A Small Circle of Friends: A 10th Anniversary Tribute to Phil Ochs

I know my life could never be as moral as my songs, wrote folk singer Phil Oaks early on. But for the many admirers who followed his career, from the Greenwich Village folk scene of the 60s through the silent majority years of the 70s Phil Oaks was a righteous voice for change. Up to three, four marching down the street, rolling off the drums and the tram and all the feet. General salutes and the mothers waving, we, here comes the big parade. Don't be afraid, prices pay one more parade, so young, so strong, so ready for the war, so willing to go and die upon a foreign shore. All marched together, everybody looks the same, so there is no one you can blame.

Don't be ashamed, light the flame, one more parade, where I flew the final mission in the Japanese skies. Set off the mighty mushroom rod, when I saw the city's burning I knew that I was learning that I am a Martian anymore. Now the labor leaders scream, and when they close a missile plant, united fruit screams at the Cuban shore, call it peace, or call it treason, call it love or call it treason. But I am a Martian anymore, I am a Martian anymore. So he took his own life on April 9th, 1976, his music and his message are still remembered. This is Mickey Waldman, and from folks city in New York we bring you a small circle of friends, a 10th anniversary tribute to Phil Oaks. This concert of Phil Oaks's own compositions begins with Fred Small singing what Phil

turned the greatest song I'll ever write, the power and glory. I'll ever call but a power shall rest on the strain for her freedom, her glory shall rest on us all. From Colorado, Kansas and the Carolinas to Virginia and Alaska from the old to the new, Texas and Ohio and the California shore, tell me who could ask for more. Here is a land full of power and glory, beauty that words cannot recall, but a power shall rest on the strain for her freedom, her glory shall rest on us all.

But she's only as rich as the poorest of the poor, only as free as a padlocked prison door, only as strong as our love for the land, only as tall as we stand. Here is a land full of power and glory, beauty that words cannot recall, but a power shall rest on the strain for her freedom, her glory shall rest on us all. Come on and take a walk with me through this green and growing land. Walk through the medals and the mountains and the sand, walk through the valleys and the rivers and the plains. Walk through the sun and walk through the rain. Here is a land full of power and glory, beauty that words cannot recall, but a power shall rest on the strain for her freedom, her glory shall rest on us all.

On us all. Thank you very much. There's no place in this world or hub along when I'm gone, and I won't know the right from the wrong when I'm gone, and you won't find me singing on this song when I'm gone.

So I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. And I won't feel the flowing of the time when I'm gone. All the pleasures of love will not be mine when I'm gone. My pen won't pour their ink line when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. And I won't breathe the brandy air when I'm gone, and I can't even worry about my cares when I'm gone. I won't be asked to do my share when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. I won't be running from the rain when I'm gone, and I can't even suffer from the pain when I'm gone.

I can't say who's the praise and who's the blame when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. And I won't see the golden of the sun when I'm gone. All evenings and the mornings will be one when I'm gone. Can't be singing louder than the guns when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. All my days won't be dances of delight when I'm gone, and the sands will be shifting from my sight when I'm gone.

Can't add my name into the fight when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. I won't be laughing at the lights when I'm gone, and I can't question how or when or why when I'm gone. I can't live proud enough today when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here. There's no place in this world where I'll be long when I'm gone, and I won't know the right from the wrong when I'm gone. And you won't find me singing on this song when I'm gone, so I guess I'll have to do it while I'm here.

Thank you. I always thought I can't live proud enough to die when I'm gone was one of the great sincere lines I ever heard in a song. I started out playing the guitar, you know, to Phil Oaks and Bob Dylan and Tom Paxton and Dave Van Runk Records and Donovan, or I never met any of these people for years. In 1975, I met Phil Oaks in a very unusual way. I thought I was hanging out with a friend at Max's Kansas City, and my friend was the person who took the tickets at the door. And he had said, I know you like Phil Oaks, why don't you come on up and I'll sneak you into the show.

And I said, oh, I would love that. I would love that. It was Thanksgiving night. It was the best thing I could think of for years to do, so I went. And I would stand in there by the door waiting to walk in. And at the old Max's Kansas City, the dressing room was upstairs for the performers, so when you finished your set, you would have to walk out as if you were going to the street here through the front door and up another set of stairs to go upstairs. Now Phil was upstairs tuning up by the time the show started. It was like this, just like this. Probably you were all there, I don't know. And he came down the stairs, wearing a big sports jacket, big, flappy sports jacket. And there was a guy standing there in an army jacket, long, stringy hair, rip jeans. And he grabbed Phil by the arm and he said, hi Phil, remember we met at Chicago. And Phil looked at this guy. And the guy said, can you get me in? Now, Max's Kansas City at the time was famous for Andy Warhol and everybody who went there wore black. And nobody went to Max's Kansas City in an army jacket and ripped jeans.

And Phil looked at this guy and he looked at my friend at the door and he said, what do you think? And the guy said, tickets are all gone. Guy said, I've got money, I'll buy a ticket. Sorry, we're all sold out. Phil said, well put him on my guest list. Guy said, I'm sorry, you're already three over your guest list. Phil looked at the guy and said, how about if I don't go on? Guy looked at Phil, didn't say very much. Phil took the guy with the army jacket and he wrapped his big, flappy sport coat around him. And the guy wasn't that big, maybe my size. And Phil got himself between the guy and the army jacket and the guy taking the tickets. And he wrapped him in his sport jacket and the guy disappeared into Phil Oaks.

And Phil walked him through the door like this. So that guy could be at his show. That was how I met Phil Oaks, I guess it's something I never forgot. So if you folks want to join in on this tune, I'd like that a real loud. I can see him come and he's walking down the highway with his big boots on and his big thumb out he wants to get me. He wants to hurt me. He wants to bring me down. But sometime later when I feel a little straighter, I'll go driving up to him when I'm riding in my puik and then I'll run him over. Pretty smart on my path, find my way in the dark.

I can see her come in and she sure looks pretty and her breasts are bold and her mouth is large. She wants to get me. She wants to hurt me. She wants to bring me down. But sometime later when I feel a little naked, I will lead her to the altar and I'll tie her all in leather and then I'm gonna whip her. Pretty smart on my path, find my way in the dark. I can see him coming, he's coming in the window and he's carrying a knife and he's looking at my wife. He wants to get me. He wants to hurt me. He wants to bring me down. But sometime later when I feel a little braver, I'll go hunting with my rifle where the wild keeps a flying in there. I'm gonna beg one.

Pretty smart on my path, find my way in the dark. I can hear them are coming, they're attaining in the mountains. They talk Chinese and they spread disease, they want to get me. They want to hurt me. They want to bring me down. But sometime later when I feel a little safer, we'll assassinate the president and take over the government in there. We're gonna fry them. Pretty smart on my path, find my way in the dark.

And find my way in the dark. Pretty smart on my path, find my way in the dark. Thank you. But first, Sis Cunningham and Sammy Walker.

He walked all over his own groin land from the New York gallon to the california sand. He saw the people that needed to be seen. He planted all the grass where they're needing to be green. And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory. He rode and he sang and he rode upon the rails. And he got on board when the sailors had to sail. He said all the words that needed to be said. He fed all hungry souls that needed to be fed. And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory.

He sang in our streets and he sang in our halls. And he was always there when the unions came to call. He did all the jobs that needed to be done. And he always stood his ground when the smaller men would run. And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory. And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory.

And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory. And now he's bound for glory all his own. And now he's bound for glory. I ain't marching anymore. Everybody's got to sing on this. Or march to the Battle of New Orleans at the end of the early British War.

The young land started growing. A young blood started flowing. But I ain't marching anymore. Or I killed my share of vengeance at a thousand different fights. I was there at the little big barn. I saw many men alive. I saw many more dying. But I ain't marching anymore. It's always the old two lead us to the war. It's always the young to fall. Now look at all we've won. But the saber and the gun. Tell me is it worth it all. Or stole California from the Mexican lands. Boy in the bloody Civil War. Yes, I even killed my brothers. And so many others. But I ain't marching anymore. Or march to the Battle of the German trench. In a war that was found to win all wars. Yes, I must have killed a million men. And now they want me back again. But I ain't marching anymore.

It's always the old two lead us to the war. It's always the young to fall. Now look at all we've won. But the saber and the gun. Tell me is it worth it all. Or I flew the final mission in the Japanese skies. They're all the mighty mushroom roar. When I saw the cities burning. I knew that I was learning that I ain't marching anymore. Now the labor leaders screaming when they blow the missile land. The United Fruit screams at the Cuban shore. Call it peace, a call it treason. Call it love or call it reason. But I ain't marching anymore. No, I ain't marching anymore. Yes. Jim, come on.

Hello, hello, hello. Is there anybody home? I've only called to say I'm sorry. The drums are in the dawn and all the voice has gone. And it seems that there are no more songs. Once I knew a girl she was a flower in a flame. I loved her as the sea sings sadly. Now the ashes of the dream can be found in the magazines. And it seems that there are no more songs. Once I knew a sage who sang upon the stage. He told about the world his lover. A ghost without a name stands ragged in the rain. And it seems that there are no more songs. The rebels they were here. They came beside the door. They told me that the moon was bleeding. They're all to my surprise. They took away my eyes. And it seems that there are no more songs.

A star is in the sky. It is time to say goodbye. A whale is on the beach. He's dying. A white flag in my hand. And a white bone in the sand. And it seems that there are no more songs. Hello, hello, hello. Is there anybody home? I only call to say I'm sorry. Joe Huperot and Lydia Adams Davis and no more songs. The Civil Rights Movement provided a profound theme for Phil. Paul Kaplan sings too many martyrs written after the assassination of Medgar Evers. In the state of Mississippi, many years ago, a boy of 14 years got a taste of southern law. He saw his friend hanging his color with his crime. And the blood upon his jacket put a brand upon his mind.

Too many martyrs and too many dead. Too many lies, too many empty words were said. Too many times for too many angry men. Oh, let it never be again. His name was Medgar Evers and he walked his road alone. Like Emmett Till and thousands more whose names we'll never know. They tried to burn his home and they beat him to the ground. But deep inside they both knew what it took to bring him down. Too many martyrs and too many dead. Too many lies, too many empty words were said. Too many times for too many angry men. Oh, let it never be again.

The killer waited by his home hidden by the night as ever went out from his car to the rifle's sight. He slowly squeezed the trigger, the bullet left his side. It struck the heart of everyone as ever fell and died. Too many martyrs and too many dead. Too many lies, too many empty words were said. Too many times for too many angry men. Oh, let it never be again. They laid him in his grave while the pupils sounded clear. They laid him in his grave when the victory was near. While we waited for the future, for freedom through the land, the country gained the killer and the country lost the man. Too many martyrs and too many dead. Too many lies, too many empty words were said. Too many times for too many angry men. Oh, let it never be again.

Thank you. This is a small circle of friends, a 10th anniversary tribute to Phil Oaks. Next up are three of Phil's longtime colleagues from the early village focusing. Here is Eric Anderson, with I'm Tired, followed by Dave Venronk and Tom Paxton. Sometimes I feel that the world is in mine. Builds on my hunger, tears, time, and I'm tired. Yes, I'm tired.

Every face on the street is as cold as the air. Hard as a pavement that moves beneath my feet and I'm tired. Yes, I'm tired. Sometimes I stop and I ask to myself, oh, how can you go on? Then a tear fills my eye. I'm ashamed of myself because I know that I'm bound to go on. So I start out again with a smile on my face, hide all the empty and search for a friend, but I'm tired. Yes, I'm tired.

Sometimes I stop and I ask to myself, oh, why do you go on? Then a tear fills my eye. I'm ashamed of myself because I know that I'm bound to go on. So I start out again with a smile on my face. Hide all the empty and search for a friend, but I'm tired. Yes, I'm tired.

One of the things about Phil that I always liked was he was one of the wittiest human beings. I haven't met in my life. Both in person and as a songwriter. Also as most good poets and songwriters had a gift for prophecy. I think it was Napoleon Bonaparte when I said, let me write a nation's songs and I care not who makes its laws. Clearly Bonaparte hadn't written too many songs.

I've never met a Frenchman who could turn down the possibility of an aphorism. The language seems to be designed for it. This is one of Phil's things. It wrote it in 66. It was about Yuppies. Look outside the window. There's a woman being grabbed. They've dragged her to the bushes and now she's being stabbed. Maybe we should call the cops and try to stop the pain. But Bonaparte is so much fun. I hate to spar the game. And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside of a small circle of friends. Riding down the highway. My back is getting stiff. 13 cars are piled up on their falling down a cliff. Maybe we should pull the back with our toeing chain.

But we got to move and we may get sued and I think it's gonna rain. And I'm sure it doesn't matter. Anybody outside of a small circle of friends. Sweating in the ghetto with the actors and the poor. The racks of join the babies who are sleeping on the floor. Wouldn't it be a riot if they finally blew their tops. But they got too much already and besides we got the cops. I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside of a small circle of friends. There's a dirty paper using sex to make a sale. The Supreme Court got so upset they sent them off to jail.

Oh, maybe we should raise voices. Take away it's fine. But we'll busy you. Play by at the Sunday New York Times. And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside of a small circle of friends. Smoking marijuana is more fun than drinking beer. But a friend of ours got less than anything for the years. Maybe we shouldn't make a stink. And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside of a small circle of friends. I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside of a small circle of friends. Oh, look at the window. There's a woman being grabbed and dragged her to the bushes. And now she's been served. Maybe we should call the cops and I can stop the pain. But I'm not believe in so much fun I hate to blow the game.

And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside of a small circle of friends. Thank you. You know, Dave was one of Phil's best friends and all the years they were friends he never once learned any of Phil's songs. I could say that's still true. Phil's sister Sonny Oaks. They've been like a wonderful warm human being. And it's hard to talk after that. And now another gentleman who is really one of Phil's best friends and started out at the same time that Phil did. I mean, they went through the early wars together. And this guy is still doing it. And I told everybody in the first show what a secret is. I found out he has a computer in the basement.

He takes all the issues of newsweek and time and he feeds them into the computer and the computer feeds them out songs. That's why he can come and still come up with them. And he just came out with his 360 second record this week. Thank you. Thank you very much. I told him in the first house. I met Phil just about a block and a half up Third Street at a now defunct what we used to call basket house. That's where you got no salary for singing you just passed the basket when you finished and if you got a couple bucks you counted yourself lucky but you gained some experience. I don't know who it was but someone at the gaslight said come on with me. I want you to meet somebody and drug me around there and I heard Phil do a set. And we struck up a conversation and a friendship lasted 14 years until his death. The last time I saw him was also close by was on the steps out front of the bitter end.

It was 14 years of a good friendship. He was a good guy to know. He was a very helpful friend. He was very engaged. You would have his total attention when you needed it and his contention as well which was part of the fun of being around Phil. I want to sing my favorite Phil Oak song and I've had the pleasure of singing it all by myself several times today while I made sure that I remembered the words. So I'll forego that pleasure now and ask you to help me sing it and ask all the other singers to kind of help me sing this song. This is my favorite Phil Oak song. Show me the prison. Show me the jail. Show me the prisoner whose face is growing pale. And I'll show you a young man with so many reasons why.

There are so fortune go you or go I go I. Show me the country where the bombs had to fall. Show me the ruins of the building one so tall. And I'll show you a young man with so many reasons why. There are so fortune go you or go I.

Thank you. This was Phil. Here's Melanie with chords of fame assisted by happy trauma lead guitar happy then solos on what's that I hear. I heard Phil do this live when I was working with him in some college in the middle of the country and he came out wearing a glitter suit. I mean the so sophisticated college audience so reserved people just did not approve of this glitter suit at all. This was years before Neil Young thought it would be him. I sort of he did this sort of rock version of this song and I saw it as a Melanie song and took the glitter suit off of it and recorded it more like this.

I found him by the stage last night he was breathing his last breath. The bottle of gin and a cigarette was all that he had left. Well I know that you make music because you carry a guitar. But God help the troubadour who tries to be a star or come on and play the chords of love my friends play the chords of pain. But if you want to keep your song don't play the chords of fame.

You know I've seen my share of hustlers as they try to take the world and when they find their melody they're surrounded by the girls. But it all fades so quickly like a sunny summer day. But God help the troubadour who tries to be a star or come on and play the chords of love my friends play the chords of pain. Oh don't don't play the chords of fame.

Don't play the chords of fame. Oh don't, oh don't play the chords of fame. Oh don't play the chords of fame. of your innocence, and put you up for sale. On the more that you will find success, I'm more that you will fail. Well, I've been around. I've had my share, and I really can't complain.

But I wonder who? I left behind on the other side of fame. Oh, come on. Play the chords of love, my friends. I have a car to play. I want to do all I need your song. Oh, no, no. Play the chords of love. Oh, no, no. Play the chords of love. I want to do all I need you. Oh, no, no. Oh, no, no. Play the chords of love. Oh, no, no. Oh, no. Don't play the cause of pain or don't Roll down the bone

Don't play the cause of pain You are the one I don't Don't play the cause of Don't play the cause of pain Thank you I leave you to it Thank you Well it's really very moving to be here to celebrate the music of Phil Oaks Who was a friend of mine back in the early 60s I used to be in a group called the New World Singers Is there anybody here old enough to remember the New World Singers?

Oh two or three old folks here We used to do a lot of songs that were I guess you'd say topical or political songs Many of the village songwriters were writing and Phil was no exception We were doing William Worthy isn't worthy to enter our door and Billy Saul Estes and all these topical songs that were Songs of the day and we really miss him not being around to sing the songs of today But here's one that some of you probably know and it's one that I remember from back then too What's that I hear now bringing in my ears? I've heard that song before

What's that I hear now ringing in my ears? I hear it more and more It's the sound of freedom calling rising up to the sky It's the sound of the old ways of falling You can hear it if you try You can hear it if you try What's that I see now shining in my eyes? I've seen that light before What's that I see now shining in my eyes? I see it more and more

It's the light of freedom calling shining up to the sky It's the light of the old ways of falling You can see it if you try You can see it if you try What's that I feel now rumbling in my heart? I felt that beat before What's that I feel now beating in my heart? I feel it more and more It's the rumbling of freedom calling beating up to the sky It's the rumbling of the old ways of falling

You can feel it if you try You can feel it if you try The old days everybody would have been singing with me by this time What's that I hear now ringing in my ears? I've heard that sound before What's that I hear now ringing in my ears? I hear it more and more It's the sound of freedom calling Rising up to the sky It's the sound of the old ways of falling You can hear it if you try Come on now You can hear it if you try You can hear it if you try

Come on now You can hear it if you try If you try Thank you all In 1974 Phil Oaks reworked one of his earlier songs into Here's to the state of Richard Nixon Magpie returns to close our tribute with yet another version Here's to the state of Ronald Reagan Where you take a walk down Main Street you'll see anger and despair But there's billions more for missiles and bombers in the air But for school children's lunches There's not a time to spare And if you fall through his safety net now, why should he care? Oh, here's to the land You've torn out the heart of Ronald Reagan find yourself another country to be part of

And here's to the schools of Ronald Reagan Where they're teaching all the children that they don't have to care All the rudiments of hatred are present everywhere And every single classroom is a factory of despair And there's nobody learning such a foreign word as fair Oh, here's to the land You've torn out the heart of Ronald Reagan find yourself another country to be part of And here's to the laws of Ronald Reagan Where anything is legal if you're with the CIA Where the more you own the less the IRS will tax away But for the war, the poor will be the ones who truly pay

Oh, it's all a class B movie in the Ronald Reagan way Oh, here's to the land You've torn out the heart of Ronald Reagan find yourself another country to be part of And here's to the churches of Ronald Reagan And Jerry Falwell And Eldridge Cleaver Where the cross once made a silver Now is caked with rust And the Sunday morning sermons Pander to their lust All the fallen face of Jesus is choking in the dust And heaven only knows in which God they can trust Oh, here's to the land You've torn out the heart of Ronald Reagan find yourself another country to be part of

And here's to the government of Ronald Reagan Where the progress made in 50 years He's bent on breaking down Where met men of our pausing as advisors to the crown With guns and bombs, he thinks that he can push the world around And the speeches of the president are the rapings of a clown Oh, here's to the land, you've torn out the heart of Ronald Reagan find yourself another country to be part of Although Phil Oaks' best known topical songs chronicle the history of an earlier generation His passion, his talent, and his music live on with a message that's still meaningful for our time A small circle of friends, a 10th anniversary tribute to Phil Oaks, was recorded digitally at Folk City in New York on December 5, 1985

Engineers were Edward Haber, Miles B. Smith, and Jane E. Pippick Portions of that concert will be released by Rounder Records Thanks to Sonny Oaks, Folk City, Rounder Records, Lesley Peters, and WBAI New York Pacific Radio This program was made possible in part with funds provided by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting through National Public Radio Satellite Program Development Fund The program was produced by Edward Haber and Jane E. Pippick who are solely responsible for its content They welcome your comment, write J-A-F, box 709-5, New York, New York 10116 I'm Mickey Waldman Come on and take the walk with me through this green and growing land Walk through the meadows and the mountains and the sand Walk through the valleys and the rivers and the plains Walk through the sun and walk through the rain Here is a land full of power and glory

Beauty that words cannot recall Hold her power, shall rest by the strength of her freedom Then her glory shall rest on its hall I declare the war is over It's over, it's over You You

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