Judy

I used to sing a lot. Folk songs. I would sit on the grass at Indiana University’s Dunn Meadow in Bloomington, Indiana and sing song after song with my guitar, usually with a pretty good audience.

I still sing, but mostly in my head. I still know most of the words to many, many songs, and they arise in my consciousness as a kind of running commentary on my life. Thus, as I walk up to the side door to enter my place of work on a Monday morning, I might have Janis Joplin’s tune going in my head:

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
My friends all have Porsches,
I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends.
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

Why that one? Who knows, it just seems right.

Two Sundays ago, at the suggestion of my daughter Cait, I got to see the incomparable Judy Collins in concert at the Paramount Theater in Denver.

I loved it. She had a piano player as backup but did several songs by herself, either with the guitar or playing the piano. Her voice is still clear, strong and beautiful.

She sang a few old-timey folk songs including “John Riley” – the one where the young woman has patiently waited seven years for her true love to come home, explaining to the stranger in the garden that she remains faithful, and he reveals that he is himself her long lost John Riley (happy ending, although the woman is far more patient than I think I would be in similar circumstances).

She sang several others that I love, including “Amazing Grace,” her bittersweet rendition of “Send in the Clowns,” and songs about Colorado including “Someday Soon.” She won applause by mentioning that her 91-year-old mother was in the audience, and told stories about her father Jack and growing up in Denver surrounded by musicians.

She sang Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” and told the story of how she had first heard the song--a friend (Graham Nash?) had called her at 3 a.m. from New York City insisting she listen to a singer he had discovered.

She spoke with great affection of the first time she met Leonard Cohen, how attractive he was, how grateful she was that she never fell in love with him as friends had. She told him he could not sing, but that she would be recording his songs the next morning. She stepped over to a special smaller sparking keyboard, and I thought for a minute she was going to sing “Famous Blue Raincoat,” but instead she sang one I of Leonard’s haven’t heard much but would like to learn: “A Thousand Kisses Deep”:

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep.

She also sang an absolutely heart-breaking version of a song dedicated to her song Clark, who committed suicide in 1992 at age 33, called “Wings of Angels.” She has written a book about this called “Sanity and Grace: A Journal of Suicide, Survival and Strength.”

Wings of angels tears of saints
Prayers and promises won't bring you back
Come to me in dreams again
Wings of angels tears of saints

We also heard “City of New Orleans,” “Open The Door,” “Since You’ve Asked,” and many more. It was a great evening and I was glad Cait shared it with me.

Inspired, I played my guitar with Mark the other night and sang again for several hours, one of my trustiest songbooks (“Rise Up Singing”) open before me. It felt really good but my fingers are sore. They’ll toughen up if I keep it up.