After a long-winded and meandering conversation it’s fairly easy to see how Ramblin’ Jack Elliot got his name. One thing that’s not clear though, is if he got the moniker for being a wandering troubadour or for simply being overly talkative. As a legendary figure on the American folk music scene, Elliot has rubbed elbows and caroused with the best so in that sense it doesn’t really matter how or why he got his name as long as he lives up to it. Rest assured that he successfully rises to the challenge in both cases.
A true original in every sense of the word, Ramblin’ Jack Elliot epitomizes
the wandering troubadour and all the imagined attachments thereof. The open
road, the freedom from responsibility, the adventure of spontaneity, all coalesce
in an archetypical vision of America as witnessed by this traveling musician.
Shades of Jack Kerouac, Dean Moriarty, and the forever-wandering American
cowboy come to light in the stories told by Jack. In the end, there is no
better way to talk to a rambler than to let him ramble.
“I left home when I was fifteen with $40.00 in my pocket and a head full
of adventure,” he growls, “Took the subway straight out of Brooklyn, hitch-hiked
across the George Washington bridge and headed south. I got as far as Washington
D.C. where I saw a billboard for the J.E. Ranch Rodeo. I walked over to the
rodeo master and got a job and never looked back.” (Let the listener beware,
Jack hates the term “Brooklyn Cowboy.” “It really offends me. It smacks
of phony labeling. Don’t they know Billy the Kid was born in Brooklyn?”)
Jack Elliot’s parents ( a doctor and a school teacher) finally found him
three months later and hauled his saddle-sore hide back to Brooklyn where
he finished school and learned to play the guitar in effort to escape from
the chilly streets of the city. Looking through songbooks and covering old
jazz standards he became an original interpreter of the music of Americana.
Soon after moving home he became friends with Woody Guthrie who was busy
living his own legend.
“Woody liked my guitar playing and we became friends right off,” he recalls.
“That was 1951. So I teamed up with him and ended up moving in with him
and his wife. Arlo was just about 4 then [chuckles]. Anyway, I used to look
over his shoulder as he’d sit there at the typewriter and knock off these
songs just as quick as you could blink. And each time they’d be perfect and
needed no correcting. So after watching that I realized there was no way
I was gonna top that and I decided it’d be better if I just did what I did
best and find the songs and interpret them the way they suited me. It’s
served me well all these years.”
Jack Elliot’s repertoire spans the history of American popular music.
From Gene Autry’s cowboys songs to back-road blues to the songbook of Woody
Guthrie, he delivers his version of the music that evolved as America evolved.
Each time he imbues his songs with a colorful flair for tension, emotion,
and wit. Like a modern day Will Rodgers, Elliot provides a theatrical edge
you come to expect from a person as road-wise as he.
His tenacity as a survivor and his stature as a performer have served
him well over the years. Jack was finally recognized for his work in 1996
when he won a Grammy for the “Best Traditional Folk Album” for his South
Coast (Red House) release. South Coast includes Elliot’s renditions of Guthrie’s
“Pastures Of Plenty,” Tim Hardin’s “If I Were A Carpenter,” and “Cocaine Blues,”
by the Reverend Gary Davis.
After 40 albums in as many years, he records today, much the way he has
lived his life—with spontaneity. “We recorded that album in three days in
a nice studio out in Minnesota,” he chuckles. “I just walked in knocked out
some songs and it got me a Grammy. The next thing I’m workin’ on has all
kinds of cameos and guests on it. Everybody’s helping from me Jerry Jeff
[Walker] to Guy Clark to Emmy Lou Harris, so I ‘spect it’ll do pretty good.
I got all kinds of good stuff on there, like “He Was A Friend Of Mine,” and
Trying to get a word in on the side I kept getting stuck mid-sentence
in our conversation, as Jack rambles on. “Did I tell you about recording
South Coast?,” he growls. “We were up there and the Mississippi was flooding
30 feet over it’s banks, like it is now and I caught some air-borne germs
from the flood debris and it infected my sinuses for nine months! Well I
tried everything, finally went to a holistic doctor and he gave me some ground
up tree bark or something and cured me just like that. Changed my voice though,
I’m a lot rougher than I used to be. Did I tell you about that? I tend
to ramble on a bit.”