Maggie's Farm

 
His name was Peewee Charles.

Sometimes it's obvious, sometimes not so much, but there's usually that 'certain something' that gives a band that special sound.  We were talking about the Byrds in the comments of a Dylan post the other day, and it was certainly McGuinn's 'soaring' 12-string that made them stand out.  And, for that matter, make the new electric "folk-rock sound" so attractive that 'pure' folk artists such as Dylan and Baez eventually made the switch.
 

Byrds, late 60's

 
Which, if I may interject a little historical perspective here, was not a decision they took lightly.  As I noted in the Byrds post, I hated 'Mr. Tambourine Man' the first time I heard it just because it was so electric.  Like so many, I was of the Peter, Paul & Mary genre who believed folk music should sound like folk music.  "Electric folk music" sounded like an oxymoron.

But, as I also noted in the post, two years later I was in a rock band wearing official Jim McGuinn granny glasses playing Byrds songs on an electric 12-string, so I can certainly understand why such folk stalwarts as Dylan and Baez made the change.  It was seductive, to pick a word.  It was irresistible.

 
Which brings us to Gordon Lightfoot and Peewee Charles.

Lightfoot, too, was once a 'pure' folk artist, as I'll show tomorrow.  And he, too, went electric at some point, but I never thought much of him until he added that 'certain something' to the mix.  Something that, at times, made his music go from cheerily folksy to downright haunting:

Peewee Charles' slide guitar.

Got your headphones on?  Here he is near the end of 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald'.  Listen to the chord he strikes after "Gitchi Gumee".
 

 
Nice, eh?  He has a predominant spot in today's song and you'll hear him later in the week.  A true master of his craft.

So, Gordon Lightfoot is a folk singer, is he?  You mean like John Denver singin' 'bout Rocky Mountain highs an' Joan Baez singin' 'bout war, poverty an' injustice?

You mean that kind of folk singer?
  

 
Protocol 

 
Who are these ones who would lead us now
To the sound of a thousand guns
Who'd storm the gates of hell itself
To the tune of a single drum.

Where are the girls in the neighborhood bars
Whose loves were lost at sea
In the hills of France and on German soil
From Saigon to Wounded Knee.

Who come from long lines of soldiers
Whose duty was fulfilled
In the words of a warrior's will
And protocol.

Where are the boys in their coats of blue
Who flew when their eyes were blind
Was God in town for the Roman games
Was He there when the deals were signed?

Who are the kings in their coats of mail
Who rode by the cross to die
Did they all go down into worthiness
Is it wrong for a king to cry?

And who are these ones who would have us now
Whose presence is concealed
Whose nature is revealed
In a time bomb?

And last of all you old seadogs
Who travel after whale
You'd storm the gates of hell itself
For the taste of a mermaid's tail.

Who come from long lines of skippers
Whose duty was fulfilled
In the words of a warrior's will
And protocol.