I have been a collector of songs almost all of my life. The first songs I heard were from my mother and my grandfather, her father. He sang mostly religious songs such as Onward Christian Soldiers, Rock of Ages and Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?, but also old songs like Columbus Stockade Blues and The Bear Went Over the Mountain. My mother sometimes sang these songs, which she knew well, but she preferred pop songs from the forties.
When I was very young, my parents bought a collection of long-playing records from a door-to-door salesman. It was one of those collections which were supposed to introduce young people to the musical heritage of the Western world. There were records with classical music, opera and music from musicals, but also several with folk songs.
Those were the ones that fascinated me. I listened to them over and over again, until the sound was so scratchy that the scratchiness became part of the song for my young ears. These songs were divided into travelling songs, songs of the sea, Civil War songs and other categories.
There were songs like Blow the Man Down, Buffalo Gals and Tramp, Tramp, Tramp. I am sure the renditions of the songs were less than original, but that mattered little to me. I was listening to the words.
In elementary school, we basically had no musical instruction. We just sang together. I enjoyed that, though I was the only one in my class who was not allowed to sing in the choir. Many of the songs we sang were patriotic, but we also sang folk songs.
For several years, we square-danced every day to old 78 rpm records. I heard and danced to such old tunes as Old Joe Clark, Buffalo Gal and Cindy again and again.
One song I well remember from music class was Oklahoma Hills, the first Woody Guthrie song I had ever heard. But, of course, the name Woody Guthrie was never mentioned.
The music played on pop music radio stations never interested me. I preferred country music. Those songs often had a hard edge of reality. Country music was not what teenagers listened to in those days, the revolutionary sixties, and so friends laughed at me for my musical tastes. I did not really care.
I was especially attracted to Johnny Horton. Among the first records I bought, 45 rpm singles, were Battle of New Orleans, North to Alaska, Johnny Reb and The Sinking of the Bismarck. Jimmy Dean's Big Bad John was also a favourite.
That is to say, I preferred songs that told a story. My mother also had an LP by Rusty Draper. We listened to that record over and over again. I remember his versions of Goober Peas and Elizabeth Cotten's Freight Train, though at the time I had no idea who Elizabeth Cotten was.
Where I grew up, in St. Joseph, Missouri, the only authentic folk music we had the opportunity to hear was polka music on the accordion, played by Slovakian immigrants, of whom there were many in the area. I loved it and still do today.
It was in 1968 in Germany that I discovered, or rather became conscious of, two singers who were to become an important part of my life: Bob Dylan and Pete Seeger.
I had come to Germany as an exchange student and, on the evening of my first full day, I went with the daughter of a teacher to some friends of hers. She was supposed to go with me to a meeting of the conservative Christian Democratic Union. Instead, we landed in the attic room of a friend of hers.
I could not speak any German, so I was not involved in the conversation. But they put on a record, Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits. I could hardly believe my ears. From the first notes of Rainy Day Women, I was hooked.
I listened very closely. Never had I heard anything even like it, such incredible power. It was like a baptism, and I am still listening to Dylan today.
Looking back, and considering my interest in songs, I cannot explain how I managed to miss Bob Dylan's early years or, for that matter, the whole folk music revival, but I did, all of it.
At my German school, we had a language laboratory. The English teacher suggested I help by correcting the pronunciation of my fellow students.
It soon became clear to him, however, that my American English would totally corrupt his students, who were supposed to be learning the King's English, though they preferred American English.
So I spent the time in the language laboratory listening to a record. The teacher had only one, at least that is the only one I can remember, Pete Seeger's At the Village Gate.
There was none of the power of Dylan, but the songs were great and I loved this stripped-down music, nothing like the overloaded pop music of the time. Bob Dylan and Pete Seeger were the beginning of my real passion for songs.
The next revelation came during my first year at the University of Montana in Missoula, Montana, in 1970. Not long after I had arrived, there was a sort of rummage sale at the University Center.
I discovered a used record by Woody Guthrie. It was an incredibly thick old Folkways record in an equally thick cardboard cover, the wrong cover, by the way. No matter.
I already knew many of Woody's songs, but had never heard his voice. His records simply were not in the record stores. Woody became the third element. His raw power and the quality of his songs were simply amazing.
I began to listen for and search out more songwriters and singers of good songs. I found a catalogue from Roundup Records and took chances ordering records by people I had never heard of.
The two greatest finds were Utah Phillips' record Good Though, as well as the first record of a then totally unknown songwriter by the name of Si Kahn.
The record New Wood had just been released and it blew me away, and not only because of Aragon Mill. The record is a masterpiece.
Over the years, I searched for and discovered great songs and great songwriters, among the very best Ian Tyson, James Keelaghan, Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt, Tom Russell and Kate Wolf, as well as lesser-known people like Jerry Rasmussen and Bob Dyer.
There are many, many more.