Ain't There No One Here That Knows How I Feel?

Woody Guthrie was born on this day in 1912 in Okemah, Oklahoma. There's not much I can say about Guthrie that hasn't been said earlier (and better), so I'm going to stand aside and let Bob Dylan talk about him. His "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie" is, to my mind, the best tribute out there.There are a lot of words and music out there about how important Guthrie was, both to nearly every American musician (whether they know it or not), but to nearly every American (whether they know it or not), but so much of it seems to miss the point, I think. They speak and sing words like an incantation, as if they could conjure him back, but this time there would be no metaphors scribbled on his guitar; this time the fascists really would be doomed. And, I have to admit, it's a tempting dream.Dylan's five pages may flow like he's trying to cast a spell, but all he's trying to raise is a memory. He's not talking about the Guthrie who fought giants, who inspired movements; he's talking about the Guthrie who sang to you, who let you know that you're not alone in a world that seems to want only to feed on your isolation. He's talking about the Guthrie who made you believe, not that you could be part of an army of progress that would change the world, but that you could be part of this world without losing yourself to the fear, loneliness, and despair the fascists and feeders cultivate and rely on. He's talking about the Guthrie whose songs didn't ring with the magic of social and political change, but with the magic of personal hope.