These are things that don't even have a hidden link, but I've backed them up. Call them a work in progress. Som eof the stuff will be used to develop the Bonnie Koloc 'back' page and the "Chicago Scene" page that will be part of the influences page. Other stuff just still needs to be sorted. Glad you found your way here but please don't spread the word around. This is really the "closet" for the goodman pages, and is best kept closed.
The Cubs' Haunting Tradition Ron Rapoport Los Angeles Daily News 750 Words 4479 Characters 10/04/89 The San Francisco Chronicle THREE STAR D3 SPECIAL SECTION; PLAYOFF EXTRA, RELATED STORY (Copyright 1989) . Do they still play the blues in Chicago When baseball season rolls around? TD When the snow melts away Do the Cubbies still play In their ivy-covered burial ground? -------------------------------- * When Steve Goodman died of leukemia at the age of 36 five years ago, the obituaries properly noted that his most famous song was ""The City of New Orleans." Yet to any number of residents of this city - and very likely to Goodman himself - his most evocative composition was surely ""A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request." It is not simply that this inspired bit of talking blues is, with the possible exception of ""Who's on First?," the single funniest performance piece ever to take baseball as its subject. Just as important is the fact that the song explains the hold of the Cubs on their fans better than any philosopher or psychologist ever could. ""The Cubs made me a criminal," Goodman sang. ""They stole my youth from me. I'd forsake my teachers to sit in the bleachers in flagrant truancy." For decades longer than most of their fans have been alive, there has been something about the Cubs, something about the inevitability of their losing, that gave Chicago as much of its identity as the lake it sits astride. And rather than deny it, rather than be ashamed of it, Cub fans have accepted this yearly failure as their fate. SYMBOL OF DESPAIR I have long thought there was something almost religious in the attachment of Cub fans to the symbol of their despair. Their Job-like ability to deal with pain is part of it. So is a phrase you will often hear in Chicago: ""I'm a Cub fan because my father was a Cub fan," And his father before him. It was understood that you had no say in this matter. Like your sex or hair color, it was handed to you at birth. I committed these thoughts to print once and was informed by no less prominent a Chicagoan than U.S. District Judge Prentice H. Marshall that I had missed an important part of it. Because White Sox owner Charles Comiskey had been an Irish Catholic, Judge Marshall said, and because most Irish Catholics were Democrats, there used to be a saying, ""Show me an Irish Catholic who isn't a Democrat and a Sox fan and I'll show you an S.O.B." So at a time when the entire country seems to have caught Cub fever, it is important to recognize that a large number of Chicagoans are immune. I expect any number of Sox fans to be watching ""I Love Lucy" reruns when the National League playoffs begin at Wrigley Field tonight, and to be muttering under their breath the whole time. It is true that Cub fans have seldom had the opportunity to gloat over the competition, but they have long been able to outshout it. They have written songs, as in Goodman's case, and books. A dozen years ago, a brilliant young actor named Joe Mantegna even collaborated on a play that has proved particularly enduring. ""Bleacher Bums" was brought up to date and remounted in a theater not far from Wrigley Field this year, in fact. "CITY OF MASOCHISTS' ""Chicago is a city of masochists," says one of the play's main characters, a gambler who makes a nice living wagering against the home team. ""Nobody ever lost money betting against the Cubs after the Fourth of July." It goes without saying that the Cubs lose the game that forms ""Bleacher Bums" backdrop. But things are different now. There are lights in Wrigley Field, and cinnamon rolls are sold at the concession stands along with the * local beer and hot dogs. Steve Goodman is dead, Joe Mantegna has moved to Studio City and become part of David Mamet's movie-making repertory company and the Cubs are in the playoffs for the second time in six years. Yet there are some things that will never, could never, change. The Cubs could win the pennant. They could win the World Series. They could even convert a Sox fan or two. But to be a Cub fan is to know that eventually they will break your heart. To be a Cub fan is * to know that the last word belongs to Steve Goodman. When I was a boy, they were my pride and joy But now they only bring fatigue To the home of the brave, the land of the free And the doormat of the National League.
AMTRAK CHANGES From Tribune Wires. 474 Words 3994 Characters 04/30/95 Chicago Tribune CHICAGOLAND FINAL; C 19 (Copyright 1995) * Amtrak is fulfilling the words of Steve Goodman's song "The City of New Orleans": "This train's got the disappearing railroad blues." On June 11, the City of New Orleans train will no longer make a daily trip between Chicago and New Orleans, but will start skipping Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Then, beginning Sept. 10, the Broadway Limited, the overnight express between New York and Chicago, will operate only between New York and Pittsburgh; passengers traveling between Chicago and Pittsburgh will use the Capitol Limited. The California Zephyr between Salt Lake City and Oakland, Calif., will not run on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays beginning June 11. What's left of the Hiawatha, running just between Chicago and Milwaukee-a fragment of the former Chicago-Minneapolis trip-now operates four times a day, instead of seven. TD For more information, call Amtrak, 800-872-8745. SPECIAL OLYMPICS The 9th Special Olympics World Summer Games will be held in New Haven, Conn., July 1-9, bringing an expected 7,200 athletes from 140 countries to participate in 250 events in 19 sports. Special Olympics World Summer Games are held every four years, providing competition for children and adults who are mentally retarded. Sports range from aquatics to golf to volleyball. The competition will be based mainly on five campuses in the New Haven area. Admission is free, but the opening ceremony will require an entrance ticket. For information, call the Special Olympics World Games Organizing Committee, 203-498-7773. For information on local lodging, contact the Greater New Haven Convention and Visitors Bureau, 800-332-7829 or 203-777-8550. LONDON PROJECT A new pedestrian viewing area was completed this month outside Buckingham Palace in London. The $3.8 million project involved the rerouting of traffic to create a triangular haven for tourists between the Palace and the Queen Victoria Memorial opposite. New traffic lights and more pedestrian crossings also have been installed. The changes were prompted by a report last year by The Royal Parks Review Group, which highlighted the conflict between traffic and pedestrians, describing the chaos around the palace as a "national disgrace." BALI HEALTH WARNING People planning to visit Bali should consider being vaccinated against Japanese encephalitis, a severe brain infection transmitted by mosquitoes. This advice was issued this month in The Lancet, a medical journal, following the report of a Swedish woman who became ill after 10 days on the Indonesian island. Despite the new warning, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention does not recommend routine immunization for short-term tourists to Asia, but only for travelers planning to stay for more than 30 days because they are at the highest risk. Most other people can effectively protect themselves by using mosquito repellent, said Dr. Theodore Sai, an encephalitis expert at the C.D.C. in Ft. Collins, Colo. FREE FOR ASKING For information about San Francisco, including maps and a lodging guide, call San Francisco Convention & Visitors Bureau, 415-391-2000.
TRIB7001596299 FRIDAY FOLK LIVES! DESPITE SETBACKS, LOCAL SCENE STILL STRONG THAT WAS THEN June Sawyers 2171 Words 14445 Characters 01/22/88 Chicago Tribune SPORTS FINAL; CN 3 (Copyright 1988) You never miss what you have until it's gone. With that in mind, here's a list of folk performers who once were riding high locally but have now moved on to other things and folk clubs that once were and are no more: Thom Bishop is writing scripts and, reputedly, the Great American Novel in Los Angeles. He visits occasionally. Tom Dundee, one of the leading solo acoustic performers in * the early '80s, recently played at the Holstein's sendoff celebration but has been generally keeping a low profile. Steve Goodman, best known as the writer of "City of New Orelans," died in 1984 at age 36. Anne Hills left town a popular and highly respected singer who had her fingers in many pies, including co-running the Hogeye Music Center in Evanston (which is still going strong) and recording several albums on the Hogeye label. She was also one-third of the Best of Friends trio (the others were Tom Paxton and Bob Gibson). Mike Jordan, once an energetic folkie, now fronts the rockabilly band the Rockamatics but has been ill recently. Bonnie Koloc stills lives in the city, writing and performing her own jazz-inflected compositions, but her folk days are over. Megan McDonough recently finished an extended stint in the '60s musical "Beehive." Cindy Mangsen, a radiant singer with a crystalline voice, is a librarian in upstate New York. Buddy Mondlock, a No Exit regular, is now living in Nashville but returns occasionally. Keith Nichols, guiding light behind the late and lamented Chicago Houselights concert series, has headed south in search of love and a warmer climate. John Prine, the postman from Maywood, has written some powerful songs ("Hello in There," "Sam Stone," "Angel From Montgomery") since his Wells Street days. In recent years, he has made quirky albums on small labels that were hits with critics. Bill Quateman left in search of fame and an overnight success that never came. Claudia Schmidt, an eclectic singer with a strong theatrical * bent, started at the No Exit and graduated to Holstein's before leaving the city to follow her own idiosyncratic path. Frank Tedesso writes brutally honest songs about love, life and the human psyche. He has been spending time in New York City. And places . . . Folk music in Chicago began at the old Blue Note in 1952 with Win Stracke, Chet Roble, Big Bill Broonzy and Larry Lane performing on Monday nights. The first true folk club, though, was the famous Gate of Horn, where you could hear leading performers for as little as $2. Probably the most durable folk club was the Earl of Old Town, a Chicago original. Anybody who was anyone (or wanted to be) played here at one time or another. Earl Pionke, the wizard of Wells Street, now runs Earl's Pub on Lincoln Avenue. Richard Harding deserves a citation all to himself. He ran Mother Blue's and Poor Richard's before finally opening his legendary Quiet Knight, where he booked the best of folk from John Prine to Kris Kristofferson to a green kid from Iowa named Bonnie Koloc. His most recent venture, the short-lived Da Vinci's on North Avenue, failed to get off the ground. Somebody Else's Troubles, the only Chicago folk club named after a Goodman song (and owned by Goodman and Pionke, among others), was a favorite haunt. There was Charlotte's Web in Rockford and Harry Hope's in Cary, the Fifth Peg on Armitage and the more recent Hobson's Choice, run by Chicago folk legend Bob Gibson, and the short-lived the Point at the Gingerman, both on Clark Street. Probably the most idealistic was the Amazingrace Coffeehouse, a student- run cooperative that presented quality entertainment at dirt cheap prices and where people sat on the floor, cross-legged and eager to listen. Stages, a marvelous concert hall with an imaginative booking * policy (by the Holstein brothers), brought first-class talent to town from the Irish band Clannad to the late Canadian singer-songwriter Stan Rogers. It is now the dance club Cabaret Metro. Then there were the lesser known clubs: the Rising Moon, Old Town North, the Blind Pig, the Sacred Cow, the Crystal Palace, Small World, the Fickle Pickle near State and Division, the Oblique on Rush Street, the Montmarte on Chicago Avenue, Phase One in Hyde Park, Mountain Moving Coffeehouse, Someplace Else in Park Forest * and the latest casualty, Holstein's. R.I.P. too to Come for to Sing, the wonderful folk music quarterly that drew its last breath in 1987. THIS IS NOW Down but not out-some regulars on the current folk beat: Tricia Alexander is a contemporary songwriter, a bit on the jazzy side. The Amazing Howe Brothers do political satire as well as a generous portion of Renaissance music. Brian Anderson is a contemporary singer and songwriter. Andrew Calhoun is a jarringly original, sometimes disturbing voice on the folk scene-in other words, he's just what's needed. He has several albums to his credit and is publishing his own book of poetry, "Love Without Measure," which he describes as "stark and searching"-like his songs. Peg Compton is a registered nurse who sings contemporary material with a new-age and soft rock feel. Phil Cooper and Margaret Nelson sing eerie old ballads from the Celtic and early-American traditions that are guaranteed to send a chill up your spine. The warm baritone of Jim Craig can regularly be heard at the No Exit and other venues about town. Mark Dvorak, an instructor at the Old Town School, leans toward traditional songs. Chris Farrell hosts the open stage at Earl's Pub on Sunday nights. His debut album, "Night Ballads," is due out in March. If you're lucky, you may be able to catch Bob Gibson at an occasional gig, but he has been concentrating on writing children's material in recent years. Brian Gill is another contemporary singer and songwriter. * Fred Holstein may be without a permanent home now, but he will be sure to be around town. James McCandless is an electrician by profession but a singer of personal tales by choice. The Maxwell Street Klezmer Band performs Yiddish music from the turn of the century. Lee Murdock specializes in songs of the Midwest. The duo of Kathy O'Hara and Diana Laffey add a bit of musical spice to their shows. Dave Porter performs original material with a twist of jazz. Wells Street veteran Jim Post is bringing his "Galena Rose" to the Old Town School at the end of this month. Privateer sings of shipwrecks and other maritime ballads from the Great Lakes. L.J. Slavin plays mountain music on tin whistle and banjo. Michael Smith, a highly accomplished songsmith, is best known as the author of "The Dutchman," which brought Steve Goodman much success. No one is more traditional than Art Thieme (he claims to know 500 to 600 songs, from murder ballads to lumberjack tunes from the Revolutionary War to the Civil War). He lives in western Illinois but occasionally travels up to these parts. Harry Waller manages a hot dog stand but performs every once in a while when coaxed. GUIDE TO THE FOLK SCENE Here is a select list of clubs, coffeehouses and organizations that present folk music on a regular or occasional basis, followed by a listing of radio shows featuring folk music. When available, upcoming events are listed: David Adler Cultural Center, 1700 N. Milwaukee Ave., Libertyville; 367-0707. Lee Murdock, 7:30 and 9:30 p.m. Feb. 5; $5. Aural Tradition, P.O. Box 14407, Chicago 60614-0407. Supports traditional and contemporary folk music by presenting concerts, musical parties and other events. Membership: $6, $12, $15. Blind Faith Cafe, 525 Dempster Ave., Evanston; 328-6875. Tuesdays, classical and steel guitar with Andrew Calhoun. Chicago Maritime Society, c/o Newberry Library, 60 W. Walton St.; 348-2017. Phil Elmes, president. Historical society of Great Lakes maritime history. Sponsors the Maritime and Folk Festival each summer. Chicago Songwriters' Association, 1228 W. Jarvis St.; 585-7942. Not-for- profit group of professional songwriters. Durty Nellie's Pub, 58 N. Bothwell St., Palatine; 358-9150. Earl's Pub, 2470 N. Lincoln Ave.; 929-0660. Owned by Earl Pionke of Earl of Old Town fame. Open stage with Chris Farrell on Sundays; Dwain Storey and Charley Koster on Wednesdays. No cover, one drink-minimum. Flying Fish Records, 1304 W. Schubert Ave.; 528-5455. Chicago's big local record label. Sponsors occasional record release parties. Fox Valley Folklore Society; Juel Ulven, 755 N. Evanslawn Ave., Aurora; 897-3655. Sponsors concerts, open mikes, singarounds and a folk festival each September. Friendship Concert Hall, Janice and Algonquin Roads, Des * Plaines; 255-5380. Muriel Anderson and Fred Holstein, 8 p.m. Jan. 29; $6 in advance, $7 at door. Irish American Heritage Center, 4626 N. Knox Ave.; 282-7035. Occasionally sponsors traditional Irish music concerts. "Jim Post's Galena Rose (How Whiskey Won the West)." Performance Theatre of the Old Town School of Folk Music, 909 W. Armitage Ave.; 853-3636. A one-man musical docudrama presented at 8 p.m. Jan. 29-30 and 1 p.m. Jan. 31; $10. The Listening Place, 1107 S. Austin Blvd., Oak Park. Coffeehouse and music. Michelangelo's, 329 E. Indian Trail, Aurora; 897-3655. Fox Valley Folklore Society holds open mike first Wednesday of each month and sing- arounds on other Wednesday evenings. Mont Claire Coffeehouse, Mont Clare Congregational Church, 6935 W. Medill Ave.; 889-8174. Music first Saturday of every month at 8 p.m.; $3 cover. Quarterly concert series. Annual summer folk festival. None of the Above Coffeehouse, 2d Unitarian Church, 656 W. Barry Ave.; 929-4852. Folk, poetry, storytellers on the third Saturday of every month at 7:30 p.m. (next show Feb. 20); $2 cover. No Exit Cafe and Coffeehouse, 6970 N. Glenwood Ave.; 743-3355. Rusty old coffeehouse that gave many a starving folkie a start. Folk music Thursdays through Sundays; $1-$3. Upcoming: Tricia Alexander, Jan. 29-30; Privateer, Feb. 4; James McCandless, Feb. 12; Jan Marra, Feb. 19; Brian Gill, March 12; Art Thieme, March 18. Call for details. Old Town School of Folk Music, 909 W. Armitage Ave.; 525-7793. (Mt. Prospect branch, 411 S. Maple St., Mt. Prospect, 255-5380; La Grange branch, c/o Lyons Township Adult Education Center, 100 S. Brainard Ave., La Grange, 354-4220.) Classes from banjo and old-time country blues to Irish stepdancing, children's programs, acoustic music shop, Different Strummer. Mr. Coffeehouse two Fridays each month; $3. "The Story of the Old Town School of Folk Music," photographs and essays by its founders, friends and students, will be published in March at $14.95. Upcoming concerts: Celtic music from the Boys of the Lough, March 4, $8-$12; Hot Rize, bluegrass, March 6, $6-$10; "The Masters of the Folk Violin" includes bluegrass, Cape Breton and Cajun music, March 12, $12; Eastern European Music Festival, April 9-16. Call for times and details. Orphans, 2462 N. Lincoln Ave.; 929-2677. Plank Road Folk Song Society, P.O. Box 283, Brookfield 60513. Promotes and preserves traditional and acoustic music in the Chicagoland area. Quarterly newsletter, the Plank Road News. Monthly concerts, workshops, open stages, sing-arounds. Membership $5. The Roxy, 1505 W. Fullerton Ave.; 472-8100. Townhall Pub, 3340 N. Halsted St.; 472-4405. Open stage on Mondays. Two Way Street Coffeehouse, 1047 Curtiss St., Downers Grove; 969-9720. University of Chicago Folk Festival, Mandel Hall, 5706 S. University Ave. Festival runs Feb. 5-7. Performers include: Irish musicians Mick Moloney, Jimmy Keane Jr. and Robbie O'Connell; Bill Monroe disciples Kenny Baker and Josh Graves; the old-time Creole music of Boisec, Ardoin, Canray and Fontenot; Benton Flippen, master fiddler from the North Carolina tradition, plus piano blues from Austin, Tex.; a Yugoslavian instrumental ensemble; a Mexican folk harp player; and old-time country ballads. $6-$10. Call for schedule: 702-9793 or 702-7300. The Village Squire, 125 Washington St., Dundee; 428-4483. Andrew Calhoun performs in this restaurant setting on Thursday. RADIO "Bluegrass Express": WBEZ (FM 91.5), 7-8 p.m. Sundays. "The Flea Market": WBEZ (FM 91.5), 5-7 p.m. Sundays. Host: Stuart Rosenberg. Ethnic music from around the world. "Folk Sampler": WBEZ (FM 91.5), 7-8 p.m. Saturdays. Traditional. "Folkstage": WFMT (FM 98.7), 12:15-12:45 a.m. Saturdays. "The Folk Show": WNUR (FM 89.3), 8 a.m.-noon Sundays. Eclectic, from Richard Thompson to Pete Seeger. "The Midnight Special": WFMT (FM 98.7), 10:15 p.m.-12:15 a.m. Saturdays; rebroadcast 2-4 p.m. Wednesdays. "Mixed Bag": WBEZ (FM 91.5), 8-9 p.m. Saturdays. Folk, comedy, swing, acoustic, vintage and new recordings. "Best of 'A Prairie Home Companion' ": WBEZ (FM 91.5), 10 a.m.-noon Sundays. "The Thistle and Shamrock": WBEZ (FM 91.5), 8-9 p.m. Sundays. Host: Fiona Ritchie. WHPK (FM 88.5), the University of Chicago station, offers four traditional folk programs Mondays through Thursdays from 6 to 7 p.m. The lineup: Mondays-"Stoney Lonesome," bluegrass; Tuesdays-"Atlantic Sound," Irish; Wednesdays-"Cajun Jamboree"; Thursdays-"Music from Around the World," international folk. CAPTION: PHOTO: Tribune photo by Charles Osgood. Jim Hirsch in the music store of the Old Town School of Music. PHOTO: Tribune photo by Michael Budrys. Earl Pionke, now at Earl's Pub, ran the now-defunct Earl of Old Town. PHOTO: Tribune photo by Gerald West. No Exit Cafe and Coffeehouse is an old favorite with folk music fans. PHOTO: (color) On today's cover: Tribune photo by Bob Fila of folk music memorabilia; objects courtesy of Old Town School of Music.
TRIB8000843951 TEMPO The unbroken circle A folk resurgence is blowing in the wind as a new generation discovers old-time sounds Lynn Van Matre 2453 Words 14971 Characters 05/16/93 Chicago Tribune FINAL EDITION; C 1 (Copyright 1993) The Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul & Mary are on the bill. So are Joni Mitchell, Odetta and Judy Collins. Ditto Arlo Guthrie, Richie Havens, Ramblin' Jack Elliott and dozens of other folk denizens-and Donovan might put in a surprise appearance. It sounds like something straight out of the 1960s, but this is no vintage flashback. In fact, the people behind the upcoming Troubadours of Folk Festival, to be held June 5 and 6 at UCLA with a lineup of veterans and newcomers spanning four decades of sounds, think they're on board what could be one of the big bandwagons of the 1990s: folk music. "Everything comes full circle sooner or later," says Ted Myers of Rhino Records, one of the moving forces behind the Los Angeles fest, which is expected to attract a sellout crowd of around 20,000 people each day. "Our phone was ringing off the hook with pop and rock people-I don't want to mention names, but some of them were major artists-who wanted to be on the bill, even though their music doesn't have much to do with folk. They wanted to somehow bend themselves into the folk image just so they could be part of the festival. There's a folk revival in the wind now, absolutely." Tom Paxton, tuning his trusty Martin guitar in an upstairs office/dressing room before a recent show at the Old Town School of Folk Music, pauses momentarily in his strumming and laughs when he hears that. People, he explains good-naturedly, have been asking him for 30 years if another folk boom-like the one that launched his career in the early 1960s-is just around the bend. "When people talk about whether there's going to be another `folk revival,' it reminds me of a bunch of Russian emigres sitting around Paris saying, `Surely by next year we'll be back in St. Petersburg,"' says the 56-year-old singer and songwriter, whose contemporary folk classic, "The Last Thing on My Mind," has been recorded by more than 200 artists. "But if there is a folk resurgence, it's not going to be led by (folk singers of my generation). It's going to be led by young artists who'll call us the `roots guys' the way we used to talk about Mississippi John Hurt and Doc Watson when we were starting out." Another "roots guy," Havens-who wowed 'em at Woodstock with his folky rendition of "Freedom"-sees things slightly differently. "Folk music has never gone away," Havens says firmly. "It's just that as each generation comes of age, they `discover' the music that is a little deeper from what they have been listening to." Who's right? In one way or another, all of the above. Folk music, almost as old as the hills of Appalachia and the deltas of Mississippi, has been around for centuries. But there's no doubt that its popularity and commercial fortunes have waxed and waned over the decades as the sound-rooted in simple, traditional genres and generally acoustic-has captured fickle mass tastes, then gone out of vogue once again. In 1950, for example, the Weavers-a quartet that included Pete Seeger and grew out of another group, the Almanac Singers, which included the legendary Woody Guthrie-had a No. 1 pop hit with "Goodnight, Irene," a song by folk singer/guitarist Leadbelly. The next year, the Weavers made the Top 10 with "So Long (It's Been Good to Know Ya)," Guthrie's song about Oklahoma Dust Bowl days. The Kingston Trio took the folky ballad of "Tom Dooley" to the top of the pop charts in 1958. In the early 1960s, as a folk revival gathered steam in New York City's Greenwich Village and spread to college campuses across the country, pop audiences embraced Peter, Paul & Mary's versions of Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind" and "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" before Beatlemania swept the country and rock reigned supreme once more. Now, folk music's moving into the spotlight again. No, nobody's arguing that traditional tunes-or the '90s version of them-are going to knock rap and rock off the charts. But sales are up at major folk labels such as Chicago's Flying Fish and Cambridge, Mass.-based Rounder Records. "Folk music," says J. Seymour Guenther, vice president of Flying Fish, "is no longer the kiss of death." At the Old Town School of Folk Music, concert attendance was up nearly 15 percent last year and class enrollment has soared for children as well as adults, according to the school's executive director, Jim Hirsch. Mainstream pop and country artists are no stranger to folk material-Nanci Griffith's critically acclaimed new album, "Other Voices/Other Rooms," covers folk songs by a variety of artists from Woody Guthrie to Tom Paxton, for example, and R.E.M. included the folk evergreen "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" on its latest album, "Automatic for the People." Finally, while Baby Boomers still make up the bulk of the folk audience, a growing portion of the college-age and post-college crowd is discovering folk music. "Folk music is far away enough now from young people that it * seems sort of exotic," says Ed Holstein, who has been active on the Chicago folk scene for more than 20 years as a performer, club owner and concert promoter. "Bob Dylan's `Freewheelin' Bob Dylan' album is 30 years old, for example. There's a mystique about it. But it's still music with a lot of heart, and I think younger people are finding it comforting to reacquaint themselves with tradition." A new generation They're not just listening to folk music, either; they're becoming folk singers themselves. Folkie Jason Eklund, 22, grew up in Sycamore, Ill., listening to rock, but fell in love with the music of Guthrie and Dylan "because they sounded like people who were in control." He now spends most of his time on the road performing at folk clubs and festivals. "A lot of people I meet at folk concerts are in the 35- to 45-year-old range," says Eklund, whose debut album is scheduled for release in July on Flying Fish. "But one of my friends has a 17-year-old son who grew up listening to rock and now has gotten very excited about folk. And I see people in college starting to discover it, listening to (folk-influenced) bands like Indigo Girls or Cowboy Junkies. People are bombarded with information all the time; they come from weird family situations. There's a sense of community about folk music that's very appealing. "Partly I think more people are interested in folk now because they're so bored with hard rock and heavy metal. Folk music is the most heartful music around," adds Eklund, who performs Friday and June 10 at the No Exit. Acoustic music presents an alternative to people who are disappointed in the state of pop, Hirsch says. "The Baby Boomers are getting older and are looking for music relevant to them and their children, and they aren't finding it in contemporary pop-although there's a lot of crossover," he explains. "We've gotten more younger people for shows featuring new folk acts like John Gorka and David Wilcox, and I was surprised at how young the audience was for John Prine. "A lot of world music influences have been moving into contemporary music, too, and that leads people to roots and folk music," he adds. "Of course, all things move in and out of popularity. Maybe it's just our turn." `It's all coming together' Flying Fish's Guenther sees a couple of reasons for the current folk "revival." "For one thing, the folk scene has gotten better organized, and folk labels like us and Rounder and Red House and Green Linnet and Sugar Hill are coming into maturity," he says. "We're finding our market niche and there is support for it. Then, two, in the mass media culture, there are certain pop and country artists who have some folk roots-Nanci Griffith, for example, and Mary-Chapin Carpenter and Michelle Shocked and John Prine. "None of this is really new," Guenther observes, "but it's all coming together now, and it's reaching critical mass. When I started working at Flying Fish after graduating from the University of Chicago in the mid-1980s, folk seemed to be out of step with the times. "The 1980s were a time for individual enterprise, wealth and star status. It's not like that's all gone away; that's still the dominant culture. But there's a bit of weariness with that now, and I think people are finding the more low-key folk approach refreshing." Definition of `folk' changing Nothing ever happens exactly the same way twice, and the current folk resurgence is no exception. In the '90s, folk is defined far more loosely and encompasses far more than it did in the '60s; folk music magazine Dirty Linen, for example, proclaims that it covers "folk, electric folk, traditional and world music." Folk can mean everything from vintage Woody Guthrie ballads to Tish Hinojosa's Southwestern-flavored songs (occasionally sung in Spanish); it encompasses a wide variety of ethnic music from around the world as well as singer-songwriter types like Wilcox and Gorka (both of whom probably would have been summarily dismissed by folkies of the early 1960s as far too pop to sail under the folk banner). "The definition of what is folk has changed dramatically in my professional lifetime," Paxton says. "When I began singing, I sang traditional folk songs I learned out of a Burl Ives songbook, and it was fairly easy to define folk music then as music that had been transmitted orally from generation to generation, sung by folk as an avocation or in the performance of their jobs. That certainly doesn't hold true anymore." Another thing that doesn't hold true is the schism that once existed between the folk scene and the rock scene. (Dylan was booed at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival when he abandoned his acoustic guitar for electrified accompaniment.) "You don't see that dichotomy now," Guenther says. "Most people who listen to folk music also listen to some rock music; they're aware of the popular groups." "You don't only see the folk crowd at folk shows, either," says Ken Irwin, a co-founder of Rounder Records. "One of our artists, Bill Morrissey, has rock fans, even though he doesn't play rock. It used to be that our artists would put out records and they would fall through the cracks between two audiences. Now those artists are getting people from several audiences. I think that is largely due to people opening their minds to different kinds of music in the last few years." Knowing their audience At Flying Fish, according to Guenther, the typical recording budget is a modest $10,000 or less per album; rock budgets may run more than 10 times as much. The company's break-even point is generally around 7,000 for CDs and 10,000 for tapes, though a release by one of Flying Fish's major folk stars, such as Paxton, may sell as many as 30,000 copies. "We aren't really trying to take the company up to another level now, though," says Guenther. "We want to grow more incrementally. "And radio support for folk music is still very spotty," adds Guenther, who cautions against viewing the success of the Griffith album, which reached No. 54 on the pop charts, as proof of a "folk explosion." "The more commercial folk music does get some airplay, and there are quite a few non-commercial college stations who wait eagerly for whatever we put out," he says. "But even at National Public Radio, which has been the backbone of support for folk, folk is really having to fight for a place as news and talk formats come in." Fighting for air time "Radio is so formatted now that artists who don't fit into a specific category will have a tough time, and that hurts folk music," says Rick Gershon, A & M Records West Coast publicity director. A & M's roster includes new folkie Wilcox, who says he doesn't like being categorized as a folk artist but nevertheless is a popular draw on the folk fest/club circuit with college-age folk fans and Baby Boomers. "Major labels are trying to find artists with a potential radio reality," says Gershon, "and if there is no hope for getting these artists some significant air time, it's going to be that much more difficult to promote them. Right now, (major mainstream) labels are more interested in building up their alternative rock rosters to tap into the youth market, because they see those alternative bands as the mainstream acts of tomorrow. But if there were a very visible resurgence of folk music as such, it's safe to say that major labels would develop a sudden interest in signing folk artists." Meanwhile, back at Rhino, Myers is jubilant over advance ticket sales for the Troubadours of Folk fest and already is planning to take a version of the show on the road later this year. "There's a tremendous curiosity among college-age kids about the stuff they missed in the 1960s, including folk music," he says. "I don't know if it's related to the whole `Unplugged' movement on MTV or what, but people are definitely curious. . . . And we've OD'd on techno and metal. We got blasted out of our seats for so long. Now people are hungry for the purity of the plucked string." CAPTION: PHOTO: Tom Paxton tunes his trusty Martin guitar at the Old Town School of Folk Music, 909 W. Armitage Ave., before a recent show. Tribune photo by Milbert Orlando Brown. CAPTION: PHOTO: J. Seymour Guenther in his office at Flying Fish Records: "Folk music is no longer the kiss of death." Tribune photo by Charles Osgood. CAPTION: PHOTO: Jason Eklund grew up listening to rock, but fell in love with the music of Guthrie and Dylan. CAPTION: PHOTO: The evolution of folk Huddie Ledbetter, better known as Ledbelly, helped popularize traditional black folk music in the 1930s and '40s. CAPTION: PHOTO: The Weavers' No. 1 hit single, "Goodnight, Irene," helped trigger a folk boom in the 1950s. CAPTION: PHOTO: The Kingston Trio reached the top charts in 1958 with the folk-style ballad "Tom Dooley." CAPTION: PHOTO (color): Pete Seeger of the Weavers emerged as a solo act and is now one of America's greatest folk figues. CAPTION: PHOTO: "Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" helped launch the former Robert Allen Zimmerman as one of the new folk voices of the early 1960s. CAPTION: PHOTO (color): The 1980s saw alternative rock bands such as R.E.M. occasionally draw on folk and folk-rock influences. Meanwhile, the rising popularity of world beat music opened listeners' ears to a variety of ethnic sounds. CAPTION: PHOTO (color): On her 1993 release "Other Voices/Other Rooms," Nanci Griffith sing songs by Woody Guthrie, Dylan, Paxton and others.
Folk. HERD OF HOLSTEINS KEEPS GOING WITH ONE THING IN COMMON: LOVE OF MUSIC Rick Kogan 1672 Words 9900 Characters 03/30/86 Chicago Tribune FINAL EDITION; C 2 (Copyright 1986) When it is cold outside, there is not a warmer place you could find than Holsteins, and on one unusually frigid evening a week or so ago that's what a small group of people had obviously done. They all hadn't actually found Holsteins as much as they had remembered it was here, and they were gathered together near the bar. They were talking and drinking. A few of them were smoking. It was the sort of scene one might have encountered that night at any number of Chicago clubs, and anyone walking into Holsteins would have noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Unless, of course, they had been there when one person in the group raised a half-filled glass of beer and said, "So, happy birthday, huh?" Holsteins turned five years old this month. The celebration, such as it was, involved good music, good wishes for the Holstein brothers (Fred, Ed and Alan) and visits from a few old friends. But that, too, was nothing out of the ordinary: That's just Holsteins, all the time. Sitting inconspicuously at 2464 N. Lincoln Ave., Holsteins is arguably the best folk music club in the country. In these parts, there is no argument --and no competition. Folk, however, is not high fashion. For many people, Chicago's folk music scene is defined by a time line that runs from Carl Sandburg through the Gate of Horn, the Earl of Old Town and then begins to thin out around Steve Goodman and John Prine. Holsteins exists apart from the limelight and the Limelights. Thus has it been able to go about its business in a relatively unheralded, if exceptional, manner. Playing its own particular tune, Holsteins is too real and warm to be hot. "We didn't get into this business to make a fortune, to be famous," says Alan, at 32, the youngest brother. "A lot of people can't understand that." And so, the door opened again last week and in walked WFMT's Ray Nordstrand. He joined the small group of people, had a couple of screwdrivers and when he left, Ed told a story. "Ray is one of the main reasons we ever opened this club," he said. "We had been in clubs for years, as performers and working the business side. I remember the night Ray said, 'You guys should find your own place. You have three noncompetitive skills.' And then Alan said, 'We really should go for it.' And then this place became available and . . ." The brothers Holstein (or "the herd of Holsteins," as folkie Art Thieme always fondly referred to them) are native South Siders. The family ran a drugstore at 79th Street and Michigan Avenue. Fred and Ed caught the music bug early--the former dug Elvis, the latter Fats Domino--and started spending an increasing amount of their teenage time at a Hyde Park music instrument store called the Fret Shop. Then Ed heard a Bob Gibson record and Fred went to a Pete Seeger concert. That was that. By the mid-1960s Fred was living on Wells Street, singing for nothing at bygone Mother Blues and getting his first paycheck at the Old Town Pub. Earl Pionke offered him $25 a night to sing at his place, the Earl of Old Town, and he sang there for nearly three straight years. Ed, four years younger than Fred, was in Old Town by then, performing at the Earl and other places of memory: the Rising Moon, the Fickle Pickle, the Yellow Unicorn. Alan was coming in to watch, underage and drinking Cokes. Into the 1970s, Fred continued to play the local scene. But Ed, once touted as the next local performer likely to follow in the * national footsteps of Steve Goodman, John Prine and Bonnie Koloc, gradually became more interested in the business side of the club biz. He worked at the Earl, then Somebody Else's Troubles (in which Fred was one of the partners) and later did the booking for Stages. But then it was opening night, Holsteins, 1981. The former Ratso's restaurant had been transformed. Ed stood nervously at the door, greeting customers. Fred, the opening act for Utah Phillips, tuned his guitar. Alan, who had been working at Orphan's just down the block, was making drinks. "That was the high moment, opening night," says Ed. "Things had come together so fast we didn't have time to really celebrate, or to get nervous. But that opening night . . . I was so overly enthusiastic that I overbooked the house. We had people sitting on the stage." The brothers laugh collectively at that memory. It is the middle of the afternoon--birthday month--and they are sitting around a table in the bar. "We look back over the last five years and don't see any problems at all," says Ed. The others nod. "Any problems we've had have been business problems, the same problems any small business might encounter. I'd have to say that the last five years have been the best years of our lives." "Work? What work," says Alan. "Entertaining nice crowds and working with performers we love. That's not work." The brothers are an affable bunch. Though they look a good deal alike --down to what one friend calls the "famous Holstein belly"--the faces become less hard-edged as they go down in years. Ed talks more than the others. He handles all the bookings for the club, acts as public relations man and on most nights is makeshift maitre d', seating and schmoozing. Fred is Holsteins' musician in residence, working as an opening act on some nights, headlining on others. Alan handles the bar, from ordering supplies to tending. They share many duties and speak as if one, as in "we're the average guy." Rarely does one notice differences. "I love ballads," Fred says. "And I love blues," Ed says. "And I love Springsteen," Alan says. That's not a difference: It's music they love. Utah Phillips once called folk music "a mirror in which we see ourselves," and for the Holsteins that mirror comes in many shapes and styles. Though one might still encounter a young singer-songwriter performing angst-filled, love-struck ballads at Holsteins, one is more apt to come across bluegrass or cajun bands, Irish, Swedish and Finnish groups, klezmer (a traditional Yiddish folk-jazz style), Bob Gibson on a Sunday afternoon, Queen Ida, Michael Smith, * Bonnie Koloc, Jonathan Richman, Melanie, Loudon Wainwright. . . . The variety is wide and the quality high. "That's one of the biggest surprises we've had in the last five years," Ed says. "There were so many more performers out there than we thought, and we thought we knew what was out there. We were out there! There is so much more than there used to be. We have really been able to mix it up." "The folk music scene is really varied today," Fred said. "But a lot of people still think folk singer, folk singer, folk singer. I get so sick of that sometimes. What's a folk singer?" He has a point: For many, the "folk singer" is trapped in a Dylanesque, '60s warp. And though Holsteins has helped redefine and broaden the meaning of folk music, what else but a folk singer would one want to call Jim Post, that masterful musician from Galena, who shared the bill last week with Fred? Ed introduces him as "our good friend," but folk singer fits fine. It is cold outside, so the crowd is small. (The place was packed the following two nights). There are perhaps 30 people in a room that can comfortably seat about 150. There is a father with his young daughter at a table down front. There is a large table of young professionals, ties loosened along with spirits, drinking beer near the back. "I've seen every sort of audience in here," says Pat Cronin, who has worked as a waitress at Holsteins for four years. "Each performer seems to attract a crowd all their own. The mix is amazing--young, old, everything--but they all have one thing in common. They are here to listen." Cronin started working at Holsteins shortly after arriving in Chicago. She has a full-time day job now, representing a local photographer, but still works at Holsteins whenever she can. "Working here has spoiled me," she says. "I tried to picture what life would be like without it and that picture had something greatly missing." Holsteins has inspired this sort of loyalty among most of its patrons and performers. This is a place in which people like to play for people who like to listen. The Holsteins let this happen with a minimum of fuss. "We've been pros in this business for 20, 25 years," says Ed. "We have been on that stage. We've seen it from all sides, the good and the bad. When we decided to open this place we knew what we didn't want to do." "I won't take the credit for the way people feel about Holsteins," says Fred. "We've got nothing to do with it. It's those guys on stage. What we're doing is what we're supposed to do! If you treat people nicely, that's what you're supposed to do. You're not supposed to get an award for it." Fred has just finished performing and is in the bar watching an NCAA basketball game with his brothers. In a few minutes Jim Post is on stage. Before he begins to play he turns on a small lamp. It's a funny kind of lamp for a music club, the kind of lamp you might find in someone's living room. Still, it makes a birthday candle of the homiest sort. CAPTION: PHOTO: Tribune photo by Michael Budrys."I'd have to say that the last five years have been the best years of our lives," comments Ed Holstein (left), who with brothers Fred (center) and Alan opened the folk club in 1981. PHOTO: Tribune photo by Michael Budrys. Folk singer Jim Post, introduced by Ed Holstein as "our good friend," entertains the Holsteins crowd.
MORNING REPORT POP/ROCK JOHN VOLAND Arts and entertainment reports from The Times, national and international news services and the nation's press. 130 Words 1118 Characters 01/04/88 Los Angeles Times Home 2 Column; Brief (Copyright, The Times Mirror Company; Los Angeles Times 1988 All Rights Reserved) Chicago's most famous folk music club closed the doors for good * New Year's Day. Holstein's, run by the brothers Holstein for the last seven years, had been a constant attraction on Lincoln * Avenue's night life strip on the city's North Side, but Fred * Holstein (who also picks a mean guitar) said the club was closing * not for financial reasons but because he and his brothers Ed and Alan want to move on to another endeavor. "We all just wanted to do * something different after seven years," Fred said. Many regulars * were sad the club was closing, but the Holstein brothers had no * regrets. "I don't feel sad," Ed said. "This place has been great to us and I'm looking forward to not having to work so hard." Byline: JOHN VOLAND
Kenneth Burns, 68, of Homer & Jethro Jack Hurst, Country music writer. 674 Words 4635 Characters 02/06/89 Chicago Tribune NORTH SPORTS FINAL; C 7 (Copyright 1989) Longtime Evanston resident Kenneth C. "Jethro" Burns, best known as an irreverent country comedian but also a mandolin player of extraordinary ability, died Saturday night at home in his sleep. He was 68. A rugged World War II veteran of South Pacific combat, Mr. Burns had been in declining health for the last few years, but his wit was indomitable. Typically, he returned home from an extended hospital stay in 1985 with the acerbic summation that physicians had "found out they couldn't kill me, and I wasn't gonna die." TD Such head-on, unsubtle humor brought Mr. Burns to national attention around 1950 in the company of his longtime partner, the late Henry D. "Homer" Haynes. The "Homer & Jethro" team took such pretty songs as "Doggie in the Window" and "Let Me Go, Lover" and pitilessly transformed them into such ugly hits as "Hound Dog in the Winder" and "Let Me Go, Blubber." They filled the big rooms in Las Vegas and other top venues and appeared on the prominent network TV shows of Steve Allen and Johnny Carson. In such places, their humor wasn't just musical; their stage routines unforgettably combined the expected rural banter with brash, urban, street wisdom epitomizing their longtime hometown, Chicago. From 1949 until the '60s, they starred on Chicago's "National Barn Dance." Like Haynes, Mr. Burns was born in 1920 in Knoxville, Tenn. He had humor in his genes, being the son of a traveling vaudeville dancer and old-style blackface comedian. He said that when his and Haynes' 1951 Las Vegas debut stunned critics into praise of their "fresh" material, the "fresh" material included a lot of jokes taught him by his father. Mr. Burns and Haynes met as 12-year-olds at an audition for a Knoxville radio show; each had come there with another child-partner, but a radio executive teamed them up. They soon moved from Knoxville to the Renfro Valley (Ky.) barn dance and then to their own tent show. They settled in Chicago in 1949. Early in their careers, they auditioned for Nashville's Grand Ole Opry, but were rejected because Opry executives didn't care for the work of the lead guitar player who worked with them; Mr. Burns often delighted in recalling that the guitar player was the masterful Chet Atkins, Mr. Burns' brother-in-law. Until 1949, their musical stock-in-trade had been manufacturing humor by speeding up pretty instrumentals and playing them with the corniest possible bluegrass instrumentation. In 1949, however, record executives suggested they write words to their musical parodies, and their 1949 takeoff on the big national hit "Baby, It's Cold Outside,"featuring guest vocalist June Carter, became a hit, too, spawning all the rest. After Haynes died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1971, Mr. Burns, seemingly unable to find another partner who could supply the same chemistry, shored up the serious side of his reputation. He and Haynes already had recorded for years with Atkins as part of a classy instrumental outfit called the Nashville String Band, and now he began playing hot jazz in Chicago nightspots, recording for Chicago's Flying Fish Records with jazz violinist Joe Venuti and appearing with such diverse artists as jazzman Pete Fountain and * folkie Steve Goodman. Mr. Burns' style of music and humor was memorably combined in the first Homer & Jethro appearance on the Johnny Carson show. After the duo had done a funny song, Carson challenged them to play something serious, and they obliged with "Autumn Leaves," Mr. Burns doing beautiful lead work on the mandolin. Obviously stunned by the virtuosity, Carson came over and said: "That's GREAT! How long have you been playing that thing?" "Oh," Mr. Burns replied, glancing at his watch, "about two and a half minutes." Struggling with bone cancer for a year and a half before his death Saturday, Mr. Burns did not want any funeral or memorial services, according to his sister-in-law, Leona Atkins. Instead of flowers, donations should go to the American Cancer Society. Survivors include his wife, Lois; a son, Johnny; a daughter, Terri; two grandchildren; and three sisters.
DOCUMENT 123 OF 328 TRIB7002319948 TEMPO Northwest notes. `I do what I do' Bonnie Koloc is in Nashville, but she hasn't gone country Hugh Boulware. 639 Words 3880 Characters 02/15/90 Chicago Tribune NORTH SPORTS FINAL; NW 7 (Copyright 1990) It's hard to get a handle on Bonnie Koloc, and, although this may have cost the bell-toned singer some commercial success, she wouldn't have it any other way. Currently living in Nashville, Koloc is quick to correct the assumption that she is now pursuing country music. "I'm not doing country music; I basically do what I do. People have had a hard time pigeon-holing me, and I guess for a product to sell, it has to be explained to put it across, but music is music to me." Originally categorized as a folk singer, Koloc is just as likely to do a righteous gospel song or a Gershwin ballad in her sets. As a theatre performer, she once turned down an invitation from Broadway impresario Joe Papp to finish her university degree in Art. The taste for diversity comes naturally to Koloc. "Ever since I was a little kid, I've wanted to be an actor, an artist and a singer," she explains. "In college, I was originally a drama major, then I swtiched to art, but I've always made my living as a singer. It's too bad that we think you can only do one thing well. I don't think it's unusual to do alot of different things. When I was in New York, I started painting again basically to save my sanity. I didn't know anybody there, and there was this Art Students League, which was a real refuge." Koloc originally made her name in Chicago during the late sixties folk boom as a featured performer at the Earl of Old Town in Chicago. She remembers the period vividly. "Oh, it was crazy. Our dressing room was a walk-in vault, and fights used to break out all the time. We'd work till like 5 in the morning and go home while the sun was coming up. I painted my bedroom black, and no one dared call me before noon. Wells Street was like a midway of the circus, especially during the '68 convention-the place was swarming with hippies and police." Two of the musicians Koloc worked with at the time were the late * Steve Goodman and John Prine. "I remember the first time I saw John, he was still delivering mail for a living, and he was playing at this little place called The Fifth Peg. He played `Sam Stone' and `Hello In There,' and afterwards I walked up to him and said, `John, you don't have to worry about a thing.'" In 1982, Koloc moved to New York, where she wowed Broadway audiences with a critically acclaimed performance in "The Human Comedy;" she returned to Chicago in 1986, appeared in "Puntila and His Hired Man," and played clubs around town. Two years ago, she moved to Nashville with her writer-husband and two dogs. In between painting and gardening, she has recently made some inroads with the local music community. "I'm just starting to meet people in the business here-they call it networking-which I'm not real good at. It's like starting over. But the record business is so strong, it's basically why I moved here. I really miss the jazz, the blues, the restaurants and my friends in Chicago, though-I have to admit. Nashville is basically a small town, but the air is cleaner, so it's better for my voice." Koloc is returning to the Chicago area this weekend to sing at Harper College on Friday. She'll be performing songs from her latest Flying Fish album, "With You On My Side," as well as new originals. Her band will include long time accampanists Rick Snyder on keyboards, bassist John Bany, drummer Phil Gratteau, and sax man Steve Eisen. For more information call 397-3000 ext. 2547. CAPTION: PHOTO: Bonnie Koloc on stage: `People have had a hard time pigeon-holing me.' Tribune photo by Charles Osgood. CAPTION: PHOTO: Bonnie Koloc. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 24 OF 116 TRIB8001510078 TEMPO SOUTHWEST Southwest Sidetracks. BRIEFLY. * `Queen of Chicago folk scene,' Bonnie Koloc, plays Manilow Theatre 118 Words 979 Characters 11/01/92 Chicago Tribune FINAL EDITION; SW 5 (Copyright 1992) * Singer-songwriter Bonnie Koloc and her band return to Park Forest on Saturday with an appearance at the Nathan Manilow Theatre. Hailed as the "queen of the Chicago Folk scene," Koloc has thrilled audiences with her pure tone and soaring upper register since her move to Chicago from Iowa in the late '60s. She has been applauded by critics in musical fields from folk to pop, from gospel and country to musical theater. Reserved seating in the Manilow Theatre, acclaimed as the place "where every seat is a good seat," is available by calling 708-747-0580. Tickets are $11. Freedom Hall's Nathan Manilow Theatre is located at 410 Lakewood Blvd. in Park Forest. Saturday's performance is scheduled for 8 p.m. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 25 OF 116 TRIB8001320052 FRIDAY After hours. Koloc looks for some Irish ayes June Sawyers. 603 Words 3857 Characters 07/24/92 Chicago Tribune NORTH SPORTS FINAL; CN 2 (Copyright 1992) Hidden on a quiet corner just off the Kennedy Expressway between Addison and Irving Park on the Northwest Side is a jewel of a club that boasts fine acoustics and a comfortable room to hear and appreciate good music. Long considered one of the best places to hear traditional Irish entertainment, the Abbey Pub at 3420 W. Grace St. (312-478-4408) has undergone a major policy change in the last six months. The Abbey will never be mistaken for a blues club and, with its cozy fireplace, Irish cuisine and Irish paintings, it still manages to evoke the atmosphere of a country pub. But manager Pat Looney is now concentrating most of his efforts on trying to attract a solid mix of quality rock, blues, jazz and pop acts. * At 9 p.m. Saturday, singer Bonnie Koloc will be making her Abbey debut. The cover charge is $10. For most people even vaguely familiar with Chicago's nightlife, Koloc needs no introduction. Although she has recently been spending a good part of her time on her burgeoning painting career-and, indeed, has had her work displayed at a number of Midwestern art fairs-the clarion-voiced singer does manage to perform in the Chicago area several times a year. She will be accompanied at the Abbey by Craig Snider on piano, Phil Gratteau on drums, Robin Robinson on vocals and John Bany on bass and vocals. The Abbey got its start almost 20 years ago on Narraganset Avenue on the Far Northwest Side. Five years ago the current owners, Tom and Bridget Looney, Pat's parents, took over. "I'm running the place now," says Pat. "When (my parents) took over five years ago, I was in college at the time. The guy who was managing the place left." It was Pat's idea to expand-and experiment-with the musical format in order to attract a more diversified clientele. How has the response been so far? "Well, it's been mixed," says Looney, "but it's more positive than negative." The Abbey presents live music six nights a week, including an acoustic open mike on Tuesday. Traditional Irish music (or, to use the vernacular, "sessions") are held at 8 p.m. every Wednesday and Sunday. Looney hopes to eventually book national acts. "What we want to do is to try to overcome the location," he says, referring to the fact that some people have misgivings venturing away from the usual Lincoln Park/downtown locales. "But once people come here, they realize it's easy to get to," he says. At 8 p.m. Thursday, Espial Bistro & Bar, 948 W. Armitage Ave. (312-871-8123), will present an evening of amateur torch singing at the 13th Floor Cabaret in the bistro's backroom. Torch singers will compete for prizes and the winner will receive a weekend for two at the Claridge Hotel. Celebrity judges include Richard Roeper, Bill Zwecker, Lewis Lazare, Ann Gerber and Dan Santow. Pianist Richard Knight Jr. will act as the evening's host and will also perform as his alter ego, Dick O'Day. He will be accompanied by singer Becca Kaufman. Most torch songs are about love and relationships, often those that go wrong. Which may explain why the organizers of the contest invited socialite and novelist Sugar Rautbord, whose latest book is called "Sweet Revenge," to make a special appearance. Appropriately, singer Kaufman will perform a song dedicated to the fine art of revenge. Those interested in entering the contest should contact Chris Bukrey at 312-871-8123. CAPTION: PHOTO: The sound in the Abbey Pub, 3420 W. Grace St., has become eclectic. Tribune photo by Gerald West. CAPTION: * PHOTO: Bonnie Koloc will appear at the Abbey Pub on Saturday. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 31 OF 116 TRIB7000315966 ARTS Around town. * Bonnie Koloc's magic night Rick Kogan. 239 Words 1571 Characters 12/01/91 Chicago Tribune FINAL EDITION; C 2 (Copyright 1991) We decided to check with the singer herself and when she answered the phone, in her in-laws' house on South Carolina, and heard us say that the night at Schuba's had been something special, she said, "It really was, wasn't it? It was magic and I don't know why." Perhaps it had something to do with the venue. Schuba's, in a less funky fashion, recalls the scenes of Koloc's earliest and greatest local triumphs, the Earl of Old Town and Orphans, bygone spots of unforced intimacy that are still missed. "There was something happening there. I was singing like it was so easy, like your breath goes on forever," she said. "The people surrounding me on stage gave me a great feeling of comfort." For us it was like finding some gem of our past and, rather than it being dusty, finding it more sparkling than ever-an exciting, spontaneous evocation. There was a greater depth and emotion to Koloc's singing than we remembered from the umpteen times we've seen her over the years. It was, as she said, magic. Based in Nashville now, Koloc is keeping her "fingers crossed" about a record deal in Europe and creating paintings "that combine words and different materials." Best of all, she is returning to Chicago at 8 p.m. Saturday, for a performance in the lovely theater at The College of DuPage Arts Center, 22nd St. and Lambert Rd. in Glen Ellyn (708-858-3110). I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 65 OF 116 TRIB7001573696 TEMPOWOMAN Decisive moments. * BONNIE KOLOC 'I'M FINALLY ABLE TO GET PAST THE PERFECTIONISM' Lynn Van Matre 1912 Words 10400 Characters 12/04/88 Chicago Tribune FINAL EDITION; C 3 (Copyright 1988) * Twenty years ago, Iowa-born Bonnie Koloc dropped out of the University of Northern Iowa and came to Chicago to seek her fortune as a singer. Soon Koloc was recording for Chicago's Ovation Records, but critical acclaim failed to translate into commercial success. In the early 1980s she tried her hand at theater, landing a role in Joseph Papp's Broadway production of "The Human Comedy," for which she won a Theater World Bronze Award as one of the year's most promising new talents of 1983-84. She returned to Chicago, recording several more albums, including her latest, "With You on My Side." Koloc, now in her early 40s, talked with Tribune writer Lynn Van Matre about her latest career and her plans to marry and move to Nashville. Someone said to me recently, "Oh, you're a singer, isn't it nice that you're interested in art, too, and getting an art degree." But I really believe that I am a visual artist who sings. It just happened that I put a lot of time into the singing and developed that. It isn't like, "Oh, now I'm going to do this." I could have done it before; it just happened that I put more time into singing. If I had had some great art teachers when I was in high school, I probably would have gone into visual arts right from the start. TD I started singing when I was 3 years old, but when I was growing up, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to be an actress, an artist or a singer. I did know that I didn't want to work a regular 9-to-5 job. I made an absolute decision about that when I was 17. I had worked since I was 16, but I wanted my time and my life to be my own. I felt that if I went to college, I wouldn't have to work in a factory, but nobody in my family had gone to college. My brother finished high school in reform school. I guess you could say we were poor; we lived in a cement block house outside the city limits of Waterloo, Ia., and my dad worked in the John Deere factory. Money was very tight. I wore a lot of hand-me-downs, and I thought that people who had indoor johns must be rich. I had a really unstable childhood, because my parents were divorced when I was 12, and there was a lot of chaos. I spent a lot of time during my high school years trying to get myself together from my childhood. After high school, I went to the University of Northern Iowa, a teachers' college. It wasn't where I really wanted to go to, but it was near my home and it was all I could afford. I started out there as a drama major, but I still was interested in art, and by then I was earning some money singing in clubs. I still didn't know what I really wanted to do, and because of that, I was a terrible student. I didn't even bother to read a lot of the books for my classes. Finally I dropped out of school and came to Chicago to try for a career as a singer. But I kept dabbling in painting, and I always knew that I wanted to return to art some day, and now I have. When I turned 40, a really incredible thing happened. I don't know why, but suddenly I began to be able to get past the perfectionism that had gotten in my way before in the visual arts, and I was able to really accomplish things. I used to get furious when I would paint something and it wouldn't turn out exactly the way I wanted it to. I had to work through that and say, "Okay, you're not Picasso. This isn't going to be brilliant tomorrow. You have to go by little steps and look at the things you've learned day by day. You shouldn't beat yourself over the head so badly when it doesn't turn out as well as you wanted it to." I started feeling that I wanted to really get back into art again when I was living in New York. Moving there was a real turning point for me, one of the hardest things that I ever did. I had a personal trauma to deal with; (my longtime boyfriend) had died, and I was struggling with my career. I felt like I was old hat here in Chicago, and I finally forced myself to take the big step of relocating to New York and doing some theater and club work there. After I made the move, I was totally isolated for about the first six months. I went to museums a lot as a refuge, and that was when I decided that I really wanted to paint again. Around that time, a friend of mine introduced me to a school called the Art Students League. I started going there with her, taking a class where you could work on your own. At the same time, my roots were becoming much more important to me; my love for Iowa was becoming acute. So around 1984 I went back there to take a watercolor workshop. At first my perfectionism got in my way, but I had a wonderful teacher, and I calmed down and started working on some abstract landscapes, Expressionistic stuff. I was living everyplace then. I had a place in New York and a place to stay in Iowa and some couches I could sleep on here in Chicago and a place in Indiana. This had gone on for two years, but finally I decided to come back to Chicago. Around the time I started to feel that I wanted to return to art, I also started worrying about the fact that I was getting older and my career hadn't given me financial security. It's been up and down. People think if you have made eight record albums, you must have it made, but I have never made any money from any of my records. Without radio airplay, it's hard to sell albums and get work. And I wouldn't do commercials for years because I thought artists shouldn't have to do them. Now I think that was probably really stupid of me. I think that you can do them and still be an artist. Anyway, I have spent a lot of time in my life being depressed, partly because of my boyfriend's death, partly because of my childhood, and partly because of frustration over my singing career. When you're good at something- when you feel you were born to do it-but you aren't having any success at it, it's hard to swallow. After I got back to Chicago, I decided that it would help if I had more structure in my life. I started wondering if I could go back to school and get a degree in art. My agent, David Koppel, suggested that I go back to the University of Northern Iowa. I asked them if I could transfer some credits from schools around here, and they said yes, so I started taking some classes at the University of Illinois at Circle in 1986. I hadn't been able to study when I was younger, but I got an "A" in my first class and I thought, "Well, maybe I'm not stupid after all." Before, when I couldn't do well in school, I had thought I was stupid. I didn't realize that I was struggling with a lot of things that were getting in my way. I should be finished with my degree work on Dec. 19, which is when I finish a class I'm taking at the School of the Art Institute and transfer the credit to the University of Northern Iowa. I'll get a B.A. from Iowa in art, and I'll be certified to teach art in Iowa from kindergarten through 12th grade. I don't think I would want to get a full-time teaching job, though. I'm more interested in doing artist-in-residence things, and if I were to teach, I would want to teach college. I want to go on for a master's degree in art sometime. I also would like to do some limited edition books with illustrations of my songs, in conjunction with an album. I'm not giving up singing at all. In fact, I'm doing a Christmas concert Dec. 18 at the Old Town School of Folk Music (part of the proceeds go to the school's scholarship fund). And I've started taking guitar lessons. My guitar playing really was below average before, but now that I'm moving to Nashville, I want to be able to play well enough to accompany myself when I play some clubs there. I'm moving to Nashville because I need to be much more at the center of the music business, and I don't want to live in New York or Los Angeles. So it makes sense to me to move there. Songwriting is a very big thing in Nashville and I'm very interested in getting my songs to other people in the music business. Most people think of Nashville as being only country music, but it's not; it's very crossover. But if I have to write things that are more country oriented, I can do that. I just think it's a good move for me and I've decided to go there for a couple of years and see what happens. Maybe I'll do some recording down there somewhere down the road, but the main thing is my songwriting. It won't bother me that I'm not recording my songs myself. I would be hysterically happy if other people would record them. It thrills me to hear someone else doing my stuff. A few people have already done some of my songs- Fred Holstein used to sing "Roll Me on the Water," and I would cry every time I heard it. Some country people did that song, too. And Big Twist and the Mellow Fellows did "Children's Blues." But I really haven't pitched my new songs to anyone. When I think about it, it's really intesting to me that I'm graduating from college, moving to Nashville, and getting married, all at the same time. I would rather not talk too much about the wedding, though. Just say I'm getting married to a writer. He's from Connecticut originally; I met him earlier this year in Chicago, and it seems right. I jokingly say that I'm old enough to get married, and I have found the right person. For a long time, I think that I wasn't interested in getting married because of my unstable childhood and my parents getting divorced and all. For me, the decision to get married has been a real growth thing. I'm really happy and I feel in my gut that it's right. It's funny, because when I was younger I would read these magazine articles about women who were artists or writers or something like that and so often it would say "her husband's a writer, and they live in Connecticut." And it turns out that I'm marrying a writer from Connecticut myself. I think he was sent to me. CAPTION: PHOTO: Photo by Charles Osgood. 'When you're good at something-when you feel you were born to do it-but you aren't * having any success at it, it's hard to swallow' (Bonnie Koloc). I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 76 OF 116 TRIB7001427424 FRIDAY Friday people. * BONNIE KOLOC COMES TO TERMS WITH FAME June Sawyers 509 Words 3142 Characters 11/27/87 Chicago Tribune SPORTS FINAL; CN 14 (Copyright 1987) * Bonnie Koloc is a private person in a public profession. She has had her share of success, yet the trappings of fame have never been easy. Onstage, however, she is in consummate control. Her pure soprano can gently wrap itself around a poignant ballad or just as easily slide into a bluesy number. She has seven albums to her credit, but Koloc says none has been able to capture her "sound," until now. Her coming "With You On My Side," produced by local musician Howard Levy, is her first release since "Wild and Recluse" in 1978 and her first record of all original material. "Working with Howard has really opened up a lot of stuff musically for me. Stuff that was in my head that couldn't get out," Koloc says. "I think this album is going to surprise a few people, especially people who haven't heard me in a while." Koloc is that rare example of a singer who is very closely identified with a particular place. Ever since she stepped off the Illinois Central train from Waterloo, Ia., in 1968, Koloc and Chicago have enjoyed a special, almost protective, relationship. Several years ago she picked up her bags and her dog, Mr. Biscuit, and drove to the Big Apple. Yet her Midwestern roots ran so deep she found it difficult adjusting to the frantic New York lifestyle. "The artist in me had to go," she says now, laughing, "but the person went kicking and screaming." In New York she found work in the theater, earning the Theatre World Bronze Award for Outstanding New Talent in William Saroyan's "The Human Comedy," but, more important, she found herself. "I didn't have a support system," she says. "It was either sink or swim." After suffering a series of personal and professional setbacks, she was able to place her hard-won victories in perspective. "I got this award," she says. "I got all this attention for a while and I found out it didn't really matter that much. What really matters is loving somebody and painting and writing songs. "When I was younger, I used to think all I could show onstage was pain," says the former folk queen of Wells Street. "I'm really interested in laughing now." * Who: Bonnie Koloc. Place of birth: Waterloo, Ia. Celebrating: Release of her new album "With You On My Side" (Flying Fish), due out in early December. About her early years in Chicago: "Had I played the piano I never would have been called a folksinger." Her fears: "I hate to fly. My God, I hate to fly . . . I always had anxieties about everything. I wanted to be the kind of woman who was not afraid to go here, go there." Growing up in Iowa: "All the kids I knew married, and their husbands worked in the factory. I just thought I want more than this. I didn't want to be ordinary." Onstage: At 8:30 and 11 p.m. Friday and Saturday, 8 p.m. Sunday at Holsteins, 2464 N. Lincoln Ave.; 327-3331; $8 cover. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 30 OF 328 TRIB8002393328 TEMPO Tempo Recordings. * CHICAGO'S OWN TEN YEARS LATER, STEVE GOODMAN'S STELLAR TALENT STILL SHINES BRIGHTLY Dan Kening. 155 Words 1407 Characters 11/17/94 Chicago Tribune DU PAGE SPORTS FINAL; NED 7 (Copyright 1994) * Steve Goodman * No Big Surprise: The Steve Goodman Anthology (Red Pajamas) (STAR)(STAR)(STAR)(STAR) Ten years after his death from leukemia, * Steve Goodman's talent looms larger than ever in this wonderful two-disc retrospective spanning the Chicago singer-songwriter's entire recording career. Yes, the familiar songs are all here: "City of New Orleans," "Lincoln Park Pirates," "The Dutchman," "Chicken Cordon Bleus," etc., as are lesser-known gems and unreleased material. Divided between studio and live recordings, what makes this 42-song collection so affecting is rediscovering the depth and breadth of Goodman's talent. On the one hand, he could effortlessly toss off humorous material like "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request" or "Elvis Imitators." On the other he had a sensitive and sentimental side, reflected in heart-tugging songs like "My Old Man" and "Would You Like to Learn to Dance." Goodman's music and indomitable spirit live on in this first-rate collection. ---------- Ratings: Excellent (STAR)(STAR)(STAR)(STAR) Good (STAR)(STAR)(STAR) Fair (STAR)(STAR) Poor (STAR) I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 36 OF 208 TRIB8000799402 TEMPO THE KING OF OLD TOWN FOLK MUSICIAN JIM POST HEARS A NEW TEMPO AT HIS OLD STAMPING GROUND Rick Kogan, Tribune Staff Writer. 1302 Words 8273 Characters 12/14/93 Chicago Tribune NORTH SPORTS FINAL; N 1 (Copyright 1993) Additional material published Dec. 16, 1993: Corrections and clarifications. In a Tuesday Tempo article on folk musician Jim Post, the Old Town restaurant and bar Last Act was incorrectly identified. The Tribune regrets the error. It's hard to find remnants of the time when Old Town was the epicenter of Chicago's entertainment world. Italian trattorias have taken the place of head shops. There are still some great nightspots on Wells Street, but gone are its folk music clubs. A street life that was once the active rival of any city's-full of the exotic sights and sounds and odors of what was once known as the counterculture-is now relatively sedate. There's not a guitar in sight. But one day recently, standing at North and Wells, the heart of what is known as Old Town, was a guitar player. His hair, not quite fully white, was swept back and fell to his shoulders. His mustache, also white, sat prominently in the middle of a face that had, after all these years-many of them playfully hard years-remarkably retained a boyish look. The man, Jim Post, was toting a guitar case, bruised with age. He stood silently, expectantly at North and Wells, as if awaiting someone. "I was walking on this corner once many years ago and saw the most lovely young woman," he was saying. "She was so blond and so beautiful. I wrote a song about her." Did he meet her? "I lived with her for three years," Post said, smiling. Only a few steps north of where Post was standing is a spot named The Last Call. It is a cozy place, a typical bare-bricks-and-dark-wood bar and restaurant. It is quiet in the afternoons-only three people sat at the bar, drinking beer-but at night, thanks to its proximity to Second City directly across the street, it is filled with pre- and post-theatergoers. Those who know that The Last Call used to be the Earl of Old Town often get sentimental when they visit. "There was a generation that passed through this room," said Post, entering the place. "People learned a lot about life and love and everything else inside these walls." For those too young to remember or too jaded to any longer care, the Earl (which took its name from owner Earl Pionke) was one of the most famous and popular clubs in Chicago, arguably the most famous folk-music venue in the country. It was something else too. "It was a smell," said Post, sipping coffee in a booth. "It was a smell of people having a good time. "In most places the combination of odors of cigarettes and old beer can stink. At the Earl it was the sweetest smell imaginable." He paused and inhaled deeply. "This place," he said. "There's no smell. I can't smell a thing." The owner, a young-looking fellow named Tom Loan, did not hear Post's comment. Loan took over the place 3 1/2 years ago, after it had spent a short post-Earl interlude as an Italian joint. "We still get a lot of people coming in and telling us they used to come here when it was a folk club," Loan said. "The folk club," Post said. "Yeah, the folk club," Loan said. "There are a lot of ghosts walking around here." Indeed. The room nurtured the talents of performers such as Bonnie Koloc, John Prine, Steve Goodman and Post. Post's no ghost-he's one of the liveliest people you'll ever meet-but ghosts touch his life and work. Now in his 50s, he is, in a way, the embodiment of folk music's heyday. Although he now makes his home in Galena with his wife Kathleen, he returns to Chicago every weekend to resurrect that era. Actually, he returns to Skokie and the Studio Theatre at Centre East, where he performs "An Evening in Old Town." It is a lovely piece of work-in the Tribune, David Duckman wrote that "the power and passion of his vocal performance brought the material square into the '90s"-that not only evokes the golden days of folk music but also makes such familiar tunes as "House of the Rising Sun," "If I Had a Hammer" and "This Land Is Your Land" seem fresh. "It's the sort of show that touches those who remember the songs. I've seen people cry," Post said. "But it's the younger people who really turn on. They've never heard music like this. It surprises them." The show's songs are punctuated by stories, many of them centered on the Earl, which for many years was the center of Post's life. One of the stories concerns Post's arrival in Chicago in "about 1963-maybe it was '64." He came here from his native Texas, full of songs and dreams of hit records. Old Town was a magnet at the time for people with such aspirations and hair longer than a couple of inches. "I took my guitar and found a spot in Pipers Alley"-a marvelous conglomeration of shops and clubs near North and Wells-"and asked the security guard if it was all right if I played," Post said. "He tells me OK, and in a little while a crowd is listening to me. "That's when the guard comes over and says, `Get out of here,' and I say, `Wait a minute. You told me I could play.' `That's right,' says the guard, `that was before I knew you were any good. You're good. Go across the street and play at the Earl.' And that's how it was that I first walked into the Earl." Post had spent much of his Texas youth singing in Baptist churches, and his range of musical knowledge was fairly limited. * "If it hadn't been for Fred (Holstein, a local folk music stalwart), I never would have known folk music," Post said. "When I got here, I was so ignorant. I didn't know Pete Seeger, the Weavers, nothing." * Through Holstein, his brother Ed and the rest of the Earl gang, Post not only learned folk music but also became one of its leading lights-a prolific writer and engaging performer. "Those days were glorious," he said. "There were nights the place was so packed, you couldn't even squeeze a sardine in the door." Post ended his Chicago days in the late '60s. Deeply involved in protest music, he was disturbed by the violence that touched the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago-so upset that he headed for the Rockies, writing a song called "Colorado Exile" to mark the move: "I'm gonna go live by a river until my soul is cleansed, I'm gonna live by a river, let life walk right in." He later moved to San Francisco but always, a few times a year, he would return to play the Earl. In the early '80s he settled in Galena, in a house on a small bluff overlooking the picturesque river town in Illinois' surprisingly hilly northwest corner. "On a clear day," said Post, "I can see hills on the other side of the Mississippi." Galena gave birth to "Galena Rose" in 1987, Post's most ambitious work, a full-blown musical theater piece that charts the rich, fascinating history of the title town. It enjoyed critical acclaim and had long runs at the Organic and Civic Studio theaters. Last year he put together "Best Damn Songs (Most People Never Heard)," a homage to his fellow folkies Goodman and Stan Rogers, both of whom are dead. "In a way that helped me give birth to `An Evening in Old Town.' I hope it runs for at least a few months," said Post, walking south along Wells. "It's the sort of show I think young people should see. They've got to know where the music-" He stopped talking in mid-sentence, his eye caught by a young man walking his way and carrying a guitar case. "Well, I'll be," Post said. "Will you look at that." Post smiled at the young man, who did the same. "Almost like nothing's changed," Post said. "Who says this is the '90s?" I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 287 OF 328 TRIB7001309425 NEWS ONE LAST CHORUS FOR GOODMAN FANS, MUSICIANS HONOR CHICAGO'S TROUBADOUR Paul Sullivan 623 Words 3902 Characters 01/27/85 Chicago Tribune FINAL; C 1 (Copyright 1985) By the shores of Lake Michigan, where the hot winds blow so cold, an old Cub fan lay dying, while his midnight hour, it tolled. --"A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request" ON A COLD NIGHT by those Lake Michigan shores, Chicagoans * paid tribute to Steve Goodman, a native son with a quick smile, a love for the Cubs and a talent for making us laugh. Friends and admirers of Goodman's gathered at the Arie Crown Theatre Saturday night to honor the memory of a man whose 16-year battle with leukemia ended in September, when he died at 36. Proceeds from Saturday's sold-out show, which featured an all-star line- up of folk, rock and country musicians, will benefit leukemia research. More than 4,000 fans sat, clapped, stomped their feet and sang along during the five hours of music. Such performers as Bonnie Raitt, Jethro Burns, David Bromberg, John Prine and Arlo Guthrie dedicated their time and some old songs to their friend. For some in the audience, the concert was like bringing back a different era. "I always admired and enjoyed him," said Vicky Jones, 29, of Evanston, who first heard Goodman in concert at the Amazing Grace coffee house at Northwestern University when she was an undergraduate. "But I never knew that he was my hero until I found out that he was sick. When he passed away, I was catatonic for about three days." GOODMAN, A COLLEGE dropout and onetime Park Ridge postal clerk, became a nationally known folk singer in the 1970s by writing songs such as "City of New Orleans" for Arlo Guthrie and "You Never Even Call Me By My Name" with Prine for David Alan Coe. Though Goodman's efforts at recording his own songs were not as financially successful as when he wrote for his peers, he endeared himself to Chicagoans by penning tunes about subjects such as Mayor Richard Daley, a Lincoln Park towing company and, of course, his beloved Cubbies. In a well-chronicled tale, Goodman and his close friend Prine were discovered by Paul Anka and Kris Kristofferson at the old Quiet Knight club on Belmont Avenue in 1971. He soon became a regular of the North Wells Street folk scene, mostly at the Earl of Old Town, and performed in and around town until 1980. That was when he grudgingly bade farewell to Chicago and moved to southern California to be closer to the record industry. ONE OF THE highlights of Saturday's tribute was a 20-minute compilation of film clips from Goodman concerts since 1972. Though tears were shed by many when a clip from the boyish singer's long-haired early days led into a later clip in which his head was shaved after cancer treatments, Goodman's ready wit left the crowd laughing and cheering at the reel's end. Each of Goodman's fans had a different reason for attending the tribute. Ronald Blumenfeld, 34, of Chicago, said he could relate to Goodman because they grew up at the same time and in the same city. "I remember buying the 'Dying Cub Fan's Last Request' and being towed away by the 'Lincoln Park Pirates' when it only cost $30," Blumenfeld said. For two old friends from Holy Cross High School, the concert was their first get-together in four years. Robert Garcia and John Orzechowski had a chance meeting while waiting for the concert to start. "Goodman had poor success," Garcia said. "He was kind of like the old Cubs. He had a lot of hits but never a lot of runs." CAPTION: PHOTO: Tribune photo by Paul F. Gero. The Lincoln Park Pirates * play a notable tribute to songwriter and folk singer Steve Goodman during a concert honoring Goodman's memory at the Arie Crown Theatre Saturday night. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 304 OF 328 WP9400014930 76 Words 550 Characters 09/23/84 The Washington Post (Copyright 1984) * SEATTLE -- Steve Goodman, 36, a singer and songwriter who wrote "City of New Orleans," a hit song first for folk singer Arlo Guthrie and now for country singer Willie Nelson, died at a hospital here Sept. 20. He had leukemia. His songwriting talents ranged from folk to humor to topical songs. Other songs he wrote included "You Never Even Call Me By My Name," recorded by David Allen Coe, and "Banana Republic," by Jimmy Buffett. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 199 OF 208 TRIB7001300171 CHICAGOLAND NEIGHBORS CHANGE, FOLK ENDURES AT VENERABLE OLD TOWN SCHOOL Ann Marie Lipinski 836 Words 5127 Characters 03/17/85 Chicago Tribune FINAL; C 3 (Copyright 1985) There are five antique stores within a two-block strip, a shop down the street selling imported chocolate and a precious cafe across the alley specializing in "Alsation tartes." The neighbors knew things had really gotten tony when the corner Chinese restaurant began offering valet parking. Yet there at the border of the Sheffield neighborhood--a textbook study in gentrification--sits the Old Town School of Folk Music, 909 W. Armitage Ave., an anachronistic reminder of the area as it once was and of a time when Chicago was a giant on the national folk scene. "It's not as if the residents here are all suddenly listening to Barry Manilow," said Cathy Dunlap, president of the Sheffield Neighborhood Association, a group that has seen the area go from a middle-class haven to gang-infested turf to, currently, a mecca for high-income professionals. "But the Old Town is a pure reminder of our past, a reminder we should keep." The National Endowment for the Arts thought so too, and recently selected the school as one of only three folk institutions in the country to receive a special "advancement" grant this year. The $75,000 award, which must be matched by $150,000 more in contributions and will go toward renovation of the school's building, comes with a year of consultation from NEA experts. The consultation will center on business matters. A school that counted Steve Goodman among its students was thought to need little in the way of artistic advice. "There are so very few schools where you can go and learn folk music in this country," said Bess Lomax Hawes, director of the NEA's Folk Arts Program. "Of those that exist, the Old Town School is the most venerable and fabled of them all." The school, in fact, did falter during its 28-year-history as interest in folk music ebbed. There were times, according to director Jim Hirsch, when the Old Town School faced the possibility of closing its doors. Bars such as the Gate of Horn and Somebody Else's Troubles, once popular Chicago folk hangouts, were shuttered; the Earl of Old Town, a club to which folk musicians would travel from around the world, traded in John Prine for Blind John Davis when blues seemed a more salable act. Dawn Greening founded the Old Town School in her Oak Park living room in 1957 as a place where amateurs could learn basic banjo or professionals could try out a new ballad. Greening, who now lives in Ft. Collins, Colo., where she hosts a folk show for a public radio station, said the school's instructors were occasionally asked to volunteer for pay cuts when hard times struck. "Once the school needed rewiring, so we found an electrician who, in exchange for his services, would accept free guitar lessons for his wife and kids." * Ed Holstein, who with his brothers Fred and Alan owns Holsteins, a Lincoln Avenue folk bar, recently compared his first visit to the Old Town School to the feeling of "going home." "It was 1960, and I was a 13-year-old kid from the South Side * who had heard about this school for folk music," recalled Holstein. "I made the trip up, but when I got there I kept walking by it because I was looking for a real school--you know, with a playground and monkey bars. "When I finally figured it out and got inside the place, I couldn't believe it. The warmth and community I felt was something I'll never forget. There were some classes going on, Dawn was offering people cookies and coffee, and the Clancy Brothers were getting ready to play. I knew right away that I had found a second home. "There is not a place in America like it; there never has been." The school has had to change some to remain solvent following the post-' 60s waning of folk music interest. Witness a sign in the Old Town School's window advertising classes in "Folk Aerobics." But Hirsch, who has been called the Lee Iacocca of folk music for firming the school's flabby financial profile in his three years as director, defends the changes as good business. "There are times when being a business clashes with folksy traditions," said Hirsch, a recorded folk guitarist. "Folk is a grass-roots, spontaneous endeavor, and we've tried to retain that as much as possible. At the same time, I think if you don't take care of business, you don't stay in business. My hope is that if I can get someone through the front doors with something that might not be the essence of folk--like the aerobics--maybe I can keep them here to learn about the other." CAPTION: PHOTO: Old Town School of Folk Music Director Jim Hirsch: "There are times when being a business clashes with folksy traditions. Folk is a grass roots, spontaneous endeavor and we've tried to retain that as much as possible. At the same time I think if you don't take care of business, you don't stay in business." Tribune photo by Jose More. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 9 OF 116 TRIB8000799402 TEMPO THE KING OF OLD TOWN FOLK MUSICIAN JIM POST HEARS A NEW TEMPO AT HIS OLD STAMPING GROUND Rick Kogan, Tribune Staff Writer. 1302 Words 8273 Characters 12/14/93 Chicago Tribune NORTH SPORTS FINAL; N 1 (Copyright 1993) Additional material published Dec. 16, 1993: Corrections and clarifications. In a Tuesday Tempo article on folk musician Jim Post, the Old Town restaurant and bar Last Act was incorrectly identified. The Tribune regrets the error. It's hard to find remnants of the time when Old Town was the epicenter of Chicago's entertainment world. Italian trattorias have taken the place of head shops. There are still some great nightspots on Wells Street, but gone are its folk music clubs. A street life that was once the active rival of any city's-full of the exotic sights and sounds and odors of what was once known as the counterculture-is now relatively sedate. There's not a guitar in sight. But one day recently, standing at North and Wells, the heart of what is known as Old Town, was a guitar player. His hair, not quite fully white, was swept back and fell to his shoulders. His mustache, also white, sat prominently in the middle of a face that had, after all these years-many of them playfully hard years-remarkably retained a boyish look. The man, Jim Post, was toting a guitar case, bruised with age. He stood silently, expectantly at North and Wells, as if awaiting someone. "I was walking on this corner once many years ago and saw the most lovely young woman," he was saying. "She was so blond and so beautiful. I wrote a song about her." Did he meet her? "I lived with her for three years," Post said, smiling. Only a few steps north of where Post was standing is a spot named The Last Call. It is a cozy place, a typical bare-bricks-and-dark-wood bar and restaurant. It is quiet in the afternoons-only three people sat at the bar, drinking beer-but at night, thanks to its proximity to Second City directly across the street, it is filled with pre- and post-theatergoers. Those who know that The Last Call used to be the Earl of Old Town often get sentimental when they visit. "There was a generation that passed through this room," said Post, entering the place. "People learned a lot about life and love and everything else inside these walls." For those too young to remember or too jaded to any longer care, the Earl (which took its name from owner Earl Pionke) was one of the most famous and popular clubs in Chicago, arguably the most famous folk-music venue in the country. It was something else too. "It was a smell," said Post, sipping coffee in a booth. "It was a smell of people having a good time. "In most places the combination of odors of cigarettes and old beer can stink. At the Earl it was the sweetest smell imaginable." He paused and inhaled deeply. "This place," he said. "There's no smell. I can't smell a thing." The owner, a young-looking fellow named Tom Loan, did not hear Post's comment. Loan took over the place 3 1/2 years ago, after it had spent a short post-Earl interlude as an Italian joint. "We still get a lot of people coming in and telling us they used to come here when it was a folk club," Loan said. "The folk club," Post said. "Yeah, the folk club," Loan said. "There are a lot of ghosts walking around here." Indeed. The room nurtured the talents of performers such as * Bonnie Koloc, John Prine, Steve Goodman and Post. Post's no ghost-he's one of the liveliest people you'll ever meet-but ghosts touch his life and work. Now in his 50s, he is, in a way, the embodiment of folk music's heyday. Although he now makes his home in Galena with his wife Kathleen, he returns to Chicago every weekend to resurrect that era. Actually, he returns to Skokie and the Studio Theatre at Centre East, where he performs "An Evening in Old Town." It is a lovely piece of work-in the Tribune, David Duckman wrote that "the power and passion of his vocal performance brought the material square into the '90s"-that not only evokes the golden days of folk music but also makes such familiar tunes as "House of the Rising Sun," "If I Had a Hammer" and "This Land Is Your Land" seem fresh. "It's the sort of show that touches those who remember the songs. I've seen people cry," Post said. "But it's the younger people who really turn on. They've never heard music like this. It surprises them." The show's songs are punctuated by stories, many of them centered on the Earl, which for many years was the center of Post's life. One of the stories concerns Post's arrival in Chicago in "about 1963-maybe it was '64." He came here from his native Texas, full of songs and dreams of hit records. Old Town was a magnet at the time for people with such aspirations and hair longer than a couple of inches. "I took my guitar and found a spot in Pipers Alley"-a marvelous conglomeration of shops and clubs near North and Wells-"and asked the security guard if it was all right if I played," Post said. "He tells me OK, and in a little while a crowd is listening to me. "That's when the guard comes over and says, `Get out of here,' and I say, `Wait a minute. You told me I could play.' `That's right,' says the guard, `that was before I knew you were any good. You're good. Go across the street and play at the Earl.' And that's how it was that I first walked into the Earl." Post had spent much of his Texas youth singing in Baptist churches, and his range of musical knowledge was fairly limited. "If it hadn't been for Fred (Holstein, a local folk music stalwart), I never would have known folk music," Post said. "When I got here, I was so ignorant. I didn't know Pete Seeger, the Weavers, nothing." Through Holstein, his brother Ed and the rest of the Earl gang, Post not only learned folk music but also became one of its leading lights-a prolific writer and engaging performer. "Those days were glorious," he said. "There were nights the place was so packed, you couldn't even squeeze a sardine in the door." Post ended his Chicago days in the late '60s. Deeply involved in protest music, he was disturbed by the violence that touched the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago-so upset that he headed for the Rockies, writing a song called "Colorado Exile" to mark the move: "I'm gonna go live by a river until my soul is cleansed, I'm gonna live by a river, let life walk right in." He later moved to San Francisco but always, a few times a year, he would return to play the Earl. In the early '80s he settled in Galena, in a house on a small bluff overlooking the picturesque river town in Illinois' surprisingly hilly northwest corner. "On a clear day," said Post, "I can see hills on the other side of the Mississippi." Galena gave birth to "Galena Rose" in 1987, Post's most ambitious work, a full-blown musical theater piece that charts the rich, fascinating history of the title town. It enjoyed critical acclaim and had long runs at the Organic and Civic Studio theaters. Last year he put together "Best Damn Songs (Most People Never Heard)," a homage to his fellow folkies Goodman and Stan Rogers, both of whom are dead. "In a way that helped me give birth to `An Evening in Old Town.' I hope it runs for at least a few months," said Post, walking south along Wells. "It's the sort of show I think young people should see. They've got to know where the music-" He stopped talking in mid-sentence, his eye caught by a young man walking his way and carrying a guitar case. "Well, I'll be," Post said. "Will you look at that." Post smiled at the young man, who did the same. "Almost like nothing's changed," Post said. "Who says this is the '90s?" I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 25 OF 26 TRIB9509400178 TEMPO READY FOR RADIO AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, JOHN PRINE STILL WORRIES WHAT SUCCESS WILL COST HIM Steve Mills. 1119 Words 6858 Characters 04/04/95 Chicago Tribune NORTH SPORTS FINAL; C 1 (Copyright 1995) It is late in the afternoon and, between the fast-food hamburger and orange soda he is gulping, John Prine is ruminating on the costs of success. Prine is, after all, a most reluctant artist, the kind who would rather knock around the house than spend days in the studio, who often greets problems at a concert hall with the suggestion that he go fishing. He is, by his own account, good at doing nothing, and if he had it his way he might do nothing all the time. It is, to his way of thinking, a virtue. So it should come as little surprise that fame is something Prine is hardly eager to embrace. Indeed, he is wary of fame, seeing in it all kinds of dangers. "If you get too big," he reasons, "then you have to maintain it somehow." Now, 25 years into a career that often has had him standing at the precipice of greater success, Prine again is threatening to grow his following beyond the critics and the devoted circle of fans who have long championed him and his music. The first sign that things were changing came three years ago with "The Missing Years," a record that sold like none before and won Prine his first Grammy award. Now comes "Lost Dogs & Mixed Blessings," an album whose title might reflect Prine's up-and-down career. The compact disc is scheduled to be released Tuesday on Prine's Oh Boy Records. "Lost Dogs" is "The Missing Years" and more, a record rich in Prine's unique storytelling and wry, compassionate humor. But also it is louder-or, as Prine says, big and shiny-and that may help deliver it to a wider audience. Its release comes as radio's adult album alternative format is growing, helping to propel careers of singer-songwriters like Bonnie Raitt and Lyle Lovett. "With radio now coming together, it gives us an opportunity to make new fans," says Prine's long-time manager and friend, Al * Bunetta, who also managed the late Steve Goodman. "It's amazing that radio is catching up to John Prine." Prine says he doesn't care if that happens. "If it stays like this, that would be fine," he says. "If it gets bigger, I guess that would be fine too. I've always been pretty happy with how these things go." Since Prine came on the folk music scene in the early 1970s, a young mailman from Maywood who at night sang songs that made listeners think he was so old, commercial success has always lagged far behind critical acclaim. It is, perhaps, a function of being too interesting to be popular. Prine may view the world as an outsider of sorts, but his songs resonate with a melancholy and wonderment that is easily understood. Perhaps no one else could write such songs as "Ain't Hurtin' Nobody" or "Quit Hollerin' at Me," both off the new album, but anyone can hear something in them. The album's best cut, the half-talked half-sung "Lake Marie," brings together the best of what Prine is about: the easy melody and spare-but-poignant narration that touch on his Western Kentucky roots and Chicago sensibilities. Prine spent more than a year on the record, again working with Howie Epstein, the bassist for Tom Petty's backup band, the Heartbreakers, and producer of "The Missing Years." It is Epstein who forces Prine to spend more than four or five weeks on a record. "Used to be once it was done it was done," says Prine. "But Howie pushes." That Prine allows himself to be pushed is telling. Now 48, Prine carries an ample paunch. His hair and mustache are streaked with gray. His face and his voice show the years. On this afternoon, he's dressed in what he often wears when he performs: blue jeans rolled up at the bottom, an untucked black shirt and a black suit jacket. Pacing Bunetta's office on Nashville's Music Row, and trying to make sense of his last two albums, Prine is all nervous energy. That he prides himself on an ability to do nothing seems more than a little incongruous. Fact is, Prine does not stand still. "I was trying to write stuff I never wrote before," he says."I was trying to cram as many words as I could into it and still rhyme." That explains the lyrics. But the music, louder and stronger than Prine has offered since "Pink Cadillac," may be unfamiliar to those who expect Prine to walk the same ground he has in the past. It is a sound Prine will bring to concerts later this year, when he is accompanined by a band in live appearances. The bigger sound is not designed to capture a bigger audience, although Prine thinks it might. To Prine's ears, the bigger sound is more inviting and might make it easier for listeners to grasp the words. For Prine's songs have always turned on his lyrics. "I guess maybe some of my songs were asking for a little more attention," he says, as if faulting himself. "People had to take some time to get into the songs." Prine says his songs often come out of the newspaper. He found his latest album title in a story about Cuban refugees. He found an idea that went into "Lake Marie" in an article about a murder. Sometimes it's no more than a word that later will become a song. "Sometimes I think I'm looking for something in the newspaper," he says, "but I just don't know what it is." The lines from "Lost Dogs & Mixed Blessings" that are most telling come in "Ain't Hurtin' Nobody," in which Prine again seems the lonely outsider. But added to the mix are a handful of lines that could speak to Prine's experience in music. They came during the making of "Lost Dogs & Mixed Blessings" as Prine gazed out the window of his hotel high in the hills above Los Angeles at the lights below. "Six million seven-hundred-thousand and thirty-three lights on," he wrote. "You think someone could take the time to listen to the words of my song." In the same song, he wrote: "Perfectly crafted popular hit songs never use the wrong rhyme. You'd think that waitress could get my order right the first time." If there is a trace of bitterness there, it is, perhaps, understandable. The thing about Prine is that what makes him so good is simply not popular, not easy. Even he suggests that his songs require a little more time to grasp. "When I pick up a pencil and a paper and my guitar, I've got as much chance as anybody with a song," Prine says. "I just don't know that I'm writing for radio." I0607 * End of document.DOCUMENT 62 OF 116 GNS7000850634 JIM HIGGINS 874 Words 5362 Characters 02/10/89 Gannett News Service (Copyright 1989) John Prine used to carry the news of the world in a government-issued mail sack slung over his shoulder as he walked the streets of Maywood, Ill. But since 1970 he's done it either sitting down or hopping boisterously round a club, college, or concert hall stage. Prine, 42, is approaching the end of the '80s with the same musical vigor he brought to his debut album in 1971. ``John Prine Live,'' a two-record live set released in late 1988 on Prine's own Oh Boy Records, is more than a quick fix for the singer's mortgage and dental bills. It's a faithful document of Prine's performing style, strengths and weaknesses alike. While many live albums obscure a performer's sound and presence, ``John Prine Live'' captures his like amber fixes a butterfly. Most of the record's 19 songs were recorded during three days of concerts at The Coach House in San Juan Capistrano, Calif. Prine, armed with only an acoustic guitar, rambled through songs recorded on 10 previous albums. He reached back to 1971 for a batch of signature tunes: ``Illegal Smile,'' the worst-kept secret of the pot-smoking generation; ``Sam Stone,'' the sober story of a Vietnam vet who came home with ``a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes''; and ``Hello in There,'' one of several Prine tunes that reveal a deep compassion for the inner lives of older people. Prine is a product of the singer-songwriter revolution launched by Bob Dylan, who opened more doors for new blood than any immigration act ever did. Dylan's success made it possible for songwriters with awkward, ungainly, or even bad voices to reach a public. Perhaps even more important, Dylan made it possible for songwriters to reach an audience with all kinds of subject matter. If Prine were limited to the kinds of love songs that generally crack the Top 40, he might still be delivering mail to those 487 houses in Maywood, Ill. His lyrical stance is a compelling mixture of frank honesty, non-judgmental compassion, and detached humor. His lyrics are the kind that might be cooked up by a 5-year-old boy writing with the oldest sober drunk at an AA meeting. While he may look like - and is - a guy who likes to fish and drink beer, Prine reveals the compassion of a Trappist who's spent his whole life contemplating the Sacred Heart. That shows up particularly in his songs about old people, not a common topic among songwriters who bloomed in the Me Generation. ``I like old people,'' he wrote in an introduction to ``Hello in There'' on ``John Prine Live.'' ``If things work out right, someday I may be one.'' Prine's heartbreaking songs are complemented by his funny ones, which sometimes slip into sheer nonsense. ``A bowl of oatmeal tried to stare me down and won,'' he wails on ``Illegal Smile.'' Prine's raspy voice and unconventional songs have drawn him more comparisons to Bob Dylan than he ever wanted to hear, but the funny songs expose a less obvious debt to country songwriter Roger Miller. One of Prine's peaks of Milleresque craziness, first recorded on his ``Bruised Orange'' album, makes an encore appearance on ``John Prine Live.'' ``Sabu Visits the Twin Cities Alone'' obviously came from a portion of the brain that not even Spock could find. Sabu, you may remember, was the Indian boy atop an elephant in a series of forgettable B-pictures. It goes like this: ``The movie wasn't really doing so hot said the new producer to the old big shot. It's dying on the edge of the great Midwest. Sabu must tour or forever rest. ``Hey, look ma, here comes the elephant boy bundled all up in his corduroy, headed down south toward Illinois from the jungles of East St. Paul. ``His manager sat in the office alone staring at the numbers on the telephone, wondering how a man could send a child actor to visit in the land of the wind chill factor. ``Sabu was sad, the whole tour stunk, the airlines lost the elephant's trunk, the roadies got the rabies and the scabies and the flu. They were low in morale, but they were high on ...'' ``John Prine Live'' also connects Prine with his emergence as a singer-songwriter in the fertile early '70s Chicago music scene, * which also included Bonnie Koloc and the late Steve Goodman. The recording includes a 1982 version of ``Souvenirs,'' taped for the PBS-TV show, ``Austin City Limits,'' during which Goodman joined Prine for the song. Goodman is credited with bringing Kris Kristofferson to hear Prine play at Chicago's Earl of Old Towne club. Kristofferson helped Prine get his first record deal and wrote liner notes for Prine's 1971 debut on Atlantic. ``John Prine Live'' is nominated for a Grammy for best folk recording. So was its predecessor on Prine's Oh Boy label, ``German Afternoons,'' which, despite its title, has been described as a record that ``smacks of Appalachia.'' As independent records go, ``John Prine Live'' is fairly well distributed. But if you can't find it, you can order it for $15 (album or cassette) or $18 (CD) from Oh Boy Records, P.O. Box 36099, Los Angeles, Calif. 90036. --- (Jim Higgins writes for the Detroit News.) I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 309 OF 328 WP9400052586 * Steve Goodman Has Some Fun On His Own BY RICHARD HARRINGTON 281 Words 1953 Characters 02/03/84 The Washington Post (Copyright 1984) * Steve Goodman, a singer-songwriter abandoned by major labels after a half dozen fair to fine efforts, has resorted to putting out his own albums. "Affordable Art" is the second outstanding offering from his Red Pajamas label. Like its predecessor, it mixes spritely instrumentals ("If Jethro Were Here," an evocative Latin waltz with Goodman on mandola and Jim Rothermel on recorder), heartbreak ballads ("California Promises"; "Old Smoothies," a sublime portrait of the "sequined septuagenarians" at an ice show; and John Prine's "Souvenirs," sung as a duet with Prine) and some downright silly songs. Among the best of this last genre: "Vegematic," a dire warning to those who fall asleep with the television on (prepare for an invasion of Vegematics, Seal-a-Meal carrying cases, Ginzu knifes, Garden Weasels and Boxcar Willie records); "Talk Backwards," which celebrates the joys of doing just that (and begs for captioned programming for the "forward impaired"); "Watching Joey Glow," a post-apocalypse ode to someone who is, literally, brilliant; and "How Much Tequila (Did I Drink Last Night?)," which, five verses later, comes down to "a lot." Goodman's ebullient spirits are nowhere more evident than on "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request," an ode to "the doormat of the National League." "Do they still play the blues in Chicago when baseball season rolls along?" he wonders, remembering a time "when I'd forsake my teachers to go sit in the bleachers in flagrant truancy." Goodman has an instinct for understated lyrics and, working mostly in spare settings that showcase his outstanding guitar work, he's put out a spirited and * lovely album chock full of little gems. STEVE GOODMAN -- "Affordable Art" (Red Pajamas RPJ002). Appearing Monday and Tuesday at the Birchmere. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 288 OF 328 TRIB7001309768 FRIDAY MEMORIES OF STEVE FRIENDS UNITE FOR GOODMAN Steve Dale 908 Words 5378 Characters 01/25/85 Chicago Tribune FINAL; N 2 (Copyright 1985) * Steve Goodman lived every day, every hour, as if it might be his last. Last September, after a long battle, he succumbed to leukemia at age 36. The songwriter/performer once called himself a survivor, then added, "No one survives forever." He was wrong--his music and his * spirit continue to live. Only Steve Goodman could have written "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request" or "City of New Orleans." And "Go Cubs Go," heard every day at Wrigley Field last year, will be played for years to come. On Saturday night, nearly two dozen performers will salute Goodman in words and music at the Arie Crown Theatre. "It's a party in Stevie's honor," said his long-time personal manager Al Bunetta. "That's the way he would have wanted it." All proceeds will benefit leukemia research. "That's also the way he would have wanted it," said Bunetta. Last November, a similar get-together in Goodman's honor was staged at the huge Pacific Ampitheatre in Costa Mesa, Cal. Tickets sold so fast the promoters didn't even have time to promote. And if you're interested in tickets for Saturday's affair here in Goodman's home town, forget it. The cavernous Arie Crown sold out in record time--just four hours. Among the performers Saturday night will be friends who knew Goodman best. They shared some memories: Bonnie Koloc: "I was in New York in 1968 and I got a call from Steve. He was in the hospital. That was the first time he became ill. When I went to visit him, I couldn't believe my eyes. There he was in the lobby with his guitar singing to other patients. And he really wasn't very well himself. He got better by helping others to get better. We spent hours singing together in that lobby. No matter how ill he might have been, he never lost his sense of humor or that sparkle in those big, dark brown eyes." Arlo Guthrie: "I was singing in the Quiet Night on Belmont Avenue (in 1971) and after a show a young songwriter wanted to play a tune for me. I wasn't really thrilled about it, but I said, 'If you buy me a beer, you can sing for as long as the beer lasts.' That's how I first met Steve and heard 'City of New Orleans.' I never had a clue it would be a hit record, but we finally decided to put it on an album. I recorded the thing six or seven times before I finally found the right sound." Corky Siegel: "The Steve on stage is the same as the Steve off stage. He was a guy that everyone loved to hug. Years ago, I was trying to get a booking at this one college. For whatever the reason, they didn't want to have anything to do with me. Coincidentally, Steve was scheduled at the same college. He insisted that Corky Siegel open his act. Boy, did that throw them. Steve had a philosophy that life is too important to take too seriously." Bonnie Rait: "He had an incredible memory for music. He knew all the words and chords to every Beatle song, every Chuck Berry tune, even these old Irish folk songs. He was truly a great musician, and he loved to play for anyone, anywhere, any time." Ed Holstein: "Earl Pionke (Earl of Old Town) got us (Holstein, his brother Fred and Goodman) this unbelievable gig in Madison, Wis., playing to 3,000 bank tellers. We followed a topless dancer from Racine. It was awful --even worse. I did two verses and quit. Fred was more valiant. He managed a whole song. Steve was next. He sang 'The Auctioneer' and 'Truck Driving Man,' and proceeded to perform his entire show. To this day, I don't know how he did it. I don't think the Pope could have gotten this audience's attention. But Stevie did it." Fred Holstein: "He was the greatest Cubs fan, but he never ordered hot dogs in Wrigley Field. He'd bring his own food, usually chicken salad sandwiches. We always had the greatest time. I'll remember him most for how he had a knack for making anyone he ever met laugh." Roy Leonard (WGN Radio personality): "Steve performed 'A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request' on the program from lyrics he had scribbled on the back of a shriveled envelope. Most performers wouldn't have bothered. But he certainly wasn't like most performers. He was the most unpretentious person I ever met." John Prine (perhaps Goodman's oldest and best friend): "Did you know that Stevie once stopped a ball game? The ump made a call Stevie didn't like. Stevie ran down to the first row and really let the ump have it. The umpire actually stopped the game, went over to Stevie to explain his call. "Another time," Prine recalls, "we were playing together at a theater in Mobile, Ala. Stevie learned that Al Jolson was the first person to ever perform there. For his second encore, he dropped to one knee and sang 'Mammy.' And I had to follow that! "Stevie had friends all over the country. They weren't just acquaintances either. He kept in touch with people. He really cared." * What: A tribute to Steve Goodman Where: Arie Crown Theatre at McCormick Place. When: At 7 p.m. Saturday. How much: $20 (sold out). CAPTION: * PHOTO: Steve Goodman, circa 1968. PHOTO: Cheerful in illness, 1983. Tribune photo by Jerry Tomaselli. PHOTO: The bearded look, 1977. I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 205 OF 208 J9415233239 LEISURE & ARTS 'Midnight Special': Where Folk Heroes Live By Frederick C. Klein 966 Words 6123 Characters 06/05/84 The Wall Street Journal (Copyright (c) 1984, Dow Jones & Co., Inc.) Chicago -- No one is sure exactly when the "great folk scare" occurred; most witnesses place it around 1960, while the nation was taking a nap between Elvis and the Beatles. "The Kingston Trio made a couple of hit records, and almost instantly everybody with a guitar and a madras shirt was singing folk. Some of the most awful stuff you ever heard * was coming out," recalls Fred Holstein, a Chicago nightclub owner and longtime practitioner of the art. "We thought, 'My God, is this what popularity is like?' " The folkies needn't have worried, because the boom was short-lived. Folk music soon was back on the entertainment fringe, where it had long resided. If anything, it has faded a bit more of late, as the businesslike Reagan era turns the song-inspiring protest movements of the previous two decades into fodder for nostalgia-trivia questions. For three hours on Saturday nights, however, folk lives on the Midnight Special, broadcast by radio station WFMT-FM here. The 31-year-old program is one of radio's longest-running, and its "live" audience, swelled by a 39-state cable hookup, is estimated at 500,000. Still others hear it in an hour-long version that the station syndicates, or on the tapes that numerous listeners religiously make. The show's popularity has stood up well in good times and bad for its featured musical form, something that Ray Nordstrand, WFMT's general manager and the Special's host every other week, attributes partly to the law of supply and demand. "Public radio does some folk, and so do a few local stations, but in most places it's us or rock 'n' roll," he notes sadly. In point of fact, the Midnight Special is more than just folk music. It also airs comedy, novelty tunes, show music and even an occasional rock number whose lyrics hosts Mr. Nordstrand and Norm Pellegrini, the station's program director, deem interesting and intelligible. At one time or another, the show has included just about everything but the classical music that is WFMT's staple. Mr. Pellegrini calls the program "an entertainment with folk music as its base." Mr. Nordstrand quips that it's the "Hyde Park Farm and Home Hour," Hyde Park being a wine-and-cheese Chicago neighborhood that surrounds the University of Chicago. "We play stuff that falls between the cracks of other stations' formats," Mr. Nordstrand continues. "If you're driving along, and your radio is playing 'Throw Away Your Cat' or 'Plastic Jesus,' chances are you're listening to the Midnight Special." In 1953, when the Special was first aired, it was all folk and "live," a one-hour weekly concert by the Willow Singers, a Chicago group. That folded after a bit, to be replaced by a more eclectic show of the same name hosted by Mike Nichols, who was later to gain greater note as a comedian (with Elaine May) and movie and play director. Messrs. Nordstrand and Pellegrini took over in 1956 and kept the eclectic format, including Mr. Nichols roaming Chicago, tape recorder in hand, in search of material for the show. The Special tapes and broadcasts folk concerts from nightclubs around town, along with every new review of Chicago's famed Second City improvisational comedy group (63 to date) and all 23 editions of the University of Chicago's annual Folk Festival. Folklorist Steve Ward's recordings of grass-roots folk performers are another recurring feature. The show also plays records and tapes of unknown professional performers that it receives from listeners or the performers themselves. It claims to have been the first U.S. radio program to air the Beatles (from a record sent by a listener), Bob Dylan (from a tape sent by his manager) and Jose Feliciano (from a tape it made at a local club). Some performers send original material; a song titled "One Million Lawyers," a lament about our litigious society by folk singer Tom Paxton, was aired on a recent Saturday. Others turn up during broadcasts to perform; Steve Goodman first did his "City of New Orleans" on the program that way. New Year's Eve annually is given over to local folk singers for a midnight-to-dawn hootenanny at the station, which, incidentally, just opened a performance studio and produces records under its own label. The program's dedication to performance-taping has produced one of the best such libraries extant. One prize is an otherwise-unrecorded concert given in 1956 by Pete Seeger and the late Bill Broonzy. Another is of what Mr. Pellegrini calls "Judy Collins before she was Judy Collins," taped at WFMT in 1963. There also are a number of original Nichols & May comedy routines, including a takeoff of a typically genteel WFMT interview with a wealthy arts patron. Folk heroes Seeger, Collins, The Weavers, Woody Guthrie, Josh White and Joan Baez are played regularly, along with work by newer artists and more-obscure material. The Special delights in grouping different versions of the same song, or different songs with the same theme. The receipt of the Paxton song about lawyers, for instance, was especially welcome because it will go well in combination with other such lawyer-related ditties as "My Attorney, Bernie," "The Philadelphia Lawyer," and "The Unfortunate Man." The last is about a fellow who marries a beautiful woman, looks on in anguish as she removes her wig, false teeth and other cosmetic paraphernalia on their wedding night, and regrets that she didn't come with a warranty deed. Comedy and comic songs have been getting a lot of play on the Special lately, in keeping with what Mr. Nordstrand sees as the "gentler" mood of the program's listeners and society in general. "Folk music is a pretty good barometer of the political scene, and it's interesting how upbeat things are today," he observes. "Years ago, Pete Seeger sang about labor strife and race relations. Now, the Hudson River is his project." I0607 * End of document.
DOCUMENT 290 OF 328 TRIB7001310736 ARTS IN REVIEW. SANTA ANA WINDS * STEVE GOODMAN (RED PAJAMAS) Jack Hurst T 131 Words 1030 Characters 01/20/85 Chicago Tribune FINAL; C 17 (Copyright 1985) he late singer-songwriter's final album--unless, as is to be hoped, there are some posthumous releases--was his third on his own label (P.O. Box 233, Seal Beach, Calif. 90740). The lyrics exhibit Goodman's trademark veneer of Chicago tough-guy humor overlaying a mother-lode of sensitivity and sentimentality. They range, for instance, from "Face On The Cutting Room Floor," a song (previously recorded by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band) about a woman who gives up Hollywood on learning that just being talented isn't enough to make it in show business, to the final cut, "You Better Get It While You Can." TD True to Goodman's usual all-over-the-road style, "Santa Ana Winds" is a fittingly eclectic monument to one of the funniest, most intelligent and most courageous performers who ever picked up a guitar. REVIEW MUSIC I0607 * End of document.