Chapter XI: The Folk Element in American Music (1)

Nationalism in music--Sources of American folk-song;
classification of folk-songs--General characteristics of the
negro folk-song--The negro folk-song and its makers--Other
American folk-songs--The negro minstrel tunes; Stephen
Collins Foster, etc.--Patriotic and national songs.

We have been frequently obliged to indicate, in the course of our 'Narrative History of Music,' that certain known facts about musical beginnings were not first facts--that there were premises upon which these facts were based--beyond the ken of the historian. Thus we discovered that some time in the early centuries of our era a type of chant known as plain-song was systematized by musicians, but we were unable to reveal the actual source of that music; later we came upon a more or less artistic expression in the form of troubadour songs, and again found their actual source shrouded in mystery--or tradition--and so forth. We were consequently forced to the conclusion that, as practice precedes theory, something else precedes artistic music, which is its source and real beginning. That something is the elementary expression of the race--or folk-song. Art music is rooted in folk-song as surely as the tree is rooted in the soil.

Folk-song is the musical expression of the racial genius. Art music is the _individual_ expression of the same genius, plus the personal character of the artist. However distinctive or individual his expression, no composer has been able to divorce himself from the racial genius of which he is a part, any more than a poet of a nation has been able to rise above the national idiom. 'A creative artist,' says Mr. Henry F. Gilbert,[60] 'is like a noble tree. However tall the tree may grow, pointing ever heavenward, it still has its roots in the soil below and draws its sustenance therefrom. So with the great creative artist: however elevated and universal his utterances become, the roots of his being are so deeply embedded in the consciousness of the race of which he is a part, that the influence and color of this race spirit will be apparent in his greatest works.'

It follows, then, that a composition, if it is to be great, will be recognizable not only as the work of a man, but also as the product of a race. This may sound radical in the abstract, but the fact is easily demonstrated by concrete examples. To quote from the same source: 'When we survey with our mind's eye the bulk of German music and contrast it with the bulk of French music or Italian music we immediately perceive that there is a fundamental difference between them. Never mind whether we can define it or not, there the difference is, and I believe that most of us recognize it without any trouble. At bottom this difference is because of the difference in race. Inasmuch as the Italian composer in his music unconsciously expresses the peculiar temper and character of the people among whom he has been born and of whom he is a spiritual as well as a physical fragment, so the German composer expresses, likewise unconsciously, the quite different temper and character of the people from whom he sprang.... How can any one fail to recognize these national, or, say, racial characteristics? But there is a school of critics which maintains that the greatest music strikes the universal note, and is free from the taint of nationalism. If this were so we might expect to find the greatest music of Germany, France, Italy, Russia, Finland, or any other country to be very similar in its appeal and effect. We should find all this great music to be lacking in special racial character and to be expressive only of those characteristics which are common to all the different peoples. If this were true it would, of course, be possible to conceive of any _great_ piece of music having been written by any person regardless of his nationality. But can you do it? Can you, for instance, conceive of Beethoven's symphonies being the normal expression of an Italian? Or of 'Tristan' having been written by an Englishman? Can you imagine the 'Pathétique' Symphony of Tschaikowsky having been written by a Frenchman, or Verdi's 'Otello' composed by a Norwegian? No; the trail of nationality is over them all.... I believe that the greatest creative artists have ever been national in the deepest sense of the word. They have been the mouthpieces of a people, and, while in their works they unrolled new and hitherto unknown visions of beauty, their masterpieces have always been an expression and extension of the race consciousness rather than a contradiction and denial of it.'

If we accept this dictum, it will be quite rational, in treating the music of any nation, to begin at the bottom--by defining the sources and general character of its folk-song. We should have no difficulty in doing this in the case of France, Germany, or, say, Spain, which are more or less racially simple, but not so when we take a country like Austria, for instance, which is the home of at least three different racial stocks. Each of these has a well-developed music of its own, which has a well-defined racial complexion quite distinct from that of the others. Now America is precisely in this position, but in a very much higher degree. We have not three, but thirty or more different racial stocks, and of these perhaps six or seven are of sufficient strength and sufficient permanence to have become definitely associated with the American soil. Only in a limited sense, however, are these race settlements 'localized,' as they are in Austria, and therefore capable of retaining in any degree their characteristics and traditions. America's position is, in fact, unique in that it fuses all these apparently antagonistic elements, thus obliterating in a large measure their own racial peculiarities and, by the addition of a new, a neutralizing element, substituting a new product. That product is still in the making, and the neutralizing element is so intangible as to defy definite description. Indefinitely it is the spirit born of the sense of liberty of action, opportunity and optimistic endeavor which colors the character of every settler or immigrant, irrespective of his extraction.

In contemplating the chaotic state of our 'national' music and in realizing that its ultimate character is in its formative stage, we are too apt to forget that it too has its folk-song antecedents, however heterogeneous they may be. We are not here concerned with the ultimate product, but with its ingredients. If these are partly English, Irish, Scotch, German, French, and Spanish, they are nevertheless legitimate, though these foreign ingredients may be dismissed with a mere mention in so far as they have suffered no peculiar transformation upon American soil; those that _have_ suffered transformation, like those that are indigenous, must receive attention because they have become legitimate material for our composers to draw upon in order to identify their art with their country. In spite of the peculiar position of America with regard to artistic individuality, then, we may be justified in treating the story of American creative musical art in the usual manner--beginning with folk-song.

I

Since we have drawn the distinction between adapted and indigenous folk-song, the question naturally arises whether there exists in America a truly indigenous folk-song at all. It has been agreed that America, having been colonized by Europeans, possesses no native culture whatever, except such as the Indians may have had. The Indian, indeed, has the best claim to the name American, being indigenous, or at least so early a colonizer as to have constituted virtually a native race. But being the one element which has not been fused with the many elements of which the American nation is now composed, he is to-day in the anomalous position of an indigenous foreigner. For the American of to-day is predominantly European--of overseas origin--and the European conquerors have, in this case, not adopted the 'culture' of the vanquished, because that culture was inferior to their own.

The North American Indian has shown unquestioned evidences of art instincts--in his folk-lore, his handicrafts, and perhaps also in his music. But, with respect to the last, his impulses are so circumscribed by religious formulas and so little affected by a sense of proportion that they hardly achieve even the mildest form of artistic expression or design. Moreover, the idiom he employs is so foreign to us, so exotic in its nature, that either an unconscious or an impulsive use of it by American composers would be out of the question. What use has been made of Indian material has been with the conscious purpose of lending a savage character or local color to the music, as in the preëminent case of MacDowell's 'Indian Suite.' This is exactly analogous to the use of Oriental color by such composers as Saint-Saëns or Delibes. 'Arrangements,' or harmonizations, attempted upon the basis of our European scale have led to some pleasing results at the hands of Frederick R. Burton, Arthur Farwell and others, but at a total sacrifice of the original character of the tunes. What appeal such arrangements have to our ears depends entirely upon the harmonic texture or a readjustment of the melody according to European ideas, not upon its intrinsic value.

'Folk-songs are echoes of the heart-beats of the vast folk and in them are preserved feelings, beliefs and habits of vast antiquity. Not only in the words, which have almost monopolized folk-song study so far, but also in music and perhaps more truthfully in the music than in the words. Music cannot lie, for the reason that the things which are at its base, the things without which it could not be, are unconscious, involitional human products.'[61] It is evident that unless we understand or feel 'the things which are at its base' we cannot respond to the utterances that express them. If for no other reason, the songs of the Indian, because they express the emotions of man at a lower and totally foreign stage of culture, cannot enter into assimilation, with our own. They are therefore not significant to Americans as folk-songs and we have accordingly treated them under the heading of Primitive Music in Volume I (pp. 1 ff.).

With the Indian rejected as a source of folk-song where are we to find such sources? Folk-songs, according to a dictionary definition, are 'marked by certain peculiarities of rhythm, form, and melody, which are traceable, more or less clearly, to racial (or national) temperament, modes of life, climatic and political conditions, geographical environment and language.' The distinction of one kind of folk-song from another therefore depends upon a difference in these peculiarities, and we shall have to look for distinctive characteristics that belong to no other race if we are to find a truly indigenous folk-song. On the other hand, the _conditions_ under which folk-song grows (for it does 'grow' while its sophisticated counterpart is 'built') are essentially the same. The proverbial dictum that 'sorrow is the mother of song' is true as a general rule. It is borne out by the fact that a great majority of the folk-songs of all nations carry a note of melancholy, and a great preponderance of all such songs is in the minor mode. But this is particularly so in Northern countries. No doubt the harsher climatic conditions impose a heavier burden of care. Mr. Krehbiel, who has examined many folk-songs with regard to the relative proportion of modes, remarks that nearly all of Russian song shows the minor predominance peculiar to Northern countries, and he concludes that political conditions have much the same effect as climatic ones.

Of course, the songs of happiness are many, too, but even these are in a measure the product of suffering, for man recognizes well-being very often only by contrast; continuous bliss he is apt to manifest by indifference. Hence we are not surprised that the strongest outbursts of joy, often wild and boisterous, are common to the nations whose dominant note is grief. But whatever the country, folk-song springs invariably from the poorest classes, and most often from the peasant, for, exposed to the phenomena of nature as well as to economic stress, his imagination is constantly stirred by the beauties of the earth, the mysteries and the tragedy of life.

In looking for analogous conditions in America we may think first of the pioneer, the early settler, who no doubt had hardships to endure and privations to suffer. But by peculiar circumstances he was unfitted for the creation of song. Springing largely from a notoriously unimaginative tradesman's class, inspired by the stern principles of a piety that deliberately suppressed impulsive expression as sinful, and almost constantly engaged in savage warfare, he may hardly be looked upon as an originator of poetic beauty. Moreover, his English culture clung to him for generations, while politically he considered himself an Englishman. The songs he sang, therefore, were the songs of his fathers, and precious little social opportunity he had for indulging in their charm. Isolation and lack of communication effectually precluded a current interchange of ideas.

In a great measure these conditions apply to the subsequent generations of all European races in America--the pioneers as well as the later immigrants. Their own traditions, whatever their nationality, are preserved for a generation or so to the exclusion of new influences; then the old songs die away and the memory of them becomes obliterated in the great stream of cosmopolitanism. Only in isolated spots, where a race, especially strong in tradition or racial peculiarities, or where a mere aggregation of people, united in a common mode of life, is sequestered, have these traditions survived or engendered new ones. Instances of this are the French Canadians, the Creoles of Louisiana, the Spanish-Americans of Mexico and California, and the mountaineers of Kentucky and Virginia. These people have a folk-song peculiar to themselves, which is founded, however, upon a traditional racial idiom, and may therefore be classed as 'adapted' or 'transformed' folk-song. For the indigenous American folk-song we shall have to look elsewhere.

The only caste in American history whose condition in any way resembled that of the peasant class in Europe was the negro slave of the South. Not only was he subjected to sufferings, hardships, and oppression, but, injected into a civilization in which he found himself an outcast, he was forced to create a racial existence for himself, which, while it adapted elements of the society that ruled him, nevertheless was bound to be distinctive because of a peculiar admixture of savage customs and superstitions, the imperfection of his understanding, and the extraordinary emotional makeup of his character. The negro in his uncivilized way was endowed with the ingenuousness of a child, and the susceptibility to impressions that goes with the untutored mind. He had a childlike, poetic nature, a natural gift of song, an emotionalism and a sentimentality that responded unfailingly to all the pangs of an unjust and cruel existence. The ruthless severing of family ties, the physical pains, the hardships of labor found a direct expression in his music, the idiom of which was partly innate and partly acquired. Add to this the intense religious excitement to which the negro is subject--an emotion which seems to have translated itself with all its elemental power from savage idolatry to Christian worship--and you have a combination which could not but produce a striking result. 'Nowhere save on the plantation of the South could the emotional life which is essential to the development of true folk-song be developed, nowhere else was there the necessary meeting of the spiritual cause and the simple agent and vehicle.'[62]

The peculiar fact that the one true indigenous class of American folk-song is the product of an African race is, as we have seen, due to circumstances alone. It is no reflection upon the capabilities of the other races for artistic expression. It simply demonstrates the fact that folk-song grows under certain conditions and no other. A nation that is prosperous, that is plunged headlong into the feverish activities of industrial progress, cannot be expected to bring forth melancholy 'complaints' or gems of contemplative lyricism. But there come even to such nations moments of national stress that give rise to unusual outbursts. While these are usually voiced by single individuals, they reproduce so vividly the spirit of the people that they often rank with folk-songs in spontaneity and directness. Such are the patriotic songs, whose creation accompanied every war and every revolution. Often they are mere adaptations of freshly composed words to old but stirring tunes, which thus take on a new significance--often these very tunes are 'captured' from the enemy and annexed to the country's flag. Such was the case in the War of the Revolution, in the War of 1812, and again in the Civil War. These songs--not strictly folk-songs--might better be described as 'songs in the folk manner,' a distinction indicated in German by the adjective _volkstümlich_ or _volksmässig_.

Such songs in the folk manner follow in the wake of every considerable folk-song tradition. They have not failed to do so in America, and it is significant that the spirit which they reproduce or aim to reproduce is the spirit of the negro folk-song. The movement, or after-movement, started with the imitation of negro ditties by white composers in connection with the so-called negro minstrel troupes which, beginning about 1845, became a favorite form of amusement in the United States. Its culmination must be recognized in the work of such men as Stephen Foster and Henry Clay Work, whose works are part of the permanent stock of American lyrics. Beyond this the negro song has had an influence upon the so-called American popular song, a degenerate type which has appropriated, often in distorted form, some of the character of plantation song, notably the peculiar form of syncopation known as 'ragtime.'

We have now enumerated all the subdivisions of folk-song in its broader sense: the native folk-song proper, exemplified by the negro plantation song; the song in the folk manner, exemplified by the negro minstrel tunes, the work of Stephen Foster and the patriotic songs, adapted or original; the adapted folk-song of the French-Canadian, Spanish-American, the Kentucky mountaineer, etc.; and, finally, the simon-pure folk-song of foreign birth, perpetuated in America by immigrants. All of these are vital forces in American composition and as such must receive more detailed attention.

II

The discussion of the negroes' claim to the title 'American' would be perhaps out of place at this late date, and particularly in this place, were it not that a considerable class of American citizens has denied to them not only social equality but equal consideration and opportunity as a native citizen of the country. The preponderance of European blood in the nation hardly justifies this any more than it would justify the exclusion of the large number of Americans that are of anciently oriental origin. In contrast with this the name 'American' is never denied to the Indian, but priority of settlement can hardly be argued in his favor, for by such reasoning the negro has superior claims over some of the 'elect' of the white elements among Americans. Negroes were sold into slavery in Virginia before the landing of the Pilgrims in 1790. The first census of the United States showed 759,208 negroes, and to-day they constitute nearly 13 per cent. of the entire population. Their intellectual powers have been amply proved by the achievements of individual members of the race, in science, in education, and in the arts. It is hardly necessary to name such men as Booker T. Washington, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, and Dr. Burghardt DuBois in support of this. Mr. Krehbiel, however, does well in quoting the last-named of these in proving the present contention:

'Your country? How came it yours? Before the Pilgrims landed we were here. Here we have brought three gifts and mingled them with yours--a gift of story and song, soft stirring melody in an ill-harmonized and unmelodious land; the gift of sweat and brawn to beat back the wilderness, conquer the soil and lay the foundations of this vast economic empire two hundred years earlier than your weak hands could have done it; the third a gift of the Spirit. Around us the history of the land has centred for thrice a hundred years; out of the nation's heart we have called all that was best, to throttle and subdue what was worst; fire and blood, prayer and sacrifice have billowed over this people, and they have found peace only in the altars of the God of Right....'

The negroes' songs are sung in the language of the country--or a dialect of it; and, while they do not voice the sentiments of the entire population--no song in a country so heterogeneous could do that--they are American songs by the same right that the peasant songs of Russia are Russian or the song of any other class of Americans would be American.

In order to prove the originality of the negro folk-song it has been necessary to combat the opinion of so learned a writer as Dr. Wallaschek,[63] who has contended that these songs are 'unmistakably "arranged"--not to say ignorantly borrowed--from the national songs of all nations, from military signals, well-known marches, German students' songs, etc., unless it is pure accident which has caused me to light upon traces of so many of them.' This radical statement, while it has the force of scientific deduction, is erroneous in the premises upon which these deductions are based. Dr. Wallaschek has relied too freely upon the testimony of travellers whose musical knowledge is doubtful and he has evidently confused genuine slave songs with imitations of them, such as the so-called minstrel tunes written by whites. Besides, as Mr. Krehbiel very plausibly remarks, 'similarities exist between the folk-songs of all peoples. Their overlapping is a necessary consequence of the proximity and intermingling of peoples, like modifications of language; and there are some characteristics which all songs except those of the rudest and most primitive kind must have in common. The prevalence of the diatonic scales and march-rhythms, for instance, make parallels invariable. If the use of such scales and rhythms in the folk-songs of the American negroes is an evidence of plagiarism or imitation, it is to be feared that the peoples whose music they put under tribute have been equally culpable with them. Mr. William Francis Allen--with Charles Pickard Ware and Lucy McKim Garrison the compiler of the most famous collection of negro songs[64]--while admitting that negro music is partly imitative of the music of the whites, says that 'in the main it appears to be original in the best sense of the word, and the more we examine the subject, the more genuine it appears to be.' Only in a very few songs does Mr. Allen trace strains of less familiar music which the slaves heard their masters sing or play. In spite of this, the songs themselves prove that they are the spontaneous utterances of an entire people. As in the case of all folk-songs, their first germs were uttered by individual spokesmen, but these germs were such genuine reflections of sentiments common to all and were subjected to such modifications in their travels from lip to lip as to assume the character of a composite expression of the race. They are indeed 'original and native products. They contain idioms transplanted hither from Africa, but as songs they are the product of American institutions, of the social, political, and geographical environment within which their creators were placed in America; of the joys, sorrows, and experiences which fell to their lot in America.'

Having established the 'Americanism' and the originality of the negro folk-song, and having stated the presence of an African as well as European element, we may now attempt to point definitely to instances of both. Generally speaking, the African characteristics consist of rhythmic and melodic aberration, while the European ingredients find expression in the harmonic structure and the style of the melodies as far as they are influenced by that structure. But this statement is subject to qualifications. While the African, like every other exotic race, is generally innocent of harmonic science, travellers have brought evidences of a genuine natural feeling for harmony among the African tribes. Thus a German officer recounted to John W. D. Moodie[65] how his playing of an aria from Gluck's _Orfeo_ on the violin was immediately imitated _with accompaniments_ by the native Hottentots. Peter Kolbe, writing in 1719, testified to the Hottentots' playing of their _gom-goms_ in harmony, and Mr. Krehbiel records the singing of a Dahoman minstrel at the World's Columbian Exposition (1893) to the accompaniment of a Chinese harp as follows: 'With his right hand he played over and over again a descending passage of dotted crotchets and quavers in thirds; with his left hand he syncopated ingeniously on the highest tuned string.' According to the same writer, another investigator, Dr. Wangemann, transcribed a hymn by a Kaffir in which the solos were sung in unison but the refrain in full harmony. These instances should give some clue to the extraordinary ability of negroes to 'harmonize,' that is, improvise harmonies to a given melody.

Of course, the strongest musical accomplishment of the African is his extraordinary command of rhythm. As is the case with most primitive music, the rhythm of the African music is determined by the native dances. The drum, which marks the rhythm, is the most important instrument of the African, and his ability upon it is nothing short of marvellous. He has developed a 'drum language' which he uses in signalling in war time and for communication at long distance. 'The most refined effects of the modern tympanist seem to be put in the shade by the devices used by African drummers in varying the sound of their instruments so as to make them convey meanings, not by conventional formulas but by actual imitation of words.'[66] Their ability to use cross rhythms and intricate effects of syncopation is evidently inherited by the American negroes, whose prowess in that direction may be verified in a thousand dance halls. Syncopation and the peculiar form of it which Mr. Krehbiel refers to as the 'Scotch snap' is indeed the outstanding characteristic of all negro music. The short note on a strong beat immediately followed by a longer one on a weak beat, and the consequent shifted rhythm popularly known as 'ragtime' is scarcely ever absent in negro folk-music. That it is a heritage from Africa seems to be conclusively proved by the recording of such melodies as these:

Drum Call from West Africa.

Hottentot Melody.

Next to their rhythmic snap, the most radically outlandish characteristic of the negro songs is their frequent variation from the diatonic scale. This most often takes the form of a raised (major) sixth in a minor key (while the seventh is not varied or is omitted altogether); the raised seventh in the minor scale, or the flattened seventh in the major. Besides these 'wild notes,' as Mr. Krehbiel calls them, there are omissions of certain notes of the scale that produce a decided exotic effect. Thus we have the major scale without the seventh or without the fourth, and the minor scale without the sixth. The major scale with both the fourth and the seventh omitted, in other words the pentatonic scale, familiar in all primitive and exotic music as well as in certain folk-tunes, notably the Celtic, is also present in negro song. There are, moreover, examples in the so-called whole-tone scale.

The effect produced by these aberrations constitutes the most beautiful quality of negro music. We cannot refrain from quoting here an example or two. The raised sixth in the minor scale is most exquisitely shown in the famous 'spiritual' 'You May Bury Me in de Eas',' which we quote in full, without harmonization:[67]

You may bur-y me in the East, You may bur-y me in the West; But I'll
hear the trump-et sound In that morn-ing. In that morn-ing, my Lord,
How I long to go, For to hear the trump-et sound, In that morn-ing.

Another instance is seen in the second section of 'Come Tremble-ing Down,' the first part of which is in C major, turning into A minor with a striking disregard of harmonic convention, and proceeding as follows:

Come trem-ble-ing down, go shout-ing home, Safe in the
sweet arms of
Je-sus, Come Je-sus, 'Twas just a-bout the break of day,
King Je-sus stole my
heart a-way, 'Twas just a-bout the break of day, King
Je-sus stole my heart a-way.

Such examples contain nothing that is imitative. Their disregard for the natural progressions of diatonic melody leave no doubt that the negro possessed, to begin with, a wholly independent sense of tonality, which sense he has in some measure retained or compromised. As an instance of the minor seventh in the major scale take 'A Great Camp Meetin'.' We quote only the last three measures of the first section in order to establish the key:

Don't you get a-weary, Dere's a great camp-meet-in' in de
prom-ised land, Gwine to mourn an' neb-ber tire,——— mourn
an' neb-ber tire, mourn an' neb-ber tire;— Dere's a great
camp-meet-in' in de prom-ised land.

And, as a last example of tunes that have little in common with any other kind of folk-song, a melody worthy of the sophistication of an ultra-modern composer, let us add 'O'er the Crossing':

Bendin' knees a achin', Body rack'd wid pain, I wish I was a child
of God, I'd
git home bime by. Keep prain', I do believe We're a long time
waggin' o' de
crossin'. Keep prayin', I do believe We'll git home
to heaven bime by.

There are many, many more.[68] Melodic imagination of a high order would be required to produce consciously such melodies as these. There is in them little that is trivial, nothing that is frivolous. Even the 'rhythmic snap' never sounds cheap in true negro music, as distinct from worthless imitations and so-called popular music--'coon songs' and the like. Note the following as a noble example of its use:

Nobody know's the trouble I see, Lord, Nobody know's the
trouble I see;
Nobody know's the trouble I see, Lord, Nobody
knows but Jesus.
Brothers, will you pray for me, Brothers, will
you pray for me,
Brothers, will you pray for me, And help me to
drive old Sa-tan a-way?

In summing up the melodic and rhythmic characteristics of negro tunes we may state the apparently contradictory fact that the great majority of them are in the major mode, notwithstanding their almost ever-present note of sadness. Out of 527 songs analyzed by Mr. Krehbiel 416 are in ordinary major, only 62 in ordinary minor, 23 'mixed and vague,' and 111 pentatonic. Herein the negro folk-song differs from most other folk-songs. Its Southern habitat would, of course, seem to predispose it to major, and thus it bears out the argument in favor of climatic influence. Nevertheless the effect of sadness in the melodies does not escape us. Often it is produced by the aberrations of which we have spoken; but more often it is less tangible. In the words of Dr. DuBois 'these songs are the music of an unhappy people, of the children of disappointment; and they tell of death and suffering and unvoiced longing toward a truer world, of misty wanderings and hidden ways.'

Practically all of the songs are in duple and quadruple rhythm, triple time is extremely rare. The rhythmic propulsion is always strong. The persistent excitement of rhythm is evidently an African relic and the sense of it is so strong as to overcome the natural tendencies of the text. 'The negroes keep exquisite time,' says Mr. Allen, 'and do not suffer themselves to be daunted by any obstacle in the words. The most obstinate hymns they will force to do duty with any tune they please and will dash heroically through a trochaic tune at the head of a column of iambs with wonderful skill.'

The form of the songs is, of course, determined by the structure of the verse. They are composed of simple two-and four-bar phrases. Four such usually make up a stanza, while four more are comprised in the 'chorus' often placed at the beginning of the song and repeated after every verse. The stanzas of the older songs commonly contain an alternating solo and refrain; the second and fourth lines are usually given to the refrain and the first and third to the verse, the third being often a repetition of the first. In some cases the refrain occupies three lines and the verse the remaining one. 'The refrain is repeated with each stanza,' says Mr. Allen concerning the manner of performance, 'the words of the verse are changed at the pleasure of the leader, or fugleman, who sings either well-known words, or, if he is gifted that way invents verses as the song goes on.'[69]

Some difficulty was experienced by those who have transcribed the music of the negroes in reproducing 'the entire character' of the songs by the conventional symbols of the art. This is due in part to the primitive elements in the music, and in part to the peculiar manner of the performance. The characteristic improvisational style of the negro, the peculiar quality of the voices, and the slurring of certain values are all necessary in order to produce the proper effect. Moreover, the improvised harmony, simple as it was, had become an inherent part of the music not easily to be reproduced. The following description, taken from 'Slave Songs in the United States,' may be illuminating in this connection:

'There is no singing in _parts_, as we understand it, and yet no two appear to be singing the same thing; the leading singer starts the words of each verse, often improvising, and the others who "base" him, as it is called, strike in with the refrain, or even join in the solo when the words are familiar. When the "base" begins the leader often stops, leaving the rest of the words to be guessed at, or it may be they are taken up by one of the other singers. And the "basers" themselves seem to follow their own whims, beginning when they please and leaving off when they please, striking an octave above or below (in case they have pitched the tune too high), or hitting some other note that "chords," so as to produce the effect of a marvellous complication and variety and yet with the most perfect time and variety, and yet rarely with any discord. And what makes it all the harder to unravel a thread of melody out of this strange network is that, like birds, they seem not infrequently to strike sounds that cannot be precisely represented by the gamut and abound in "slides" from one note to another and turns and cadences not in articulated notes.'

A word should be added here regarding the instruments used by the negro. The one most closely identified with him is, of course, the banjo, which, in a primitive form, he is said to have brought from Africa. The 'banjar' to which Thomas Jefferson refers in his 'Notes on Virginia' was an instrument of four strings, or perhaps less at first, whose head was covered with a rattlesnake's skin, and which resembled closely an instrument used by the Chinese. (_Cf._ Vol. I, p. 54.) It is thought that the original banjo was a melodic rather than a harmonic instrument, which is the peculiar office of its modern off-spring, and, since the negro's music was at first purely melodic, it must have been accordingly played. The tuning, too, was probably very different from that of the banjo of to-day.

Besides this, the negro's chief instrument was the drum, as already indicated. There were two principal sizes, made of a hollowed log (the smaller one often of bamboo sections) over the end of which sheep or goat skin was stretched. These drums were played in a horizontal position, the player sitting on the instrument astride. Then there were rattles, some like the Indians', some consisting of a jaw-bone of an animal, across which a piece of metal was 'rasped'; also the _morimbabrett_, consisting of a small shallow box of thin wood, with several sections of reed, of graduated lengths, placed across it, the ends of which were plucked by the player. The familiar Pan's pipes, made from two joints of brake cane ('quills') and various noise instruments--'bones,' triangle, tambourine, and whistles--were all made to do duty. But when the negro had become thoroughly civilized the violin became his favorite instrument, and the 'technique' he achieved upon it without any real training has often astonished the white listener.

III

Attention was not directed to the value of negro songs till the middle of the nineteenth century. Considerable research resulted finally in the publication of several collections, of which the 'Slave Songs of the United States,' already mentioned above, was the first. This collection of songs represents every phase in the gamut of expression. The so-called 'sorrow' songs, the oldest surviving negro songs, are perhaps the most expressive. Some of them have sprung from the memories of a single act of cruelty, or an event of such tragedy as to create a really deep impression. Others echo simply the hardships encountered day by day. There are songs, too, that reflect the sunshine and gaiety that was not altogether foreign to plantation life, but those inspired by grief are the most beautiful. Then there are the 'occupational' songs suggested by the rhythm of labor which form a part of every kind of folk-song the world over. The value of such songs was fully recognized by the slaves' masters, for they were unfailing accelerators of labor, and it is known that the slaves who led the singing in the field were given special rewards. In consequence of this the negroes generally came to abhor that class of songs, and it is significant that very few of the 'corn songs,' 'reel tunes,' 'fiddle songs,' and 'devil songs' have been preserved, while hundreds of the religious songs--'spirituals,' etc.--are now common property.[70]

A special class of labor songs were the so-called 'railroad songs,' which originated during the Civil War, when negroes were employed in building earth works and fortifications. They consisted of a series of rhythmic, protracted chants, upon words usually originated by a leader. Railroad tracks were laid to these same strains--hence their name. Their originality of thought and the fact that they represent the last spontaneous outburst of the negro under rapidly changing conditions, lends them a special interest. The railroad itself naturally stimulated the negro's imagination. He introduced it metaphorically even in his religious songs: the Christian was a traveller, the Lord was the conductor and the ministers were the brakemen. At gospel stations the train stopped for those that were saved, or to supply the engine with the water of life. All of the negro's power of imagery was here brought into play.

The love songs of the negro are few and those few lack depth, and sometimes border on frivolity. An exception is usually made for 'Poor Rosy,' concerning which one old negress has said that 'it cannot be sung without a full heart and troubled spirit.'

We have already pointed out the preponderance of religious songs in the folk-music of the negro. The reason is not hard to find. In his aboriginal home religious rite, music and dance were closely associated, as they are in the life of all primitive peoples. The African's religion was a form of idolatry known as voodooism. Connected with it were certain chants and rites, relics of which have long survived.[71] These primitive rites were calculated to excite the emotions rather than to uplift the spirit and under this excitement the negro gave voice to the music that was in him. He accepted the Christian religion as a substitute just as he accepted the English language as a substitute for his African tongue. He garbled both. He considered the new religion not in a dogmatic, philosophical, or ethical sense, but rather as an emotional experience. When under religious excitement he would wander through the woods in swamps much like the ancient Bacchantes. 'A race imbued with strong religious sentiment,' says Mr. M. A. Haskell,[72] 'one rarely finds among them an adult who has not gone through that emotional experience known as conversion, after which it is considered vanity and sinfulness to indulge in song other than of a sacred character.'

His religion became the negro's one relief, comfort, and enjoyment. His daily life became tinged with his belief; in his very sufferings he saw the fulfillments of its promises. Nothing but patience for this life, nothing but triumph in the next--that was the tenor of his lay. Emancipation he thought of in terms of ultimate salvation rather than earthly freedom. Thus he sang:

'Children, we shall all be free,
Children, we shall all be free,
Children, we shall all be free,
When the Lord shall appear.'

A religious allegory colored nearly all his songs, a pathetic, childlike trust in the supernatural spoke through them, and biblical references, echoes of the 'meetin',' shreds of the minister's teaching, were strewn indiscriminately through all of them. 'The rolling of Jordan's waters, the sound of the last trumpet, the vision of Jacob's ladder, the building of the ark, Daniel in the lion's den, Ezekiel's wheel in the middle of a wheel, Elijah's chariot of fire, the breaking up of the Universe, the lurid pictures of the Apocalypse--all asked for swelling proclamation.' Analogies between the chosen people and their own in bondage were inevitable--and 'Hallelujahs' seemed as appropriate in secular songs as in spiritual ones.

Often biblical words were garbled into mere nonsense. Thus 'Jews crucified him' became 'Jews, screws, defidum,' etc. The personality of the Prince of Darkness assumed a degree of reality which reminds us of the characters of mediæval miracle plays. One of the songs personifies him thus:

'O Satan comes, like a busy ole man,
Hal-ly, O hal-ly, O hal-lelu!
He gets you down at de foot o' de hill,
Hal-ly, O hal-ly, O hal-lelu!'

The so-called spirituals ('sper'chels) hold perhaps the largest place in the negro's sacred repertory. These plantation songs--'spontaneous outbursts of intense religious fervor'--had their origin chiefly in the camp-meetings, the revivals, and other religious exercises. 'They breathe a childlike faith in a personal Father and glow with the hope that the children of bondage will ultimately pass out of the wilderness into the land of freedom.' To them belong such gems as 'You May Bury Me in the Eas',' the plaintive 'Nobody Knows de Trouble I see,' the tender 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,' and many others as rare.

At meetings the spirituals were often accompanied by a most extraordinary form of religious ceremony, namely the so-called 'shouts,' which flourished particularly in South Carolina and south of it during antebellum days.[73] The spirituals sung in this connection were consequently called 'shout songs' or 'running spirituals.' The shouts were veritable religious orgies, or bacchanalia, and no doubt represent a relic of an African custom. Julien Tiersot refers to them as 'dishevelled dances.'[74] A vivid description of a shout is given by a writer in 'The Nation' of May 30, 1867:

'... The "shout" takes place on Sundays, or on "praise" nights throughout the week, and either in the praise-house or in some cabin in which a regular religious meeting has been held. Very likely more than half the population of a plantation is gathered together. Let it be the evening, and a light fire burns red before the door of the house and on the hearth. For sometime one hears, though at a good distance, a vociferous exhortation or prayer of the presiding elder or of the brother who has a gift that way and is not "on the back seat"--a phrase the interpretation of which is "under the censure of the church authorities for bad behavior"--and at regular intervals one hears the elder "deaconing" a hymn-book hymn, which is sung two lines at a time and whose wailing cadences, borne on the night air, are indescribably melancholy.

'But the benches are pushed back to the wall when the formal meeting is over, and old and young, men and women, sprucely dressed young men, grotesquely half-clad field hands--the women generally with gay handkerchiefs twisted about their heads and with short skirts--boys with tattered shirts and men's trousers, young girls barefooted, all stand up in the middle of the floor, and when the "sperichil" is struck up begin first walking and by and by shuffling around, one after the other, in a ring. The foot is hardly taken from the floor, and the progression is mainly due to a jerking, twitching motion which agitates the entire shouter and soon brings out streams of perspiration. Sometimes they dance silently, sometimes as they shuffle they sing the chorus of the spiritual, and sometimes the song itself is sung by the dancers. But more frequently a band, composed of some of the best singers and of tired shouters, stand at the side of the room to "base" the others, singing the body of the song and clapping their hands together on the knees. Song and dance are alike extremely energetic, and often, when the shout lasts into the middle of the night, the monotonous thud, thud of the feet prevents sleep within half a mile of the praise house.'

Closely related to the shout songs are the funeral songs which accompanied the 'wakes' and burials of the negroes. They were sung in a low monotonous croon by those who 'sat up' and are particularly noted for their irregularity in everything except rhythm. The negroes are especially inclined to voice their sorrow in nocturnal song, as their savage ancestors did before them, and likewise they indulged in funeral dances at night. Mrs. Jeanette Robinson Murphy, writing in 'The Independent,' speaks of a custom in which hymns are sung at the deathbed to become messengers to loved ones gone before and which the departing soul is charged to bear to heaven. 'When a woman dies some friend or relative will kneel down and sing to the soul as it takes flight. One of these songs contains endless verses, conveying remembrances to relatives in glory.' Often these funeral songs convey deep emotion in a nobly poetic vein. An example recorded by Colonel Thomas Wentworth Higginson has the following words:

'I know moonlight, I know starlight,
I lay dis body down.
I walk in de moonlight, I walk in de starlight,
I lay dis body down.
I know de graveyard, I know de graveyard,
When I lay dis body down.
I walk in de graveyard, I walk troo de graveyard,
Fo lay dis body down.
I lay in de grave, and stretch out my arm;
I lay dis body down.
I go to de judgment in de evenin' of de day,
When I lay dis body down,
An' my soul an' your soul will meet in de day
When I lay dis body down.'

'Never, it seems to me,' comments Col. Higginson, 'since man first lived and suffered, was his infinite longing for peace uttered more plaintively than in that line.' There are many other examples of such funeral songs preserved; some of them Mr. Krehbiel has reprinted in his 'Afro-American Folksongs' (pp. 100 ff.).

Few of the secular songs have survived. Even these, it seems, were often made to do service in the religious meeting, on the Wesleyan principle that it would not do to let the devil have all the good tunes. Some songs, on the other hand, were used to accompany rowing as well as 'shouting'--probably because of the similarity of the rhythm in the two motions. In 'Michael, Row the Boat Ashore,' which was a real boat-song, not a human Michael but the archangel himself was meant. Other tunes used for rowing were 'Heav'n Bell a-ring',' 'Jine 'em,' 'Rainfall,' 'No Man,' and 'Can't stay behin'.' Similarly, other spirituals were used as working songs, for their rhythms were hardly ever sluggish. As a good specimen of purely secular songs--'the strange barbaric songs that one hears upon the Western steamboats'--Mr. W. F. Allen points to the following:

I'm gwine to Alabamy, Oh!----
For to see my mammy, Oh!----

She went from ole Virginny,
And I'm her pickaninny,

She lives on the Tombigbee,
I wish I had her wid me.

Now I'm a good big nigger,
I reckon I won't git bigger,

But I'd like to see my mammy,
Who lives in Alabamy.

The negro's natural impulse for dancing seems to have found its outlet in the 'shout,' as far as the Atlantic seaboard states are concerned at least, for the Christian sects promptly stamped out the dances which were connected with primitive superstition. In Louisiana, however, the negro came in contact with a very different sort of people, the Spanish and French settlers--southern races of a more sensuous turn than the Anglo-Saxon. The musical result was the superposition of Spanish and French melody over negro rhythms--the two ingredients of the Creole folk-songs, which are to a large extent dance songs.

The warlike and lascivious dances of the African took on a more civilized form under the influence of Spanish and French culture, though they are said in some cases to have remained licentious enough. But the product has been highly influential musically. Thus the fascinating Habañera, the familiar rhythm of many a Spanish melody, is, according to Albert Friedenthal,[75] of negro origin. As its name indicates, Havana was its home and from there it spread to all Spanish and Portuguese America, the West Indies, Central and South America. 'Extended and complicated rhythms are known only where the negroes are to be found,' says our investigator. Mr. Krehbiel quotes a creole song from Martinique, built upon the Habañera rhythm, entitled _Tant sirop est doux_, and speaks of Afro-American songs in which the characteristic rhythm is so persistently used as to suggest that they were influenced by a subconscious memory of the old dance. Other dances of negro origin, mentioned by writers on the Antilles, are the Bamboula, Bouèné, Counjai, Kalinda, Bélé, Bengume, Babouille, Cata, and Guiouba. The term 'juba' applied to the plucking accompaniments of negro dance-songs in minstrel shows may be a derivative of the last.

In speaking of the Creole we must emphasize that the word is not properly applied to any persons of mixed stock, as has been frequently done. Creole is a word of Spanish etymology and was used to denote the pure-blooded Spanish or French native of the American colonies. But it is the negro slaves of these creoles--whom we may call black creoles (including mulattoes, quadroons, etc.)--that created the charming songs breathing the spirit of the tepid zone along the great gulf and the Father of Waters. They, too, are the creators of the _patois_ to which the songs are set. Concerning the origin of this _patois_ Mr. Krehbiel gives some interesting details: 'The creole patois, though never reduced to writing by its users, is still a living language. It is the medium of communication between black nurses and their charges in the French families of Louisiana to-day, and half a century ago it was exclusively spoken by French creoles up to the age of ten or twelve years. In fact, children had to be weaned from it with bribes or punishment. It was, besides, the language which the slave spoke to his master and the master to him. The need which created it was the same as that which created the corrupt English of the slaves in other parts of the country.... Thus, then, grew the pretty language, soft in the mouth of the creole as _bella lingua in bocca toscana_, in which the creole sang of his love, gave rhythmical impulse to the dance, or scourged with satire those who fell under his displeasure.'

The Creole songs, according to Lafcadio Hearn, are 'Frenchy in construction but possess a few African characteristics of method.' 'There could neither have been creole patois nor creole melodies but for the French and Spanish blooded slaves of Louisiana and the Antilles. The melancholy, quavering beauty and weirdness of the negro chant are lightened by the French influence, subdued and deepened by the Spanish.' Unlike the negro slave of the Virginias and Carolinas, etc., who poured out all his emotion in gospel hymn and spirituals, the black creole was especially fond of love-songs--crooning love songs in the soft, pretty words of his patois--some sad, some light-hearted. One is 'the tender lament of one who was the evil of his heart's choice the victim of chagrin in beholding a female rival wearing those vestments of extra quality that could only be the favors which both women had courted from the hand of some proud master whence alone such favors could come.'[76] Another, 'Caroline,' reveals the romance and the tragedy of the dramatic life of the young creole slaves. We quote it here, as our one example of creole tunes:

Aine, dé, trois, Caroline, ça, ça, yé comme ça, ma chère!
Aine, dé, trois, Caroline, ça, ça, yé comme ça, ma chère!
Papa di non, man-man di oui, C'est li mo oulé, c'est li ma pren. Ya
pas lar-zan pon a-cheté cabanne, C'est li mo oulé, c'est li ma pren.