Guthrie was a songwriter, singer, political activist and a massive influence on modern folk music in the USA and over here. When musicians aren't covering his songs, you can hear (possibly second or third hand in the case of younger ones) echoes of Guthrie musically and lyrically.
Growing up he and his family were the victim of a boom and bust in the local oil industry and later he became a "dust bowl refugee", escaping the failed crops of Kansas to head west to California. He served in the Second World War, seeing it as a "just war" against fascism.
After the war he began to grow in popularity and collaberated with some of the biggest names in folk music, moving to New York. He began to show symptoms of erratic behaviour and mood swings - the first signs of what was eventually diagnosed as Huntingdon's Disease. He spent nearly 15 years slowly deteriorating mentally and physically and eventually passed away on October 3rd, 1967.
For a full biography and loads more information and songs, go to http://woodyguthrie.org/
He was an absolutely prodigious writer - leaving hundreds of songs in his catalogue as a magnificent legacy. His most famous song is probably "This Land Is Our Land" but my favourite is probably "Los Gatos Plane Wreck" also known as "Deportee" which was written in 1948 after a plane crashed in California killing many migrant workers who were either illegal or whose work permits had been terminated. When the radio reported the accident, it didn't name the dead, except for the 3 crew - calling the rest "deportees".
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
Click here for a lovely version by KT Tunstall
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