JUKEBOX: Astral Folk Goddesses
The term “astral folk goddess” comes from Chicago artist Plastic Crimewave, who included a set of hand-illustrated “Astral Folk Goddesses and Damaged Guitar Gods” in issue #7 of his zine, Galactic Zoo Dossier. With REBEAT‘s recent Vashti Bunyan interview, and an interview with Ruthann Friedman coming up next week, it seemed like this week was a good time to devote a JUKEBOX to the work of some of these lovely, talented, and often mysterious ladies.
In my iTunes library, I categorize this music as “Lost Girl Folk”: female singer-songwriters who never quite fit the mold, and who lingered for years in obscurity before being rediscovered by a new generation. There’s Ruthann Friedman and Margo Guryan, whose songs were most successful in the hands of other artists (Friedman’s “Windy” was a hit for the Association, while artists from Spanky & Our Gang to Julie London recorded Guryan’s “Sunday Morning”). Linda Perhacs and Judee Sill, whose haunting songs came from deeply spiritual experiences, Karen Dalton, who lent her eerie voice to traditional and contemporary songs with equal ease, and Connie Converse, who left behind a collection of home recordings and her dreams of stardom when she disappeared in 1974.
I’ve also included some of the latest generation of astral folk goddesses. In the age of YouTube, it’s easier than ever for independent musicians to reach an audience, even without the help of Andrew Loog Oldham. Like many people, I first discovered Swedish sister act First Aid Kit via their cover of Fleet Foxes’ “Tiger Mountain Peasant Song” and promptly bought their Drunken Trees EP; they continue to dazzle me with each new release, and 2014’s Stay Gold is their best yet.
I met Rachel Ries when she moved to Chicago from South Dakota, where she grew up as the daughter of Mennonite missionaries. She was working as a barista at my neighborhood coffee shop; I came by one night to hear her perform and was instantly captivated by her intricate guitar work, vivid imagery, and fluid voice. Rachel’s sometimes collaborator Anais Mitchell, who uses her lovely childlike voice to deliver some of the most haunting lyrics you’ll find in contemporary folk music, keeps fans guessing with each record, whether she’s collecting Child Ballads, writing concept albums inspired by her father, or creating folk operas based on Greek mythology.
There’s a similar narrative thread that connects many of these musicians’ stories, that of being discovered, rediscovered, and perhaps validated by men. Think of Bob Dylan and Nick Cave citing Karen Dalton as an influence, freak-folkie Devendra Banhart’s championing of Vashti Bunyan, Van Dyke Parks introducing Ruthann Friedman to the Association, or the Turtles insisting on releasing Judee Sill’s “Lady-O” as their final single. There’s also plenty of room to speculate about why this music has finally reached a wider fanbase after all these years, and why it still resonates with fans and musicians today. For now, though, let’s appreciate the astral folk goddesses on their own their own terms, and lose ourselves in the music they’ve given us — those who disappeared far too soon, and those who are still around expanding their minds and ours.
