I didn't see Leonard Cohen's contribution among the old minstrel songs, Gal_Tuesday. But as I was looking through my Stephen Collins Foster collection there was a nostalgia for simpler times. Real Americana.
Just a few excerpts from some of the songs.
Susanna
I come from Alabama with my Banjo on my knee
I'se gwine to Lou'siana my true lub for to see.
It rain'd all night de day I left, de wedder it was dry;
The sun so hot I froze to def -- Susanna, don't you cry.
chorus:
Oh! Susanna, do not cry for me;
I come from Alabama,
Wid my Banjo on my knee.
I jump'd aboard the telegraph and trabbled down de ribber,
De lectrick fluid magnified, and kill'd five hundred Nigga.
De bulgine bust and de hoss ran off, I really thought I'd die;
I shut my eyes to hold my bref--Susanna don't you cry.
I had a dream de udder night, when ebry ting was still;
I thought I saw Susanna dear, coming down de hill,
De buckwheat cake was in her mouf, de tear was in her eye,
I says, I'se coming from de souf, --Susanna
Away Down Souf
We'll put for de souf--Ah! dat's the place,
For the steeple chase and de bully hoss race--
Poker, brag, eucher, seven up and loo,
Den chime in Niggas, won't you come along too.
chorus:
No use talken when de Nigga wants to go,
Whar de corn-top blossom and de canebrake grow;
Den come along to Cuba, and we'll dance de polka juba,
Way down souf, whar de corn grow.
My lub she hab a very large mouf,
One in de norf, tudder corner in de souf;
It ams so long, it reach so far--
Trabble all around it on a railroad car.
I went last night to see my Sally--
Two story house in Pig tail ally,
Whar de skeeters buz, and de fleas dey bite,
And de bull dogs howl and de tom cats fight. don't you cry.
Way Down in C-a-i-r-o
Oh! ladies dont you blush when I come out to play;
I only mean to please you all, and den I's guine away.
chorus:
I hear my true lub weep,
I hear my true lub sigh,
'Way down in Cairo dis nigga's guine to die.
Sometimes de niggas life is sad,
Sometimes his life is gay,
When de work dont come too hard
He's singing all de day.
Now we libs on de fat ob de land,
Now we libs on de lean
When we hab no cake to bake
We sweep de kitchen clean.
Massa bought a bran new coat
And hung it on de wall,
Dis nigga's guine to take dat coat,
And wear it to de ball.
****************
You don't see much of Foster' work nowadays, but occasionally when you do, it brings a tear to your eye, and warms the cockles of your heart.
Even though Foster's white, some of this sounds as if it's related to "the dozens," and is a precursor to rap.
