Notes on "The Crucifixion", or the creation of an American martyr

Phil Ochs is an unjustly forgotten artist who started out as a great songwriter in a genre that already had one great songwriter for all of the other artists to cover. 1967 saw Ochs going into experimental mode, with a new label in a new city with a new life. Turning away from the headlines of the New York Times for source material, Ochs dove headfirst into painting portraits of life based more on fantasy than reality, alienating a sizable chunk of the fans he had won with his guitar and plaintive warbling tenor and not really winning any great number of new fans with his new, diverse musical arrangements.

At over fifty-one minutes, Pleasures of the Harbor is long among the longest of single LPs released in 1967. Though it has just eight tracks, four are over eight minutes, two are over five and the remaining two (incidentally, the tracks pulled for singles) over three but under four. The intended hit, "Outside of a Small Circle of Friends", was the only topical song on the album and the subject of censorship owing not to its pairing of significant lyrics with an almost comical backing nor its depiction of apathy all around but in its mere mention that "smoking marijuana is more fun than drinking beer". It flopped in spite of having been released thrice, in an unedited version, in an edited version that excised the offending line and in an edited version that excised the entire verse containing the offending line. "Miranda" is comical, "Flower Lady" and "I've Had Her" rather melancholic. "The Party" skewers the self-absorbed, the title track uses sailors as a metaphor for the passage through life. "Cross My Heart" was simple, a light, bouncy pop song that sounded woefully out of place. And then there was "The Crucifixion".

With ten unique verses and at nearly nine minutes, it is among the longest songs in the Ochs catalogue. It was among the oldest of the songs Ochs had stockpiled in the hiatus between labels. Ochs had truly been enamored by the youthful John Kennedy, he had even acquired his first guitar by predicting Kennedy's 1960 win over Vice President Richard Nixon. Upon Kennedy's assassination, Ochs had already composed one tribute, "That Was The President", released on his second album, I Ain't Marching Anymore, perhaps as penance for having recorded and released "Talkin' Cuban Crisis", a track which lampooned Kennedy and his administration's bungling of the Cuban Missile Crisis, on his debut platter, All The News That's Fit To Sing. For his second tribute to Kennedy to be released on one of his studio albums, Ochs equated him with perhaps one of the most important martyrs in recorded history, Jesus of Nazareth.

Like a mad congregation, the electronic backing concocted by experimental electronic composer/arranger Joseph Byrd chronicles the coming of, the blossoming of and the destruction of the martyr while Ochs' wearied voice sings the words to the story of the figure built up and knocked down. History is full of these figures, taken in their prime so suddenly, but John Kennedy was somehow different. The Camelot years would give way to the unrest that would dominate the headlines for nearly a decade afterwards. The American landscape somehow faded, the American people grew more apathetic and jaded. To truly believe in the greatness of America was difficult for so many, how was it possible when such a perceived voice of progress could be cut down so pointlessly and without reason. The world would never know how Kennedy would have fared, whether or not he could have been re-elected. The United States has had relatively few figures so dynamic to bring about a sea change, to make the world better for their children and grandchildren from the world they had known. John Fitzgerald Kennedy, in Ochs' eyes, was such a figure.

Throughout its ten verses, Ochs presents the story of the figure who will become the martyr. The first verse essentially summarizes what is to come, a lyrical overture if you will, "with the speed of insanity, then he dies". The second verse focuses on the first appearance of the figure who will become the martyr, as if it takes something truly momentous to create a martyr, the figure is "chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard..." Leaders come and go, but fate will predestine only a select, choice group to be chosen for such a challenge. The rise of the figure is chronicled in the third and fourth verses. Initially supported by a select few, he quickly realizes just how awful it can be to try to lead, "and a blinding revelation is laid upon his plate." Undaunted, he presses on, fighting for his causes in spite of the apathy, "for the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs." Yet he does arrive, he is finally recognized by the larger forces he has been trying to attract, they realize that "someone is tapping at the door."

A formal arrival of the figure on a greater scene is chronicled in the fifth and sixth verses. It's obvious that there are forces determined to topple the figure, "In the shadows of the churches, who knows what they pray?" The real division between the message of Christ and the disparate message of his followers is addressed here. The church is fallible, the Bible can be interpreted in many different ways and who can really know exactly what the so-called righteous are really asking their God for? The same ones who pray for some to succeed pray for others to fail, that's life. Still, all seems rosy, at first anyways. The figure is happy to finally be recognized, "Gracefully he bows to ovations that he gets." But his undoing is already at hand. The plot against the figure is chronicled in the seventh and eighth verses. After all, the figure is soon faced with the realities of his stature, he's thrown to the dogs, if you will, by the forces against him, "the gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire." It's no surprise to the narrator, as history has been full of these kinds of figures, those who are plotted against by forces of evil before their ultimate demise at the hand of such forces. And of course, the figure is ultimately struck down- he truly does become a martyr to his cause. The narrator asks, "How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small", though it's obvious that the suffering was not, as he soon asks for a "picture of the pain".

The aftermath of the events are chronicled in the ninth and tenth verses, as if to explain just how much was lost without the martyr. "Time takes her toll and the memory fades..." The aftermath of the martyrdom is such that the figure is forgotten to a degree, with the true meaning of the message he brought distorted by time. Oftentimes, the people lose sight of some of the more controversial aspects of our martyrs, they remember them as they are presented to us by the powers-that-be, distorted, yes, but more palatable all the same, "to the safety of sterility, the threat has been refined." After the tenth verse, Ochs repeats the first, as if to reinforce the notion that Kennedy certainly wasn't the first martyr and he certainly wouldn't be the last. Time would unfortunately prove Ochs correct far too quickly.

"The Crucifixion" was too far advanced for 1967 standards. Electronic music was in its infancy, nowhere near ready for mass consumption. As if the song's lyrics weren't weighty enough, their coupling with Joseph Byrd's electronic mass ensured that there was no way that the song would gather much support from the record-buying public. Ochs distanced himself from the arrangement, returning to the guitar and voice arrangement that he had been performing for years that better allowed for the words to be heard by the listener. A version recorded live during his disastrous second show at New York City's Carnegie Hall on March 27, 1970 would be released on the Chords of Fame compilation.

In 1968, Ochs released Tape From California, and in spite of supporting Clean Gene McCarthy, around the time of that album's release, Ochs found himself singing an impromptu acapella version of "The Crucifixion" aboard a plane for one of McCarthy's primary opponents, the soon-to-be-martyred Sen. Robert Kennedy. Kennedy was in tears by the end and was in a casket within weeks. Phil lost it when he witnessed the madness at the 1968 Democratic National Convention that nominated Hubert Humphrey in spite of Humphrey's nonperformance in the primaries. There would be two more studio albums, but it's clear listening to them that something inside the man had changed, as if he was losing everything that he held dear and that there was nothing that he could do about it. Crippled by depression and a losing battle with the bottle, it all went downhill from there. It ended with a belt and the kicking away of a kitchen chair in his sister's bathroom.

American history is full of martyrs, from colonial days to the present day. "The Crucifixion" is a story that has always been, inspired by the truly great figures who fall with so much left undone, with so much promise unfulfilled. Last week, America saw a new President inaugurated. He has come into the office with a heavy burden, the tasks ahead of him difficult and the forces against him ever present. Never have we had such a figure enter into the office and the making of another martyr is clearly possible. For the sake of the nation, I can only hope that President Obama does not take on the status of a martyr. Too much is lost, distorted and/or forgotten every time a nation gains a martyr.

Great music doesn't always top the charts. Pleasures of the Harbor, though one of the most ambitious American albums in a year devoted to ambitiousness and pushing the envelope, is out of print today. You can't walk into the store and buy it. You'll have to pay for a used copy either on vinyl or on compact disc, and you may pay a hefty amount for it. If the Elektra albums in Ochs' catalog are full of songs that paint a portrait of a time and place, of Ochs sticking mostly to the singing journalist persona, the A&M albums expanded to include more portraits of life with the singing journalist still present in varying degrees. Stuck between the telling of an imagined portrait of life and pulling a song out of the headlines, Phil Ochs' "The Crucifixion" is one of the most powerful songs a listener can hear. To the top of the charts it did not go, its message far too negative for a world that craved (and still craves) an escape from the doldrums of everyday life. When we listen to music, we generally don't want to be reminded of the fact that life can be troubling, that martyrdom can be the unfortunate end to a great (or potentially great) leader. But we must, on occasion, be reminded. And "The Crucifixion" does this well.