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The life and influence of singer Phil Ochs Phil Ochs burst onto the American music scene just as the popularity of folk music was breaking through on the national consciousness. Along with friend and rival Bob Dylan, Ochs wrote some of the most compelling topical music of his time. In There But for Fortune, Michael Schumacher explores the life and career of a singer, songwriter, and political activist whose music resonates today as much as it applied to a divided country a half-century ago. His politically charged songs were covered by Pete Seeger; Joan Baez; Gordon Lightfoot; Peter, Paul and Mary; and a host of others, and such songs as "I Ain't Marching Anymore"and "The War Is Over"became anthems of the anti-Vietnam War movement. He seemed to be performing everywhere, from concerts on college campuses to huge demonstrations, culminating with an appearance at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968.But as this biography illustrates in painstaking detail, Ochs suffered from a dark side that gravely affected his life and music. Diagnosed as manic depressive, he shifted between incredible highs and debilitating lows that ultimately drove him to suicide at age 36. To piece together his life story, Schumacher interviewed Ochs's friends, family members, and fellow musicians; examined his journals and scrapbooks; and even scrutinized his FBI files. While Phil Ochs's life might have been plagued by downturn and tragedies, his music is an enduring call to activism and fighting for a better future.… (mere)
waltzmn: Two biographies of the same man, telling much the same story: An odd childhood, a career of promise as a songwriter, a spiral out of control into drug abuse and other sorts of abuse, a loss of his gifts, eventually suicide. If you merely want the general story of a life voluntarily ruined, either will give you that story, so you don't need both. But each, of course, supplies details not found in the other.… (mere)
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This is a hard-to-read book about a hard-to-understand life.
Not, I hasten to add, that there is any problem with the way it is written. I'm surprised that it was reissued, but not because of the writing. It's just that Phil Ochs has been dead for more than forty years, and his surviving fans would generally be in their sixties or older. Ochs himself, who was born in 1940, would be in his late seventies as of when I write this.
He obviously didn't even come close to reaching that age. Not surprising. He blazed like a wood fire doused with gasoline -- and burned out just as fast. A childhood marked by wildly shifting interests gave way to a young adulthood of songwriting and political activity gave way to disillusionment and fatigue and then depression and loss of interest in life and personality changes and, finally, suicide.
It's really difficult to read the late chapters, which will probably leave you wondering, "Why didn't someone do something?" Or, at minimum, "Why did anyone put up with him for so long?" -- in the early Seventies, Ochs had gone from an earnest protest singer to a guy who didn't write songs but who did get drunk all the time and went around carrying hammers and lead pipes and randomly attacking people. He couldn't handle his emotions, and he couldn't handle his money, but somehow, he mostly stayed out of both prisons and psychiatric hospitals. I find this hard to believe -- there was plenty of basis for involuntary commitment.
Whether it would have helped is another question. Everyone seems to agree that Ochs had bipolar disorder, and like all psychiatric illnesses, treatment was in its infancy in the 1970s. Lithium, the first (and still generally the best) mood stabilizer, had been approved in 1970, but a lot of psychiatrists weren't using it yet -- and Ochs, because he never lost his freedom, apparently refused to take whatever medications were given him anyway.
I must admit, though, that I think there is more to the story. There was a darkness in Ochs that can't be explained just by bipolar disorder (although I accept that he almost certainly had that). Even before he went downhill, there was an anger in him -- an anger that he wasn't recognized, wasn't accepted, that he wasn't able to change things. It's just that, in his early years, some of that energy was productive, and powered his songs. But the truth is, few of his songs have lasted. Even though he was one of the most prolific of Sixties songwriters, his music has aged much more than that of, say, his friend and contemporary Tom Paxton -- who wrote protest songs also, but was willing to write other material as well.
Ochs was an enigma to the end. What could he have done had things gone a little differently? Possibly he could have been brilliant. But possibly he would have found another way to flame out. This book, though often brutally honest, doesn't really give us a way to know.
I was left wanting to read more. But also not sure that I was strong enough to try. ( )
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For Jack Henry Schumacher Who never marched in the first place...
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During the Civil War, a company of singers and entertainers known as the Hutchinson Family moved from Union camp to Union camp, entertaining the troops.
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The life and influence of singer Phil Ochs Phil Ochs burst onto the American music scene just as the popularity of folk music was breaking through on the national consciousness. Along with friend and rival Bob Dylan, Ochs wrote some of the most compelling topical music of his time. In There But for Fortune, Michael Schumacher explores the life and career of a singer, songwriter, and political activist whose music resonates today as much as it applied to a divided country a half-century ago. His politically charged songs were covered by Pete Seeger; Joan Baez; Gordon Lightfoot; Peter, Paul and Mary; and a host of others, and such songs as "I Ain't Marching Anymore"and "The War Is Over"became anthems of the anti-Vietnam War movement. He seemed to be performing everywhere, from concerts on college campuses to huge demonstrations, culminating with an appearance at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968.But as this biography illustrates in painstaking detail, Ochs suffered from a dark side that gravely affected his life and music. Diagnosed as manic depressive, he shifted between incredible highs and debilitating lows that ultimately drove him to suicide at age 36. To piece together his life story, Schumacher interviewed Ochs's friends, family members, and fellow musicians; examined his journals and scrapbooks; and even scrutinized his FBI files. While Phil Ochs's life might have been plagued by downturn and tragedies, his music is an enduring call to activism and fighting for a better future.
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1
Not, I hasten to add, that there is any problem with the way it is written. I'm surprised that it was reissued, but not because of the writing. It's just that Phil Ochs has been dead for more than forty years, and his surviving fans would generally be in their sixties or older. Ochs himself, who was born in 1940, would be in his late seventies as of when I write this.
He obviously didn't even come close to reaching that age. Not surprising. He blazed like a wood fire doused with gasoline -- and burned out just as fast. A childhood marked by wildly shifting interests gave way to a young adulthood of songwriting and political activity gave way to disillusionment and fatigue and then depression and loss of interest in life and personality changes and, finally, suicide.
It's really difficult to read the late chapters, which will probably leave you wondering, "Why didn't someone do something?" Or, at minimum, "Why did anyone put up with him for so long?" -- in the early Seventies, Ochs had gone from an earnest protest singer to a guy who didn't write songs but who did get drunk all the time and went around carrying hammers and lead pipes and randomly attacking people. He couldn't handle his emotions, and he couldn't handle his money, but somehow, he mostly stayed out of both prisons and psychiatric hospitals. I find this hard to believe -- there was plenty of basis for involuntary commitment.
Whether it would have helped is another question. Everyone seems to agree that Ochs had bipolar disorder, and like all psychiatric illnesses, treatment was in its infancy in the 1970s. Lithium, the first (and still generally the best) mood stabilizer, had been approved in 1970, but a lot of psychiatrists weren't using it yet -- and Ochs, because he never lost his freedom, apparently refused to take whatever medications were given him anyway.
I must admit, though, that I think there is more to the story. There was a darkness in Ochs that can't be explained just by bipolar disorder (although I accept that he almost certainly had that). Even before he went downhill, there was an anger in him -- an anger that he wasn't recognized, wasn't accepted, that he wasn't able to change things. It's just that, in his early years, some of that energy was productive, and powered his songs. But the truth is, few of his songs have lasted. Even though he was one of the most prolific of Sixties songwriters, his music has aged much more than that of, say, his friend and contemporary Tom Paxton -- who wrote protest songs also, but was willing to write other material as well.
Ochs was an enigma to the end. What could he have done had things gone a little differently? Possibly he could have been brilliant. But possibly he would have found another way to flame out. This book, though often brutally honest, doesn't really give us a way to know.
I was left wanting to read more. But also not sure that I was strong enough to try. (