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by Sarah Winder | |
| Turn on your T.V., turn it on loud, And watch the fool a smilin' there and tell me that you're proud And listen to your radio, the noise it starts to pour Oh, I know you're set for fighting, But what are you fighting for? (Phil Ochs from "What are you fighting for?") | |
| 1 | Phil Ochs may not be a name familiar to many people in the generation called "X," but his name, his lyrics, his politics, and his music dramatically changed the people of the Vietnam War generation. His music and what it represented personified the anti-war movement in the 1960s and 1970s. The words he sang were revolutionary, as they questioned the American government's actions and policies. He sang about controversial concepts, such as "draft-dodging" and liberalism, in a way that no one had before him, and very few have since. Not only did he influence the anti-war movement, it influenced him. He drew his strength from the fact that people in America cared about the things that do deeply affected him. His lyrics pushed a political agenda onto people around him that few, at first, were willing to accept. But he did not give up; instead he kept composing and performing until he had a majority of people on his side. The words he sang, the protests he organized, and the politics he stood for helped to change the way Americans viewed not only the Vietnam War, but also American politics in general. |
| 2 | Phil Ochs wrote and performed songs for only eleven years, but in that span of time managed to help influence a nation (Berendt 110). Growing up in middle America, Ochs, by his own admission, led a "normal" life (110). In 1958 he set off for Ohio State University, it was there that his world would begin to change dramatically. As a freshman at OSU, Ochs described himself as "apolitical," not on one side or another, just not involved or interested at all either way (qtd. in Berendt 132). It was that year, though, that he first read the Communist Manifesto, a book which he credits for "waking him up" and showing him the inequities in the world around him (132). As a journalism major in his sophomore year, Ochs dropped out of college and moved to Greenwich Village. The Village at that time, was a hotbed of young political musicians, and Ochs quickly became part of the scene that included Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, and various other folk-singers of the time (132). He spent all of his time over the next few years writing songs protesting any and all inequities he saw around him. His earliest songs focus on America's foreign policy in dealing with Cuba, the United Fruit Growers, and President Kennedy. As soon as Ochs heard about the United States' involvement in the proxy war against communism being fought in Vietnam, the focus of his lyrics changed to center almost exclusively on that. Before 1968, however, his message was not widely received by a receptive audience. He had some loyal supporters, but it wasn't until the Democratic National Convention of 1968, held in Chicago, that Ochs was able to get his message out to a large number of receptive listeners. |
| 3 | In Greenwich Village he "would forever remain in Dylan's shadow" (132). Ochs knew he needed to break away from that scene, but it was actually the scene that broke away from him. In early 1967, Dylan began to "mainstream" his lyrics more, just as Ochs became even more set on promoting his political views through his music (Palmer C15). Dylan told Ochs, "you're not a folk-singer; you're just a journalist" (C15). Ochs, who had publicly stated his admiration for Dylan, decided that the direction Dylan was taking his music was not for him and started calling himself a "topical singer, not a folk-singer" (qtd. in Tomasson 30). In 1966, two years before the Chicago Convention, Ochs made his solo debut at New York City's Carnegie Hall. He appeared before an enthusiastic, sold-out crowd, who, according to a concert reviewer, "applauded Ochs warmly…responding to what he stood for rather than what he actually accomplished" (Shelton 15). The review, written the day after the performance in 1966, called Ochs a "folk-singer, writer, satirist, patterist [sic], rebel spokesperson (Shelton 15). However, the review did not say anything complimentary about Ochs's musical talent, rather claimed that the "popularity Ochs has gained in the last three years in Greenwich Village is largely based on his personality, wit and iconoclasm rather than his musical skill" (Shelton 15). His style was described as "anti-everything- antiwar, anti-discrimination, anti-pomposity" and he was described as "a compassionate colleague to the little guy" (Shelton 15). Although this review does not mention the actual content of Ochs's music, it is clear what his message was. Moreover, he was not disparaged by the reviewer for the lyrical content of his words, only the musical content of his songs. |
| 4 | Ochs seemed to step out of the limelight until the Chicago Convention in 1968. He used his small, but growing, reputation as a performer to gain entrance into various anti-war protests that began springing up in cities around the country, but stayed mainly in the larger cities like New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, where there were more anti-war supporters (Berendt 134). Between songs he often talked to the crowds, expanding on the political views expressed in his songs. At a rally in 1967, Ochs asked the crowd before him, "what kind of depths have they ["old America"] sunk into to dishonor the very meaning of the word 'honor' by asking young men to die for nothing? This is not my America, this is not my war" (qtd. in Gottlieb 43). Ochs was saying these types of statements before they were popular to say; he was protesting the war long before protesting the war became mainstream. |
| 5 | In 1968, America was becoming more and more disenchanted with the war in Vietnam. Americans were seeing their friends, family, and neighbors coming home dead and wounded. The incidents at the Democratic National Convention gave Americans another cause for concern. It was also at the Democratic Convention that Ochs gained notoriety. Ochs was part of a group of anti-war protesters that included Jerry Rubin and leaders of the SDS, who held an un-birthday party for President Johnson at the Chicago Coliseum across town from where the Convention was being held (Berendt 110). Ochs took the stage first and sang "I'm Gonna Say it Now" (Berendt 110). The crowd before him erupted as he sang the lines, "I've read of other countries where students take a stand/ they've even helped to overthrow the leaders of the land/ Now, I wouldn't go so far as to say we're also learning how/ but when I've got something to say, sir, I'm gonna say it now" (Berendt 110). The song received "more than its usual ovation" that day (Berendt 110). Ochs then sang "There but for a Fortune" and "I Ain't Marchin' No More," during which the men in the crowd began burning their draft cards (Berendt 110). Ochs closed his set with "The War is Over." When he sang the line "but before the end even treason might be worth a try," the crowd "exploded" (Berendt 112). According to one of the attendees at the rally "people were on their feet screaming, pouring out their righteous anger at the deceptions and the betrayals and the assassinations that had brought them to this place" (qtd. in Berendt 112). Ochs thrived on this type of response. For almost ten years he had been composing and performing music with political motivations, but it wasn't until the convention that he felt like people were with him in his views. In an interview after the convention Ochs said, "it got to them this time. It was there; you could feel it. Did you see the looks on their faces? They weren't afraid of anything. I've never seen anything like it before. I wonder if I ever will again" (qtd. in Berendt 112). It was also at this rally that Ochs's political activities took center stage above even this, his paramount concert experience. At the un-birthday party for President Johnson, Ochs brought a live pig, which he proceeded to publicly nominate for election to the presidency (Berendt 110). Ochs was arrested while nominating the pig, but the charges against him were later dropped (Berendt 110). However, Ochs's involvement with the activities surrounding the Chicago Convention were far from over. |
| 6 | As protestors and police clash during the Convention, Ochs is a witness to the "police riot" that resulted in the prosecution of the infamous Chicago Seven, accused of inciting a riot (Kilfner 37). At their trial Ochs was asked to testify on behalf of the defense. On the stand he was asked to sing "I Ain't Marchin' No More" to help recreate the mood. He began singing, but was stopped two bars in, by Judge Hoffman, who decided Ochs could say, but not sing, the words. Ochs did so, looking at the judge "squarely in the eyes" as he said the lines, "it's always the old to lead us to war/ it's always the young to fall" (Berendt 132). During the same trial, when the judge refused to let Joan Collins sing, saying that the courtroom was not a place for "entertainment," the attorney for the defense argued that folk-singer's music was not "entertainment, but a protest against young men's deaths in war" (qtd. in Lukas 15). This sentiment echoed exactly the way Ochs felt about his music. He wanted people to see his music as "political science 101 available monaural or stereo" (Berg 19). It seemed as if the American public was beginning to see things Ochs's way. |
| 7 | In addition to the violence viewed by the American public from both protestors and police at the Chicago Convention, the American public had lost what some believed to be their last voice of reason in politics, Senator Robert Kennedy (Heineman 182). Students, especially, felt the loss of both Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. In Kennedy, the public had lost the "only mainstream politician who appealed to students, ethnics, and blacks" (Heineman 182). Students began to feel a sense of hopelessness during 1968, with events like the loss of their political leaders, the election of President Nixon, the violent protests on television or in their hometowns, and the war in Vietnam dragging on and on (Heineman 182). Larger numbers of students became enamored with "confrontational protest tactics," and Ochs lent his voice and lyrics to become the motivating soundtrack for the protestors (Heineman 182). In 1969, Ochs performed again at Carnegie Hall in front of a "wildly enthusiastic audience" (Jahn 51). This time the review was much more positive, and the reviewer stated that "Ochs proved that he is still the main musical journalist of the new left" (Jahn 51). At this concert Ochs performed a song he had written in response to the Chicago police at the Convention the year before, calling it "Descartes rock" (qtd. in Jahn 51). However, his musical talent had not improved, rather "his fame is as a singer of musical editorials, not as a musician" (Jahn 51). The killings at Kent State University the following year, along with killings at Jackson State and bayonet attacks at the University of New Mexico, heightened students awareness of the war, protests, and protest music ("Inside America" 18). But mainstream America would never truly embrace the words of the "sneering liberal," as some reviewers had called him, and he would remain popular only on the hardcore fringe groups of the protest movement (Jahn 51). It is ironic that the man who gave the anti-war movement its first voice, was subsequently shunned from it for being too radical. |
| 8 | As his career began to decelerate at a pace equivalent to its rise, Ochs abruptly changed styles. In 1970, he released a new album under the title of "Greatest Hits." This album contained Ochs's remakes of the songs he grew up with, those by artists such as Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley (Wilson "Recital Labels" 32). This new release was a radical change from the Ochs people were accustomed to. At the first of only two American performances after the release of this album, Ochs was booed off stage by "an audience that had apparently come to hear the activist or poetic Ochs" (Wilson "Recital Labels" 32). As he played, the audience chanted "bring out Phil Ochs" and "Phil Ochs is dead," in a dramatic show of distaste for his new style (qtd. in Wilson "Recital Labels" 32). Five days later, as Ochs tried to explain why he changed styles, he told a reporter, "…after Chicago I was so depressed, so full of despair that I just went crazy and didn't care anymore" (qtd. in Wilson"Fans" 44). Ochs considered his influence at the convention, and the response he got from those present, to be the high point in his career, and everything else was anti-climatic. Indeed, with the anti-war movement effectively dropping him as their spokesperson, and itself losing speed as it split into various factions, Ochs's popularity tapered off. He had lent them his voice, motivated them with his words, and now his part in the movement had ended. He played his anti-war songs one more time in front of a receptive audience, at the "End of the War Rally" held in Central Park in 1975 (Montgomery 11). However, although receptive, the audience did not embrace Ochs's music as a guide anymore; they had accomplished their goal and the war had ended. The energy of the anti-war movement had changed from confrontational and urgent to complacent and celebratory. Ochs's music was now a symbol of what they had accomplished, but no longer was it their anthem. Ochs ended his own life by hanging himself six years later, at the age of thirty-six (Tomasson 30). |
| 9 | The impact that Ochs's music had on the anti-war movement was only truly appreciated in hindsight, after his death. At a memorial service that drew nearly 5,000 people and lasted five and a half hours, Ochs was praised not only as a musician with "intellectual and emotional dynamite," but also as "a tireless organizer" who strived to draw attention to the causes he championed (Palmer "Friends Perform" 41). At the service, Ochs's brother, Michael, remarked that "Phil probably did more benefits than any other performer in the 60s, so we decided to do one for him" (Palmer "Pop Life" C15). Various folk singers from the era performed at Ochs's service and poet Alan Ginsberg read poetry, but Dylan, who Ochs had greatly admired, never showed up (Berendt 136). In numerous editorials written about Ochs, it is evident that his reach was far and wide. The messages in his lyrics not only gave the anti-war movement an anthem, but inspired many "average" citizens to take action (Berg 19). In an article written for Esquire after Ochs's death, John Berendt praised Ochs as being the "troubadour of the New Left…the most radically committed performer of the sixties" and his music as "a form of political theater" (112). Indeed, the lyrics of his songs still resonate as the feelings of a generation, as is evident in a recent book published about the resistance to the draft during the Vietnam War by Sherry Gottleib. Of all the possible quotes about the war to choose from, Gottlieb opens her book with a quote from Phil Ochs "I hate Chou En Lai, and I hope he dies/ but one thing you gotta see/ that someone's gotta go over there/ and that someone isn't me/ So I wish you well, Sarge, give 'em hell/ Yeah, kill a thousand or so/ And if you ever get a war without blood or gore/ well, I'll be the first to go" (qtd in Gottlieb XXV). |
| 10 | From the time he began writing and performing his political music, Ochs inspired thousands of people. Not only did he inspire, but he also motivated, educated, and provided a voice to a generation. His lyrics were sung not only by himself, but by many other folk-singers, including Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. (Berendt 134). Ochs's own inspiration and motivation came from the energy he saw in the response he got to his music. He felt as though he was truly contributing to the advancement of the anti-war movement, and drew strength from that. But the demise of student activism and the factions within the New Left movement took away that strength, and Ochs could not find meaning in his life anymore (Palmer "Pop Life" C15). The impact that Ochs had on the anti-war movement continues today, as his lyrics are still used to personify the voices of thousands who stood up to protest a war they felt was wrong. |
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Nominated by Jackie Flowers, Humanities Instructor
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