Song To Aging Children Come

The melodic variations of Blues, Jazz, and Rock ‘n’ Roll are nascent music styles developing from the refrains of slave songs. Each genre shares a common nativity with the despondent outcries of the plantation fieldworkers, and a common heredity to the notes once used to distract their consciousness from the toils of arduous labor. Over the years the distinct musical styles sprouted as an elan of separate individuality; graduating with a detached fortitude of confident declarations. For over a hundred years the music evolved from the genesis like the stages of a developing flower. Then, while in full bloom, an infusion took place, creating a hybrid of sounds and a melody supporting the songs of freedom.

This is the first paragraph of the 23 chapter of Benson's House. A hundred years had progressed throughout the story, and the songs of freedom- once separate genres of music- had blended together to create a new metamorphosis of sound. The words still spoke to the common sense of everyman- the lesson unrestricted by race or religion- with the songs speaking to a youthful expression of individuality and of unified independence. Rock 'n' Rollers had electrified the Blues. They had initiated jams, influenced by improvisational Jazz artists- like saxophonist John Coltrane- creating a hybrid of sound that was celebrated for an extended weekend at a place called The Woodstock Music and Art Fair.

Justin Benson's great, great grandson was there. Christopher Benson was the head of what had become Chariot Records, and was considered to be a formative influence on top forty entertainment. He arrived on the Sunday of the final full day.

“You boys buckled up?” Christopher heard the helicopter pilot say over the head set he was placing over his ears. The cones muffled the drone of the whirling copter blades.
“You know where you’re going?” Christopher said into the mouthpiece.
“Hell, I’ve been running folks to the festival all week end long. You boys are gett’n’ here a little late ain’t ya?” The pilot asked as the engine began to whine, lifting the aircraft from the tarmac.
Within a few minutes the outer reaches of the gathering took shape below them. Cars were seen abandoned on the sides of roads, as hordes of the children of God were walking down the road, following in a mass attempt to loss the smog of their conventional existence at a Rock ‘n’ Roll haven of epic proportions. Soon campers, trailers, and camping tents appeared in fields spotted beneath the haze of smoldering camp fires. They flew just above the pine trees lining the bank of a lake, where Christopher could detect the splashing of bathers off the shoreline. Several larger tents passed rapidly below them before the back of monolithic stage appeared.
Then- in a flash- they were revealed; a blotch upon the earth of a half a million kids, sitting on a sloped field in congregation before the stage. The helicopter banked at left intervals, flying around the parameter, as the eye of the sun shone down upon the Woodstock Nation. Christopher was stricken by the multitudes. The group was three times the size of those attending The Songs of Freedom Concert in DC. He felt magnetically drawn to the gathering, as the helicopter began its decent and landed on a heliport about a quarter mile from the right rear side of the stage.
“Don’t take any of the brown acid.” The pilot laughingly warned, as Christopher and Michael climbed out of the helicopter.
“Don’t worry.” Christopher shouted in response, stooping to move clear of the revolving blades.


Forty one years have lapsed since that weekend. Today some will certainly consider a memorial to the legacy as a reverence to hedonism. Yet, for many of my generation, it was a moment in time that represented our generations unity and individual values. Many a Baby Boomer came into being that summer, aspiring to change the world with civil disobedience.

In many ways the festival celebrated the end of a decade that changed the course of America's social behavior. Woman's accepted use of the pill challenged institutional tenets on sex; the Civil Rights Movement altered the segregationist restrictions on race; the Anti War Movement stood up against the proliferation of the military industrial complex, and the lyrics of the music kept reminding our common sense that the changes were necessary and correct.

When Christopher awoke he was alone in the dark tent. He felt for his jeans, and placed them on while arching his back against the blanket beneath him. He found Sarah just outside the tent. Her form was barely noticeable in the dark light. She was covered in a Sioux star quilt, sitting on a mound of pine needles, cradling herself as she rocked to the music, with her arms wrapped around her legs, and her chin placed firmly against her knees. David Crosby and Graham Nash’s voices were united in the song: Guinevere. Their harmonic intonations sounded like the trills of gliding eagles stalking the night sky.
“Ya know what makes this event so monumental? She stated as he approached.
“What?” Christopher asked.
“It occurred spontaneously under the guidance of conciliation. There was no condemnation; no willful attempt to wage authority with bellicose intent. There was no power struggle. People were not commanded. They were merely warned about bad drugs, or were asked to lookout for their neighbors.”
“Everything was offered to the guidance of the common sense.” Christopher interjected.
“Well, yeah- right on!” Sarah agreed while shaking her head. “It empowered the people because they all share the common sense.”


In the days to follow I will offer a description of the final act on the final day of the festival. It was a performance that artistically modified America's psyche by altering the traditional rendition of our nation's national anthem.

Through the windless wells of wonder
By the throbbing light machine
In a tea leaf trace or under
Orders from the king and queen
Songs to aging children come
Aging children, I am one.

Joni Mitchell

Resurrection from the Mind- Forged Manacles

Although the saga of the family legend is often exaggerated,through generations of tavern discourse,the origin of the story is never modified.

It is said that a boy came from out of the wilderness and wandered into a recruiting camp for the Union Army in October of 1861. When asked his name for the roster he responded by stating he was "just Ben's son." He was enlisted and given the slave name of Justin Benson. No one knew at the time that the blond haired kid, who would one day fight on the Battlefield of Gettysburg, would become one of the pioneering promoters and producers of the music that became Rock 'n' Roll.

It is the music that spoke to the generations of a hundred years, with meanings cultivated thought a lineage derived from three dominate philosophies. They are the songs of our lives; the songs of our ancestors; the songs of our children. The birth of the Blues was the beginning of pop music and provided the soundtrack on a journey towards the spirited acceptance of freedom.

From the Age of Enlightenment came the idea that reason was the bases of authority. The acceptance of this tenant was adamant among its followers. It spurred universal revolution and became the incentive to the principles of America's Declaration of Independence. Enlightenment transcended the boundaries of authoritative restraint and challenged the conventions of political power. It also served the thinking of rationalists who saw slavery as a violation of the rights of man. Quakers in this country took a stand against this practice and the Abolitionist Movement was formed. The songs of freedom were given life.

A second philosophy, which also took a disobedient stance against authority, was forged in New England as a protest against the doctrines of the Unitarian Church. Transcendentalism argued that spiritual intuition transcended empirical data. Its findings challenged the formulas of science and took Enlightenment one step further. It proclaimed reason as a instinctive intuition held common with everyman. A conviction to the common sense was acknowledged. The songs of freedom began to speak to the mutually held emotions of mankind.

The music led the masses in believing that the common sense could direct mankind, and that the institutions of authority were unnecessary. The question was raised and the answer seemed prevalent- authority was not necessary for the good of the people; authority was necessary for the control of the people. Civil Disobedience began, and a power struggle was created that continues today. Music and art have always been in the forefront of this controversy because of their universal acceptance by our common sense. the songs and images speak to the struggles for equality and fair treatment of everyman.

The final philosophy contributing to this paradigm was seen in the works of William Blake. He not only believed institutional authority was unnecessary, he believed it deliberately destroyed the foundations of creative thinking. He believed imagination was where the common sense was cultivated, and was cognisant of the liberating powers of the creative process. Through the generations, institutions of power, fearful of losing their grips on public sentiment, have always condemned creativity as a contributing element to heresy.

Blake recognized how this authoritative phobia was crippling the intellectual expansion of his kinsman. He saw them as being enslaved by pungency's that repressed the reactors of consciousness. Authority was controlling the masses by subverting the common sense. An example is heard in the second verse of London from Songs of Experience:

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:


These relevant principals moved the direction of creative thinking in the mid 1860's.
In defiance of Victorian etiquette, a young woman artist became the rage of New York's society.

It was thought the promotion was used to merely hype the aspiring artistic talents of the wife of Justin Benson. Her agent endorsed her art as having the ability to transform images of pastoral innocence into the corrupted urban settings of New York City. The concept grew and became a movement known as Urban Romanticism. Its disciples soon adopted the guitar music they heard while frequenting the basement tavern of Benson's house. They celebrated the music as a contributing element to the Urban Romantic Movement. The guitar styling was provided by a elderly emancipated slave, and was seen as a symbol of a genuine pastoral transformation into the urban setting of Greenwich Village. The genesis of modern music began. The rebellion against conventional authority started.

Freedom is Provided to the Motherless Child

It has been over fifty years since The Day The Music Died- the night a Beechcraft Bonanza B35 descended from the wintry skies and crashed into a snow covered corn field just outside of Clear Lake, Iowa. It was to be the end of Rock 'n' Roll. The end of a rebellion that compromised the values of America's middle class. Yet, here we are in the years, with one of the most popular musicals on Broadway- American Idiot- telling the story of a boys escape from the monotony of the suburban nomenclature. the saga of Jesus of Suburbia's exodus from Jingletown seems to parallel the youthful cries of independence, and the desire to split from the confines of conformity echoed in the lyrics of sixties Rock 'n' Roll.

So, how did this media find its prominence? How did a culture sustain the generations of adverse social condemnation? How did the conformity to the Reconstruction Amendments overpower Jim Crow segregation? How, did the leniency of self indulgence surpass the rigors of temperance? How did freedom of speech combat The Smith Acts? Where did it begin?

The pioneers of the music stood in defiance, shouting the songs of freedom with a civil disobedience void of arms, with words without guns, with guitars instead of bombs. The golden rule was accepted by the common sense- do unto others as you would have them do unto you...let all God's children Rock!

This is the saga of Benson's House, and it begins with the final stages of America's Civil War. The nucleus can be observed in a 1866 editorial observing a musical group of emancipated slaves performing on the platform stage in the basement tavern of The Benson Inn-
The influence of West Africa’s tradition is heard in the compositional reflections of this new music. It is a sound that achieves emancipation from conventions, equal in relevance with the freedoms from the blight of slavery. These songs are significant in meaning to the Black man- who cradles the melodies passionately within the depths of his soul. The great metropolitan cities of the north, who welcome the former slaves as new citizens, will also welcome and host their music and philosophies. The Congo Square Players are taking the pastoral sonnets of the plantation lifestyle and transcending them into a genesis of urban romanticism that will define art and culture for generations to come.

Those not born into slavery were distinguished as Motherless children- souls plucked from their villages and families, forced to be transported overseas like livestock, and sold into bondage by a nation recently proclaiming their Independence as champions of human equality. They were given slave names to replace the identities chosen by their progenitors.

The mark of the motherless child became a symbol of rebellion; a pseudonym identifying a defiance against destiny. Great achievers have strolled from the wilderness and accepted the slave name. For many of my generation the moniker of Bob Dylan was the most perfect example. In the weeks to follow the legend will be further revealed and the lesson will be clearly identified.

RIP: Ben Keith.

A Leap of Faith

I don't intend to lambaste the publishing industry for any inability to sensibly provide adequate forums where emerging authors can be discovered. That would be self defeating and perhaps I'm merely unaware of most arenas that exist. I've been told to have confidence in the faith of the industry and eventually my dedication will be rewarded. I can only say that through my experience- so far- the acceptance process seems hit or miss without much feedback to restore my fleeting assurances.
Months elapse without reply and false optimism sets in like that of a innocent defendant awaiting a verdict in a murder trail. The longer the verdict is withheld, the more confident the faithful has in believing he is to receive a positive outcome. However, when the judge enters the court and all rise, the sounding decisions become repetitious: we ask that you accept our apology for the insensitive treatment of the project,but due to the voluminous contributions of daily submitters, we request that you go somewhere else. The project is sentenced to death row.
My all time favorite rejection was when an assistant to the literary agent provided a hand written response on the upper right corner of my query letter. The staggering amount of material received in that particular agency must have overflowed into piles of slush heaps that were blocking the aisles and preventing the assistant access to the copiers to create the standardized rejection form.
It also seems the industry has restricted its scope and is obsessed with accepting only suspense thrillers catering to "who done it" murdering and creatures sucking blood from the necks of female students enrolled in the town's high school senior class- an exception comes to mind of a series about the education of a boy wizard. However, my novel has none of that, which may contribute to the problem.I suppose I'm not cookie cutting my project to fit the paragons of what the industry insists is evidence of mass appeal.
I always felt good literature stood uniquely apart from the norm, consuming the reader, not by cunning sensationalism, but by subtle allure in the context of a story. It is like the enjoyment one savors from a fine wine. It is to be tasted, slowly, and not gulped down. The intoxication should arise gradually, and when the final content of the bottle is poured into the glass, a certain tranquility is achieved that yearns for the experience to continue. I've achieved that sensation each time I've reread To Kill A Mockingbird. I hope future posts will convince followers that reading Benson's House will inspire a similar gratification.
My manuscript seems polished but could use direction I suppose. Admitting such is not a sign of self doubt, only an acknowledgement that synergy can generate a more successful project. My novel speaks to the stimuli of a generation of Baby Boomers. In the weeks that follow I will offer description on the novel's portrayal of the family chronicles that when told traces the evolution of the music that became Rock 'n' Roll!