The Animals’ The House Of The Rising Sun (1964)

If you’re a music his­to­ry enthu­si­ast, hours of fun can be had perus­ing the Roud Folk Song Index (https://archives.vwml.org/search/roud), the online data­base of around a quar­ter of a mil­lion ref­er­ences to near­ly 25,000 songs col­lect­ed from oral tra­di­tion in the Eng­lish lan­guage from all over the world, and named after its com­pil­er Steve Roud. It cor­re­lates ver­sions of tra­di­tion­al folk song lyrics inde­pen­dent­ly doc­u­ment­ed over past cen­turies by many dif­fer­ent col­lec­tors across the UK and North Amer­i­ca. Take Roud num­ber 6393, for instance: The House of the Ris­ing Sun.

Although wide­ly known from the most suc­cess­ful con­tem­po­rary ver­sion, record­ed by the Ani­mals in 1964, The House of the Ris­ing Sun is a tra­di­tion­al folk song with deep roots: it was first col­lect­ed in Appalachia in the 1930s, but prob­a­bly goes back much fur­ther, ema­nat­ing from the tra­di­tion of so-called “broad­side bal­lads”. A “broad­side” was a sheet of cheap paper used between the six­teenth and nine­teenth cen­turies to dis­trib­ute news and so on, but also, most pop­u­lar­ly, bal­lads. “Bal­lads” were nar­ra­tive rhymes and songs devel­op­ing from the min­strel­sy of the ear­li­er four­teenth and fif­teenth cen­turies, and which told folk sto­ries on every top­ic under the sun, from leg­ends and heroes and reli­gion to the more pro­sa­ic side of life.

The House of the Ris­ing Sun bal­lad tells of a per­son­’s life gone wrong in the city of New Orleans, and is a clas­sic cau­tion­ary tale, appeal­ing to his lis­ten­ers to avoid the same fate:

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Ris­ing Sun
And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know I’m one

Folk song col­lec­tor Alan Lomax not­ed that “Ris­ing Sun” was the name of a bawdy house in at least two tra­di­tion­al Eng­lish songs, and a name for Eng­lish pubs (Leeds dwellers may be famil­iar with the one on Kirk­stall Road, albeit now sad­ly dis­used). He hypoth­e­sised that the loca­tion of the said drink­ing hole-cum-broth­el was then sim­ply relo­cat­ed from Eng­land to the US by roam­ing per­form­ers. In 1953, Lomax met Har­ry Cox, an Eng­lish farm labour­er known for his impres­sive folk song reper­toire, who knew a song called She was a Rum One (Roud 2128) with two pos­si­ble open­ing vers­es, one begin­ning:

If you go to Low­est­oft, and ask for The Ris­ing Sun,
There you’ll find two old whores and my old woman is one.

The old­est known record­ing of the song, under the title Ris­ing Sun Blues, is by Appalachi­an artists Tom Ash­ley and Gwen Fos­ter, who record­ed it in 1933. Ash­ley said he had learned it from his grand­fa­ther who had got mar­ried around the time of the Civ­il War, sug­gest­ing that the song was writ­ten years before the turn of the cen­tu­ry.

In 1941, Woody Guthrie record­ed a ver­sion; Lead Bel­ly record­ed two ver­sions in the for­ties; Joan Baez record­ed it in 1960 on her epony­mous debut album; Nina Simone record­ed a ver­sion for the live album Nina at the Vil­lage Gate in 1962; and Bob Dylan record­ed the song for his debut album, released in March 1962. But it was the Ani­mals, Newcastle’s own blues-rock band made up of Eric Bur­don, Alan Price, Chas Chan­dler, Hilton Valen­tine and John Steel, who scored a transat­lantic num­ber one hit sin­gle with it in 1964 and made it their sig­na­ture tune.

The Ani­mals, The House of the Ris­ing Sun

 

John Newton’s Amazing Grace (1772)

Amaz­ing Grace is one of the most recog­nis­able songs in the Eng­lish-speak­ing world — who hasn’t been exposed count­less times to these icon­ic open­ing lines?

Amaz­ing grace, How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see

It was writ­ten in 1772 by Eng­lish Angli­can cler­gy­man John New­ton (1725–1807), drawn very much from per­son­al expe­ri­ence. He had grown up with­out any par­tic­u­lar reli­gious bent and after a time hav­ing been press­ganged into ser­vice with the Roy­al Navy, he became involved in the Atlantic slave trade. How­ev­er, in 1748 he was on a ves­sel caught up in a storm so vio­lent that he begged God for mer­cy and under­went (hav­ing pre­sum­ably got his feet back on ter­ra fir­ma) some­thing of a spir­i­tu­al con­ver­sion. There­after, New­ton gave up sea­far­ing, stud­ied Chris­t­ian the­ol­o­gy, and became a vocal abo­li­tion­ist. He once was lost but now was found.

New­ton was ordained into the Church of Eng­land in 1764, and took a post as curate at Olney in Buck­ing­hamshire, where he met and began to write hymns with William Cow­per (who him­self would become a cel­e­brat­ed poet and hymnodist). They wrote Amaz­ing Grace to illus­trate a ser­mon New­ton was giv­ing on New Year’s Day 1773 with the mes­sage that for­give­ness and redemp­tion are pos­si­ble regard­less of sins com­mit­ted and that the soul can be deliv­ered from despair through the mer­cy of God. It debuted in print in 1779 in their col­lab­o­ra­tive Olney Hymns.

At this stage, Amaz­ing Grace, like all the oth­er Olney hymns, was still rel­a­tive­ly obscure but it took off in the Unit­ed States when it was picked up and exten­sive­ly used by Bap­tist and Methodist preach­ers dur­ing the Protes­tant revival move­ment of the ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry (the so-called Sec­ond Great Awak­en­ing). In 1835, Amer­i­can com­pos­er William Walk­er set the words to the tune known as New Britain and this is the ver­sion you’ll hear today.

The song has unsur­pris­ing­ly become a sta­ple of Gospel music, and has also crossed over into sec­u­lar music with a par­tic­u­lar influ­ence in folk music. It’s been record­ed thou­sands of times in the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, from Elvis Pres­ley to the Roy­al Scots Dra­goon Guards; today though, I offer a ver­sion by Amer­i­can folk singer Judy Collins, record­ed in 1993 with the Boys’ Choir of Harlem.

John New­ton