Dave Guard and the Whiskeyhill Singers

The group idea began long ago - it had to. Everyone I asked to join said yes right away, so there must have been a lot of stored-up energy there. There are four of us: Judy Henske, originally of Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, and lately of The West; Cyrus Faryar, formerly of Teheran, London, Honolulu, Paris, and now Sausalito, California; another Sausalito dweller is David "Buck" Wheat, although born in Texas; and myself, Dave Guard, ex-Honoluluan turned Californian in Pale Alto.

In getting the group together, I was looking for three other people who were at least as interested in music as I, and so much better than I as far as performing the material that I would have to hustle every minute of every day just to keep my job. Also tops in requisites were both the ability to talk beautifully believable nonsense when it was called for, and the ability to cut a problem down to its essentials in a hurry and come out with answers that were both logical and sincere. At this point, I think I've gotten pretty close to the middle of the target.

Cyrus was the first to join. We were high school friends in Hawaii and it was many years since we had seen each other, but he had done lots of singing and dramatic work in school and I heard he had become a folksinger, and had in fact owned a coffeehouse in Honolulu for a time. A few phone calls and some outlandish promises brought him up from San Diego, where he had been singing on the same bill with Judy Henske. As soon as Cyrus got here, he started praising Judy's work, so I flew to Oklahoma City, where she was then appearing. When a performer moves me I laugh - whether the performance be funny or serious. I spent the whole of her show grinning from ear to ear, and Ada Moore is the only other lady singer who can affect me that way. So I told her that if she did good, she could be famous and have a ranch in Oregon with wild horses on it. O.K., said Judy. Then we had to wait for my long-time friend, Buckwheat, to finish a job which had taken him touring around the East, and that got us all together by December of '61.

The whole group reads music well enough so that we are able to kick around ideas in a fashion that makes rehearsing a joy, which is especially necessary when you have to get a blend out of four thoroughly individualistic voices. When we start learning a tune we're likely to be miles apart in viewpoint -- but by the time we finally put it into our program we hope to be pretty monolithic about it. Of course, that isn't the end of the song, for our musical background becomes larger with time. So don't be surprised if you ever see us in person to find that we've made changes in our approach since this recording was made.

We've tried to make our musical base as broad as possible and I don't think we're kidding ourselves into expecting that we will be equally communicative in all areas we attempt. But there is such a wealth of material from every inhabited spot on this earth, and from any time in history, that we've just got to try everything we think we can do justice to.

But enough of this furrowed-brow sincerity. We would all be hooting at the top of our lungs anyway, whether we had any noble purpose or not, so we might just as well stand next to one another and get paid for it.

Also we have one other shining credo: "The Hard Sell." We like our songs. No bones about it. We can't sing a song we're scared of; we have to be able to get wrapped up in the thing. So that's what all the hurry and-fuss is about. We rather like to believe that we're doing these songs for the very best people we know or would like to meet, all show business aside. We love our work, and we hope these songs will mean something to you.

side one

THE BANKS OF THE OHIO - This came from Pete Seeger one fine Cape Cod summer day a couple of years ago. Pete sang this macabre little ditty as a "happy" song and we've always thought of it as such. It works as a sad song if sung by a dedicated-enough musical necrophiliac, but if two or more people sing it, not one of them can keep tongue firmly in cheek.

PLANE WRECK AT LOS GATOS (DEPORTEES) - Was written in 1948 by Woody Guthrie, soon after he heard a radio broadcast reporting an airplane crash in the Los Gates Canyon, near Coalinga, California. The plane's twenty-eight passengers were Mexican migrant workers who were being deported now that the harvest and thus their employability were over. All died in the crash, and their only obituary was the brief news report, describing them only as "deportees." Guthrie poses some powerful questions in a beautiful musical setting written by Martin Hoffman.

THE BONNIE SHIP, THE DIAMOND - Heard several times, and always by Ewan McColl, famed British balladeer. This song tells its own story better than any modern pen can. Only two footnotes: The Davis strait runs between northeastern Canada and Greenland; and when you hear the word "keys," think of quays.

SHINE THE LIGHT ON 'ME (SALOMILA) - This was all the rage when Cy and I were in high school in Honolulu in the early 50's. Hawaii is so rich in musical influences that it's hard to pin down a modern Hawaiian song as derivative from any single ethnic group. The song enjoys a Samoan title, talks about a Japanese delicacy, has a Puerto Rican beat, has some lyrics from the Bahamas, is played on Spanish and Italian instruments employing Portuguese and German "tunings."

THE WILD RIPPLING WATER - This is more of a mood than a song, which we think makes it more of a song. If you have to ask what it's about, you'll never find out.

BRADY AND DUNCAN - Is the sad story of a partnership between a crooked policeman and a straightforward criminal. This arrangement terminated the usual way, with each man doing his duty as he saw fit. Few suspect that such things could ever happen in St. Louis, Missouri, but they do.

side two

RIDE ON RAILROAD BILL - Railroad Bill was a real person, uncoincidentally, who lived like a Robin Hood, a Jesse James in the Deep South around the 1890's (give or take a hundred years!). He was a train robber, but never really won favor with the poor people, as had Hood and James. Thus we find that the title "Ride On Railroad Bill" is the grandfather of the modern tune "Hit the Road, Jack." Road Jack is not a hero either. It's kept in the trunk of your car.

SOY LIBRE - Is what the Indians of the Andean Argentine call a bahuala.

WE'RE THE WORLD'S LAST AUTHENTIC PLAYBOYS - Shades of Hugh Hefner - it's about time that our young hedons had an anthem. With Dave Wheat furnishing the inspiration and his good partner, Bill Loughborough (rhymes with tough burro), spinning the screed, it's hoped that concert-goers and audioaudiences alike will thrive on this pair's fare.

NOBODY KNOWS YOU WHEN YOU'RE DOWN AND OUT - Is a fine old Bessie Smith blues, written by Jimmy Cox. Buckwheat plays the twelve-stringed guitar, Cyrus the Spanish guitar, and Judy takes the spotlight as a soloist this time. Hi-fi fans will be interested to note that the meter registers 15 db in the end there.

ISA LEI - Is the Fijian love song. It was written years ago by a medical student named Thomas, who fell in love with a noblewoman, the Lady Litia. The differences in their social stations intervened in their romance, and Litia (or Isa as he called her) was required to marry someone of her own rank. With her husband and her lover long since passed away, Isa still lives in the town of Suva, and often on long, warm twilights, she sits on her front porch and listens to the faraway voices of her people and her youth -- singing her song.

WHEN THE WAR BREAKS OUT IN MEXICO - Was written by Erich Schwandt and his sister, Mary Ann Moss, both originally from Paso Robles, California, especially for the Whiskeyhill Singers. It's based on an old music-hall and barbershop tune by the same title. However, the Schwandt children have breathed new life into this chant, and our hats are certainly off to them. Without a doubt it's our favorite Civil War tune.

Production Supervised by Henry Jacobs