Good Night America, How Are You?
From the buskers of Galway to the Parisian Metro, the spirit of America is living on through its music
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As I make my way through Mike Duncan’s podcast series, The History of Rome, I acknowledge that all empires fall. Watching America being diminished on the global stage by the Grotesques of Reality TV Fascism is heartbreaking, and I continue to pray daily for a deus ex machina.
Most days, I acknowledge I am in trauma at seeing my country under foreign occupation, a trauma made worse by media obfuscation. Russian agents are running America, and to quote George W. Bush, it’s “some weird shit.”
Fascists don’t suddenly wake up one day and become unfascist, so I believe America — and the world — is in for a long haul, and I am steeling myself accordingly.
From the moment I arrived in Europe, my bouts of sorrow for my country are repeatedly interrupted by music, American music. You can’t get away from it.
From the buskers of Galway to the Parisian Metro, musicians are singing our songs.
A cabbie I met in London was listening to the Eagles, as he drove himself through winding medieval streets. A taxi driver in Paris with a keen eye recognized me as the author of a Tupac book, and we spent the ride singing ‘California Love’ at the top of our lungs.
No place was emotionally safe for me in Paris — I could not escape from my favorite soul, R & B artists, and jazz — Chaka Khan, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Marvin Gaye — their music flowed from speakers like wine on a warm night on the edge of the Seine.
I made friends with a Parisian Metro artist performing Amy Winehouse’s Rehab and 4 Non Blondes’ What’s Up at the Bastille stop. I dropped coins in the guitar case of a Ukrainian folk band performing at the Châtele hub.
I ended up at a cave club where a string 4tet called Madmoizel played me Miley Cyrus’ Flowers (Swoon).
I often pray in sacred spaces and one such sacred space was the American Cathedral in Paris, where I went to hear Gospel Dream — a choir of gospel singers from America, Africa, and the West Indies — performing songs that remain vital gifts to the world.
By the time they sang We Shall Overcome, I thought, well yes, maybe, if given enough time to heal…
And with each song and experience, I weep and I weep, wipe my tears and keep moving…
On an overnight trip to Birmingham, I got to hear the debut artist — The Leaking Machine — from my friend Adrian Goldberg’s new record label — Jenny’s Feather Factory — named after his aunt, who perished in the Holocaust. As I listened to the stellar band play, I thought how history is always there, whispering, reminding…
Disappearing Railroad Blues
I spent the early part of my career as a music reporter, and it’s always been my default in trouble times. Whatever city I’m in, I make a playlist of the area’s artists, and I keep adding to it as I walk through the avenues and alleyways, into nightclubs, drawn in by street posters or sounds emanating from doorways.
The buskers of Galway are some the finest street musicians in the world. In fact, the entire West Coast of Ireland is a musical paradise.
I fell madly in love with Katie O’Connor, a Galway busker whose version of Hallelujah conjured the ghost of Jeff Buckley. I buy every artist CD I can afford, and O’Connor’s Trust. is now my go-to when my nerves need calming.
I walk into pubs wearing my Fairytale of New York t-shirt that I found at Tower Records in Dublin, and invariably the Pogues are playing or Shane MacGowan’s duet with Sinead O’Conner, Haunted. Music by the Dubliners are playing on the double-decker tour bus I hop on for a glimpse of the Molly Malone statue.
And live music is seemingly in every venue.
I marvel at how much traditional Irish music sounds like southern bluegrass, and a local in Connemara invites me to a bluegrass festival in a seaside town called Westport, where I get to hear the Italian bluegrass band, Blue Weed — as rain pours down outside, it’s standing room only in the pub, McGing’s.
And just like the days when I was a nightclub columnist for the Los Angeles Times, one show leads to another and I see a flyer for a folk trio — Don Stiffe, Trevor Sexton, and Ger O’Donnell. I can tell by their photo they are some kind of badass and make a note to check them out.
Turns out they are three virtuoso performers who came together when a concert promoter on a cruise ship paired them up.
Although they perform traditional Irish folks songs, they also include American music in their set, because music knows no borders.
The night I saw them, Don Stiffe sang a solo song titled Missing Galway about his time in Boston in the ‘90s, and it’s already a hit in my mind. Trevor Sexton performed an exquisite rendition of On Raglan Road — “a quiet street where old ghosts meet.”
O’Donnell told a story about a songwriter named Steve Goodman, who wrote the song City of New Orleans. In the early ‘70s, Goodman approached Arlo Guthrie at a bar in Chicago, and asked if he could play him the song. Guthrie said sure, if Goodman bought him a beer. The rest is history.
As the trio launched into City of New Orleans, I could do nothing to stop the flow of tears. Each word stung with bittersweet memories of my country that was…
Good mornin' America, how are you?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son!
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done…
… the towns & people seem to fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
Conductor sings your songs again
The passengers will please refrain
This train has got the disappearing railroad blues
Good night, America, how are you?
And so it goes… I’ve got the disappearing railroad blues…
As they performed the Eagles’ Peaceful Easy Feeling and Bob Dylan’s Forever Young, I realized that maybe the spirit of America is living on through its music. And maybe the artists of Europe are carrying the torch forward for us.
And maybe, just maybe, if people get off social media and go see live music, maybe somehow we could heal nations from within.
Musicians are far better cultural ambassadors than political ‘influencers’ hiding who pays them while sickening the world by ginning up hate.
Musicians remain a serious threat to authoritarians, as Bruce Springsteen called Trump “a conman who tried to hijack democracy and sell it back to us at a profit,” representing “the very worst of America's past dressed up as its future.”
Springsteen, who has a great deal of cultural weight globally, said at a concert in Berlin: “We ask all who believe in democracy and the best of our American experiment to rise with us, raise your voices, stand with us against authoritarianism, and let freedom reign.”
Walking down a street in County Galway, I hear a busker playing Tangled Up in Blue.
I stop and sing every lyric, drop a coin in his hat, wipe tears, and keep moving.
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Related:
Forever Young: Reflections on Bob Dylan at 80
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More info about Bette Dangerous - This magazine is written by Heidi Siegmund Cuda, an Emmy-award winning investigative reporter/producer, author, and veteran music and nightlife columnist. She is the cohost of RADICALIZED Truth Survives, an investigative show about disinformation and is part of the Byline Media team. Thank you for your support of independent investigative journalism.
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Begin each day with a grateful heart.
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I am a music lover myself. I feel it is a healing force in our world, so we need to listen, perform and keep it always around us. Glad to know you appreciate it too.
I am maintaining balance with a lot of help from my community. Being dependent on Social Security these days is a source of anxiety, but I try to start each day with a grateful heart. I try very hard not to let fear control my life. I find your posts to be both informative and soothing. Many thanks.