Prison: Prisoners of Their Hairdos

Christine Lavin: Prisoners of Their Hairdos
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My recent run of television-related posts would suggest a discussion of The Prisoner, one of the great TV shows of the 1960s, and one of the first shows designed to blow the viewers’ minds, and I still might, but while it had a theme song (with a great credit sequence), it really wasn’t a music based show.

I’ve also recently written elsewhere about Jason Isbell’s cover of Thin Lizzy’s “Jailbreak,” so that’s out. As I perused my music library, I came across this song, which I hadn’t listened to in years, and which reminded me that you don’t need to be in a cell to be a prisoner.

Christine Lavin has been on the folk scene since the 1980s, and while she has had a long, successful career as a singer-songwriter, she never had the sort of national breakout that some of her contemporaries like Suzanne Vega, Tracy Chapman or Shawn Colvin, although she is incredibly well respected in the folk music world. Lavin writes mostly about relationships, and while she can write seriously, she is probably best known for her sense of humor. Many of her songs are laugh out loud funny. I sometimes wonder if her lack of fame stems from the fact that women folk singers are stereotypically supposed to be sad, tortured souls, and Lavin’s humor prevents her from being taken seriously. But that’s really too bad, because she has consistently written and performed great songs, not all of which are jokey.

In addition, she has long been an incredible supporter of other musicians, playing them on the radio, and working with them. I remember listening to her as the first host of WFUV’s Sunday Breakfast, playing music by artists she liked, sometimes even unreleased tracks. Even after friend (and fellow former WPRB Program Director John Platt) took over the show, Lavin would send him music to play, and she occasionally would sub for him. As much as I loved listening to John, which I don’t get to do as much since the station, in a bad move, pushed him to Sunday evening, when sports, TV, life and dinner usually take precedence (sorry!), it was fun to hear Lavin’s unique style every once in a while.

“Prisoners of Their Hairdos” is on the funny side of Lavin’s musical spectrum, and points out that some people’s coiffures are so distinctive that:

If they changed the way they combed their hair 
They'd never be recognized anywhere 
They're prisoners 

Lavin lists Crystal Gayle, Dorothy Hamill, Don King, Lyle Lovett, Gloria Steinem, Stevie Nicks Leon Redbone, Pee Wee Herman, Tom Wolfe, Pope John Paul, Ted Koppel, and Mary Travers as hairdo prisoners, and I’m sure we could think of more recent ones, since the song was released in 1991. An amateur golfer/more amateur president comes to mind…..

The song points out that ZZ Top are, similarly, prisoners of their beards, and Dolly Parton is a prisoner of her…….wigs. But, on the other hand, the B-52’s beehives, she suggests, are prisoners of the band.

There was a time where I had a great deal of hair, but time and genetics has rendered me almost bald, and now I keep my hair short, for ease of care. Typically, when I go to the barber, she asks me, “what do you want to do?” And my response is usually, “there really isn’t much you can do.” My daughter’s father-in-law (English really needs a word like machatenester or consuegro) shaves his head daily, and has tried to convince me to do the same. I’ve declined, because I don’t want to become a prisoner of my baldness.

In Memorium: Mary Travers

Peter Paul & Mary: Puff the Magic Dragon

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I will get to Mary Travers, but first, let me set the scene.

In the late 1940s, there was a group of folk singers called the Almanac Singers. Members included Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie. Their songs were overtly political, and the group was destroyed by the blacklist. Seeger then formed the Weavers. The Weavers avoided political material, and enjoyed a few hits in the early 50s, but soon they too were blacklisted, and could no longer find work. But the Weavers showed that there was a sizable audience for the ensemble folk sound. The folk revival was in full swing, and soon the airwaves were filled with pop-folk groups. The songs were apolitical, and hit followed hit.

By 1961, Greenwich Village in New York City was a center of the folk scene. Mary Travers was one of the few who actually grew up there. That year, she joined up with Paul Stookey and Peter Yarrow to form Peter, Paul & Mary, and they began to play local gigs. The next year saw the release of their first album, which was an immediate success.

But Peter, Paul & Mary’s timing could have been better. The next year, the Beatles arrived in the United States, and the popularity of the pop-folk sound vanished. So how is it that Peter Paul & Mary did not? There were two reasons. Ironically, Peter, Paul & Mary stayed in the public eye by performing political material. They played at civil rights demonstrations, and then at peace marches, which is where I first heard them.

The other thing that kept them in the public eye was one song: Puff the Magic Dragon. This song became, (and still is), a classic kid’s song. The lyrics about the power and the limits of childhood imagination are certainly one reason. But the sound of these three voices are a vital ingredient, and it can’t work without Mary Travers. Of course, it can’t work without Peter Yarrow or Paul Stookey either. I find it hard to separate them.

The group would last until 1970, and then go their separate ways for solo projects. They would find that the magic that happened when they were together was essential, and they would regroup in 1978. From there on, they would reaffirm their commitment to social causes. And they would record two albums especially for children and their families, including a new recording of Puff.

One last thought. If you get a chance, catch a special on PBS called Lifelines. It shows up during fund drives. Here, Peter, Paul & Mary share the stage with some of their inspirations, some of their contemporaries, and some of the musicians they inspired. Mary Travers had lost her youthful figure by this time, but I have the strong impression watching her that she is a mother figure here. To me, hers is the strongest presence among some very strong personalities. It is a quiet strength, calmly watching over the proceedings. I don’t know if that is how it was in the group for all those years. But that is how I will think of her.