git him weak.
Lazy sun shinin’ on a little cabin,
Lazy moon glistenin’ over river trees;
Ole river whisperin’, lappin’ ‘gainst de long roots:
“Plenty of rest and peace in these . . .”
Big mules, black loam, apple and peach trees,
But seems lak de river washes us down
Past de rich farms, away from de fat lands,
Dumps us in some ornery riverbank town.
Went down to the river, sot me down an’ listened,
Heard de water talkin’ quiet, quiet lak an’ slow:
“Ain’ no need fo’ hurry, take yo’ time, take yo’
time . . .” Heard it sayin’–“Baby, hyeahs de way life go . . .”
Dat is what it tole me as I watched it slowly rollin’,
But somp’n way inside me rared up an’ say,
“Better be movin’ . . . better be travelin’ . . .
Riverbank’ll git you ef you stay . . .”
Towns are sinkin’ deeper, deeper in de riverbank,
Takin’ on de ways of deir sulky Ole Man–
Takin’ on his creepy ways, takin’ on his evil ways,
“Bes’ git way, a long way . . . whiles you can. “Man got his
sea too lak de Mississippi Ain’t got so long for a whole lot longer way,
Man better move some, better not git rooted Muddy water fool you, ef you stay . . .”
Ed Asher Briant 