A Is For Activist Artists -- by Nan Brooks

  

ODETTA

There is a long tradition of artists as activists – no surprise there. Traveling musicians and theater troupes have been carriers of news and resistance throughout history. And still do, with the addition of late-night talk show comedian-hosts these days. There are women activist artists from the U.S. Civil Rights Movement of the 60’s and 70’s who stand out in my memory. And there is a long list of more recent lesbian feminist artists in music, comedy and theater – but that is a discussion for another time.

I’m thinking often these days of Odetta and Bernice Johnson Reagon. There is a new biography, Odetta, a Life in Music and Protest, by Ian Zack, so let’s start with Odetta.  

She was born in Birmingham in 1930, moved to Los Angeles as a girl and by 13 was studying voice training, German lieder and art songs. She performed in choirs and theater ensembles in those years. Eventually she turned to folk music and performed at prominent concert halls and clubs. Her tours, writes Zack, “were a hybrid blend of folk tunes, spirituals, chain gang work songs, children’s music, and jazz.”

Her career had its highs and lows with national television appearances with Harry Belafonte and others, and she performed at the 1963 March on Washington and the Selma-to-Montgomery march.  Zack goes on, “A regrettable sign of an overtly racist, sexist society, she received significant mention in the press regarding the unironed, short, kinky afro she sported and about her generous girth.” What they did not emphasize was the effect of her voice, well trained and expertly used, and the emotional effect of her singing. She was inspiring when inspiration was sorely needed by weary workers for justice. She had walked a long, hard road and she had lessons to share.

Mr. Zack has done the research and tells us more about Odetta, her work and her struggles. Her rage against the racism wounded her deeply; it was fuel and often focus for her music. She struggled with alcohol addiction, unhappy relationships, and terrible shyness onstage.

I met her in the early 1980’s when she appeared at the National Women’s Music Festival. It was probably Sid Reger who knew she would be an important addition to the festival stage and who found the way to book her.

It was a dramatic night in many ways, not the least of which was Odetta’s appearance. She moved from shyness to sheer joy from the audience reaction. The house was full – the Indiana University Auditorium holds about 2,00, I think, and there were folks who had weathered the Civil Rights Movement, the university and town community, the lesbian festival audience -- a wonderful mix of young and old, Black and white, lesbian, gay, and straight, who came from near and far to hear her and Holly Near on the same night.  

Women’s festival audiences are like no others; they are attentive and highly focused, they are enthusiastic in their responses with applause and the ever-present singalongs. They recognize the real thing and they are eager to support performers of all sorts. They energy can literally throw a performer off balance physically, it is that strong. Odetta felt that magic and she basked in it and she did not want to leave the stage. It seemed to me on that evening that she was receiving a tiny portion of the recognition and love she had always deserved and longed for. I could see it wash over her and how it changed her. No wonder she didn’t want to leave!

There were practicalities to consider, which became problematic. I had opened the evening (a story for another time), followed by Therese Edell, a beloved young singer-songwriter who had the courage to announce that she was suffering from MS and would be retiring.  We were all sobbing backstage. Then came Odetta, to be followed by Holly Near – another activist artist who had drawn a large portion of the full-house audience.  We were swimming in the emotional intensity and barely on time when Odetta went on and way way way behind when she came off. Finally, she noticed the frantic signals from Connie Lane, the expert stage manager, and went into her last song. She would teach us a song about the environment, she said, and we were to learn it and sing with her. She launched into “Home on the Range” and the audience was in full-throat celebration when she walked off the stage. She may have been escorted off out of necessity; I don’t remember that, but others do. The cries of “Encore!” ensued, but it was not to be.

The worry about time was well founded. If we stayed past 11:00 p.m. (I think it was) for even a few minutes, we would have to pay for a full hour of overtime for the union stagehands. Those hands were all men, and the festival arranged with them that our tech crews would all be women and the men would be on hand for emergencies and would be paid union wages. They spent their time in a dressing room playing cards usually, but often would hear a performer who captured their attention or they would just come hang out in the wings and watch the crew with good humor. There was a lot of mutual respect, but paying time and a half union wages for a full  crew was not tenable – the festival did not have the money for such luxury.

There is more to the story – how the audience continued to sing “Home on the Range” to encourage Odetta to come back, how the Cincinnatti women’s chorus, Muse, began to sing Holly Near’s anthem, “We are a Gentle Angry People” to welcome her and the crowd simply changed songs, how Holly dispensed with the emcee’s introduction and all of the conversation between songs, sang her set straight through to a very happy audience, and then explained the situation and asked them to leave quickly. To the astonishment of the auditorium staff, he hall emptied in far less than 10 minutes, there was no overtime to pay, and all was well.

I often remember is Odetta’s surprise and joy. She was, indeed, struggling at the time to keep performing, make a living, to be healthy. She talked with me about acting because she was about to begin work on a Broadway show in which she would star. I promised to go and see her on Broadway, but the show never happened and I was sad for her. I saw her again in Eugene, Oregon and opened for her that night. I was astonished when she came and asked timidly if she could come in to my dressing room (aka a backstage closet). She was shy as a young girl is shy, and I was shy too, in her presence; but we had a fine time remembering that night in Bloomington.

Odetta had attended the festival rather than just drop in to do her set and leave. Like all performers, she was provided with a “friend”, a person who would drive her around as needed, show her the city, run errands, help her feel comfortable. We had learned that most performers are shy (yes, it’s true) and that a continuing friendly low-key presence was helpful. Patti Lather was Odetta’s festival friend and she took her on a picnic to a nearby park. Odetta had noticed that many of the women at the festival were wearing lavender and asked why. Patti said, “it is the color of women who love women.”  “Oh! Said Odetta, I need to go shopping for something lavender.” Ever the activist artist, she “got it” about the ways, subtle and overt, to be an ally.

May we remember her well and often. May we be allies in ways subtle and overt and clear and unending.