Harry Smith’s Anthology of American Folk Music, Volume Four
(Revenant)
Like Joe Gould, the eccentric vagabond that writer Joseph Mitchell brought to life in the pages of The New Yorker, Harry Smith lived on the fringes of society despite a larger-than-life reputation. Smith was similarly prone to making wild claims about his life and work, yet unlike Gould, he actually created a body of work. Cineaste Jonas Mekas was an enthusiastic supporter of Smith’s drawn-on-celluloid films, as was photographer Robert Frank. Allen Ginsberg took Smith into his home during hard times. Yet for all his visionary work with film, his anthropological studies, his obsessive collecting, his illustrations, paintings, and recordings, Harry Smith earned a place in the hearts of music fans the world over for one reason: the Anthology of American Folk Music. Smith had been an ardent collector of folk 78s since the Forties; flat broke (a common condition), he eventually sold his prized collection to Moe Asch at Folkways. When Asch realized he had a walking encyclopedia on his hands, he invited Smith to anthologize the music. Released on three double LP volumes in 1952 (and re-released on CD in 1997), the collection conjured a timeless era, made up of late-Twenties and early-Thirties gems, designed, annotated, and sequenced with a singular vision. To call the Anthology influential would be a huge understatement; it awakened a generation of artists and fans to a lost treasure trove. Smith had originally envisioned four volumes, and while he offered numerous explanations why the fourth was never released, he most likely simply lost interest. Based on a tape and a few sketchy notes, his selection and sequence remain as he envisioned them for Volume Four, a well-annotated, lavish, and lovingly assembled 2-CD set. Most of the Smith fetishes are on hand; jug bands, murder ballads, hammer songs — all that’s missing are Smith’s notes and designs. Anchored in the depths of the Depression, nostalgia and grim views of the future lock this volume in history more firmly than the first three. True, the Carter Family, Robert Johnson, and the Monroe Brothers are no longer the unknowns they were when Smith assembled these anthologies, but even the most complete collections might be missing the soul of the Heavenly Gospel Singers, Al Hopkins’ hilarious “West Virginia Gals,” the Blue Sky Boys’ horrific and unforgettable “Banks of the Ohio,” Bukka White’s powerhouse “Parchman Farm Blues,” a mournful Blind Alfred Reed, or rollicking turns from Roosevelt Graves, and the Memphis Jug Band. While Smith bemoaned the futility of duplicating the impact of the first three volumes, the fact that Volume Four proves such a worthy successor is no small feat. 
This article appears in July 14 • 2000.