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Country’s Joe’s Obscene Truths Country Joe’s Obscene Truths
(about 2 hours later)
It was time for the second act on the second day of a 1969 music festival in upstate New York, but the band, Santana, was having trouble getting it together. So the M.C. asked a performer hanging around backstage to go out and kill a little time. Reticent at first because his band was slated to play later that weekend, the singer acquiesced after he was handed a Yamaha FG 150 guitar, tied with a rope in lieu of a strap, and ushered onstage.It was time for the second act on the second day of a 1969 music festival in upstate New York, but the band, Santana, was having trouble getting it together. So the M.C. asked a performer hanging around backstage to go out and kill a little time. Reticent at first because his band was slated to play later that weekend, the singer acquiesced after he was handed a Yamaha FG 150 guitar, tied with a rope in lieu of a strap, and ushered onstage.
The audience largely ignored his eight-song set. His tour manager said that since nobody was paying attention, why not do the number he was saving for tomorrow night? The singer walked back out, alone, and called to the masses, “Give me an F!”The audience largely ignored his eight-song set. His tour manager said that since nobody was paying attention, why not do the number he was saving for tomorrow night? The singer walked back out, alone, and called to the masses, “Give me an F!”
That got their attention. They knew the routine. The crowd at Woodstock, half a million strong, rose to their feet and joined in Country Joe McDonald’s antiwar war cry, chanting along from the opening expletive all the way to the “Whoopee! We’re all going to die” capper. Captured in Michael Wadleigh’s Oscar-winning 1970 documentary “Woodstock,” the three rousing minutes of Mr. McDonald’s acoustic version of “The ‘Fish’ Cheer/I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die Rag” became the premier Vietnam War protest anthem.That got their attention. They knew the routine. The crowd at Woodstock, half a million strong, rose to their feet and joined in Country Joe McDonald’s antiwar war cry, chanting along from the opening expletive all the way to the “Whoopee! We’re all going to die” capper. Captured in Michael Wadleigh’s Oscar-winning 1970 documentary “Woodstock,” the three rousing minutes of Mr. McDonald’s acoustic version of “The ‘Fish’ Cheer/I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die Rag” became the premier Vietnam War protest anthem.
“I never had a plan for a career in music, so Woodstock changed my life,” Mr. McDonald, now 75, said in an interview from his home in Berkeley, Calif. “An accidental performance of ‘Fixin’-to-Die,’ a work of dark humor that helps people deal with the realities of the Vietnam War, established me as an international solo performer, then the movie came out and the song went on to become what it still is today.”“I never had a plan for a career in music, so Woodstock changed my life,” Mr. McDonald, now 75, said in an interview from his home in Berkeley, Calif. “An accidental performance of ‘Fixin’-to-Die,’ a work of dark humor that helps people deal with the realities of the Vietnam War, established me as an international solo performer, then the movie came out and the song went on to become what it still is today.”
Joseph Allen McDonald had been steeped in progressive politics long before he took the Woodstock stage. Born a red-diaper baby — he was named after Joseph Stalin — he grew up in a Communist household in Southern California. The family’s middle-class life was upended when his father, a lineman for Pacific Bell, was called before the House Un-American Activities Committee and lost his job, just as his son was entering his teenage years. Although his parents would later renounce Communism, Mr. McDonald had already seen firsthand how people could pay a price for their beliefs.Joseph Allen McDonald had been steeped in progressive politics long before he took the Woodstock stage. Born a red-diaper baby — he was named after Joseph Stalin — he grew up in a Communist household in Southern California. The family’s middle-class life was upended when his father, a lineman for Pacific Bell, was called before the House Un-American Activities Committee and lost his job, just as his son was entering his teenage years. Although his parents would later renounce Communism, Mr. McDonald had already seen firsthand how people could pay a price for their beliefs.
At 17, seeing the world and meeting girls took priority, and he figured the best option was enlisting in the Navy. “I’m not a pacifist, I’ve never been a pacifist,” he said. “I served three years and change, two in Japan, and it wasn’t a bad experience, I didn’t come out with anti-military views. I was proud to be a veteran, the connection I had with the other soldiers, but I also understood the military dysfunction of capitalism combined with a large bureaucracy.”At 17, seeing the world and meeting girls took priority, and he figured the best option was enlisting in the Navy. “I’m not a pacifist, I’ve never been a pacifist,” he said. “I served three years and change, two in Japan, and it wasn’t a bad experience, I didn’t come out with anti-military views. I was proud to be a veteran, the connection I had with the other soldiers, but I also understood the military dysfunction of capitalism combined with a large bureaucracy.”
After being discharged, Mr. McDonald tried college for a few semesters before dropping out and landing in Berkeley. It was the mid-1960s, just as the Free Speech movement on campus was morphing into the antiwar movement. Mr. McDonald doesn’t recall reading about Vietnam in the newspapers or seeing combat scenes on television yet; protest was just in the Bay Area ether. In the counterculture spirit, he started a magazine, Rag Baby, one of which was put out as an “oral issue”: A hundred copies of a seven-inch EP made and sold one by one. It included the first recording of the song that would go on to define Mr. McDonald’s career.After being discharged, Mr. McDonald tried college for a few semesters before dropping out and landing in Berkeley. It was the mid-1960s, just as the Free Speech movement on campus was morphing into the antiwar movement. Mr. McDonald doesn’t recall reading about Vietnam in the newspapers or seeing combat scenes on television yet; protest was just in the Bay Area ether. In the counterculture spirit, he started a magazine, Rag Baby, one of which was put out as an “oral issue”: A hundred copies of a seven-inch EP made and sold one by one. It included the first recording of the song that would go on to define Mr. McDonald’s career.
“I wrote the song ‘Who Am I?’ for a play I was working on, and after I was done, I literally paused, sat down, and banged out ‘Fixin-to-Die’ in a half an hour,” he said. “I was inspired to write a folk song about how soldiers have no choice in the matter but to follow orders, but with the irreverence of rock ’n’ roll. It’s essentially punk before punk existed.”“I wrote the song ‘Who Am I?’ for a play I was working on, and after I was done, I literally paused, sat down, and banged out ‘Fixin-to-Die’ in a half an hour,” he said. “I was inspired to write a folk song about how soldiers have no choice in the matter but to follow orders, but with the irreverence of rock ’n’ roll. It’s essentially punk before punk existed.”
In 1966, Mr. McDonald and his partner Barry Melton, whose nickname was the Fish, decided to move away from their folk music style and form a full-time rock band. The psychedelic sound of Country Joe & the Fish captivated the Bay Area scene. By December 1966, they had a recording contract with Vanguard Records, the home to progressive acts like the Weavers and Joan Baez.In 1966, Mr. McDonald and his partner Barry Melton, whose nickname was the Fish, decided to move away from their folk music style and form a full-time rock band. The psychedelic sound of Country Joe & the Fish captivated the Bay Area scene. By December 1966, they had a recording contract with Vanguard Records, the home to progressive acts like the Weavers and Joan Baez.
The band recorded and released two albums over the following year. Mr. McDonald considered putting “Fixin’-to-Die” on the first, “Electric Music for the Mind and Body,” but Vanguard’s president, Maynard Solomon, believed the song’s anti-establishment bent would prevent the band from getting radio play. So they saved it for the second album that year, “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die.”The band recorded and released two albums over the following year. Mr. McDonald considered putting “Fixin’-to-Die” on the first, “Electric Music for the Mind and Body,” but Vanguard’s president, Maynard Solomon, believed the song’s anti-establishment bent would prevent the band from getting radio play. So they saved it for the second album that year, “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die.”
During the recording session, Mr. McDonald made a spur-of-the-moment decision to kick off the song, and thus the album, with a bit of the old rah-rah. Harkening back to his days as the high school band leader, Mr. McDonald included a call-and-response with the other four band members. The “F-I-S-H Cheer” was lighthearted, as was the sound behind the pitch-black lyrics of “Fixin’-to-Die.” Country Joe & the Fish played up the song’s soldier-as-carnival-barker aspects, putting a hurdy-gurdy organ front and center, dropping kazoo bits throughout and capping it off with sounds of machine guns and a bomb dropping.During the recording session, Mr. McDonald made a spur-of-the-moment decision to kick off the song, and thus the album, with a bit of the old rah-rah. Harkening back to his days as the high school band leader, Mr. McDonald included a call-and-response with the other four band members. The “F-I-S-H Cheer” was lighthearted, as was the sound behind the pitch-black lyrics of “Fixin’-to-Die.” Country Joe & the Fish played up the song’s soldier-as-carnival-barker aspects, putting a hurdy-gurdy organ front and center, dropping kazoo bits throughout and capping it off with sounds of machine guns and a bomb dropping.
Initially, the song didn’t attract much attention. Things changed in the summer of 1968 at the Schaefer Music Festival in Central Park, when the band’s drummer, Gary Hirsh, suggested altering the cheer, replacing “fish” with a four-letter expletive. That act of defiance fired up the crowd of 20,000, but cost the band major exposure. A scheduled, prepaid appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” was canceled, and they were banned for life (although they got to keep the money).Initially, the song didn’t attract much attention. Things changed in the summer of 1968 at the Schaefer Music Festival in Central Park, when the band’s drummer, Gary Hirsh, suggested altering the cheer, replacing “fish” with a four-letter expletive. That act of defiance fired up the crowd of 20,000, but cost the band major exposure. A scheduled, prepaid appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” was canceled, and they were banned for life (although they got to keep the money).
In 1969, a warrant was issued for Mr. McDonald’s arrest for inciting an audience to lewd behavior in Worcester, Mass. (he’d eventually pay a $500 fine). The next night, some 75 police officers with billy clubs, sidearms and mace welcomed the band to Boston. They skipped the chant that night, but according to a story Mr. McDonald told on a live album, he shouted the expletive at the cops right after the show. The combination of the obscenity and the sneeringly rebellious vibe of the lyrics hurt Mr. McDonald career-wise, but of that song, he has no regrets.In 1969, a warrant was issued for Mr. McDonald’s arrest for inciting an audience to lewd behavior in Worcester, Mass. (he’d eventually pay a $500 fine). The next night, some 75 police officers with billy clubs, sidearms and mace welcomed the band to Boston. They skipped the chant that night, but according to a story Mr. McDonald told on a live album, he shouted the expletive at the cops right after the show. The combination of the obscenity and the sneeringly rebellious vibe of the lyrics hurt Mr. McDonald career-wise, but of that song, he has no regrets.
The altered “Fish Cheer” is “what makes it real, keeps it from being misunderstood as a fluff piece because the song starts off with an expression of anger and frustration, the ultimate act of protest,” Mr. McDonald said. “It’s been impossible for the mainstream to treat it in a noncontroversial way, even now, which is odd when you think of rap and grunge, but the cheer and the song married together made it art.”The altered “Fish Cheer” is “what makes it real, keeps it from being misunderstood as a fluff piece because the song starts off with an expression of anger and frustration, the ultimate act of protest,” Mr. McDonald said. “It’s been impossible for the mainstream to treat it in a noncontroversial way, even now, which is odd when you think of rap and grunge, but the cheer and the song married together made it art.”
By the time Mr. McDonald got to Woodstock, the cheer was well known among Manhattan hippie circles through the Central Park performance, bootleg recordings and underground radio, and thousands of his fans in New York made the trek to the festival. They were ready to go nuts when he called out for an “F.”By the time Mr. McDonald got to Woodstock, the cheer was well known among Manhattan hippie circles through the Central Park performance, bootleg recordings and underground radio, and thousands of his fans in New York made the trek to the festival. They were ready to go nuts when he called out for an “F.”
The same reaction took place across the country when the documentary and its accompanying three-L.P. soundtrack were released in 1970. Among its many fans was the singer-songwriter Steve Earle, then a teenager in San Antonio.The same reaction took place across the country when the documentary and its accompanying three-L.P. soundtrack were released in 1970. Among its many fans was the singer-songwriter Steve Earle, then a teenager in San Antonio.
“First off, my dad couldn’t believe he had to spend all this money on three records for his son, and then I put it on on Christmas morning, cranked it up, and I still remember when the ‘Fish Cheer’ came on and he comes sprinting down the hall just horrified,” said Mr. Earle, now 62. “We can make some of it into a sociological thing, and some of it we can make into the fact 15-year-old boys like to curse.”“First off, my dad couldn’t believe he had to spend all this money on three records for his son, and then I put it on on Christmas morning, cranked it up, and I still remember when the ‘Fish Cheer’ came on and he comes sprinting down the hall just horrified,” said Mr. Earle, now 62. “We can make some of it into a sociological thing, and some of it we can make into the fact 15-year-old boys like to curse.”
For Mr. Earle, though, “Fixin’-to-Die” was more than simply a foul-mouthed goof. It inpsired his career as a singer-songwriter and progressive activist. As a high school dropout, Mr. Earle played a coffeehouse near Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. He befriended members of Vietnam Veterans Against the War, including conscientious objectors who were sent over as unarmed medics, only to find themselves in the thick of combat. His first big audience was at a V.V.A.W. rally in front of the Alamo. He played “Fixin’-to-Die” from the back of a flatbed trailer.For Mr. Earle, though, “Fixin’-to-Die” was more than simply a foul-mouthed goof. It inpsired his career as a singer-songwriter and progressive activist. As a high school dropout, Mr. Earle played a coffeehouse near Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. He befriended members of Vietnam Veterans Against the War, including conscientious objectors who were sent over as unarmed medics, only to find themselves in the thick of combat. His first big audience was at a V.V.A.W. rally in front of the Alamo. He played “Fixin’-to-Die” from the back of a flatbed trailer.
“I was kind of their mascot. They liked I was a kid doing “Fixin’-to-Die,” Mr. Earle said. “People my age knew we were draft bait, and I already had the sense we were losing in Vietnam, unheard-of in America up to that point. And here I got to send out this shocking antiwar message to a couple hundred guys singing along. It was an early lesson about how powerful music can be.”“I was kind of their mascot. They liked I was a kid doing “Fixin’-to-Die,” Mr. Earle said. “People my age knew we were draft bait, and I already had the sense we were losing in Vietnam, unheard-of in America up to that point. And here I got to send out this shocking antiwar message to a couple hundred guys singing along. It was an early lesson about how powerful music can be.”
Country Joe & the Fish had their moment in the sun — Led Zeppelin, still mostly unknown, opened up for them at the Fillmore West in 1969 — but they fought constantly, and the band was effectively finished by 1970. Mr. McDonald continued recording, putting out more than 30 albums, including this year’s “50,” marking his five decades in the music business. The album has some of Mr. McDonald’s old progressive spirit, like the anti-firearm song “Era of Guns,” and he occasionally performs with the (much younger) Electric Music Band. But he says he’s more or less retired.Country Joe & the Fish had their moment in the sun — Led Zeppelin, still mostly unknown, opened up for them at the Fillmore West in 1969 — but they fought constantly, and the band was effectively finished by 1970. Mr. McDonald continued recording, putting out more than 30 albums, including this year’s “50,” marking his five decades in the music business. The album has some of Mr. McDonald’s old progressive spirit, like the anti-firearm song “Era of Guns,” and he occasionally performs with the (much younger) Electric Music Band. But he says he’s more or less retired.
Someday, “The ‘Fish’ Cheer/I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die-Rag” will be mentioned in the first lines of Country Joe McDonald’s obituary. It’s his legacy, one that both provided him with financial stability and quashed his chances at Top 40 stardom. Still, the song lives on. In the 2008 HBO mini-series “Generation Kill,” a group of Marines on Humvee patrol belt it out in unison.Someday, “The ‘Fish’ Cheer/I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die-Rag” will be mentioned in the first lines of Country Joe McDonald’s obituary. It’s his legacy, one that both provided him with financial stability and quashed his chances at Top 40 stardom. Still, the song lives on. In the 2008 HBO mini-series “Generation Kill,” a group of Marines on Humvee patrol belt it out in unison.
After all these years, what Mr. McDonald holds closest about the song is the way it was received by Vietnam veterans. He didn’t realize “Fixin’-to-Die” had reached the grunts in the jungle until he worked with Jane Fonda on a U.S.O.-style antiwar tour called Free the Army (coincidentally, it was also known by the other F-word), and vets started telling him how much they loved his American blasphemy. It’s a sentiment he has heard repeatedly. “I met a soldier who was in the Hanoi Hilton for five years who said the Viet Cong would sometimes let them listen to music,” he said. “Every time he heard ‘Fixin’-to-Die,’ it boosted his morale. That was a revelation to me.”After all these years, what Mr. McDonald holds closest about the song is the way it was received by Vietnam veterans. He didn’t realize “Fixin’-to-Die” had reached the grunts in the jungle until he worked with Jane Fonda on a U.S.O.-style antiwar tour called Free the Army (coincidentally, it was also known by the other F-word), and vets started telling him how much they loved his American blasphemy. It’s a sentiment he has heard repeatedly. “I met a soldier who was in the Hanoi Hilton for five years who said the Viet Cong would sometimes let them listen to music,” he said. “Every time he heard ‘Fixin’-to-Die,’ it boosted his morale. That was a revelation to me.”