Up the alley of “a folk singer unlike anyone else you’ve ever
heard before” we arrive (inevitably) at the complicated, complex figure of
Karen Dalton. Virtually all her singing can pierce you, yet her most
distinctive work, the traditional folk song “Katie Cruel,” will carve deep into
your being. If you’re brave enough to give a damn, the tune will absolutely shatter
your invulnerability. No small part of that reaction will owe to the song’s elusive,
riddling chorus. Ascertaining its meaning may resemble the impossible feat of
trying to catch echoes with your hands, yet may be crucial to comprehending the
entireties of Dalton’s tragic demise.
an all-too-brief
bio
After leaving Oklahoma in the early 1960s, the part-Cherokee, part-Irish Dalton
became a fixture in the Greenwich Village folk scene. Bob Dylan famously
referred to her as his favorite singer. Perhaps the most nourishing thing about
Karen Dalton’s career is that she cut a reluctant pose when it came to “success”
— unwilling or unable to clamber aboard the “ladder of fame.” Handfuls of
tragedies (such as heartbreaking stories involving her two estranged children)
contrast with the irresistible virtuosity of her music, though ultimately, she
drifted into obscurity. Dalton passed away in 1993 near Woodstock, New York. A
heroin addict, she had likely acquired AIDS through sharing needles. Some of
her recordings and live performances from the 1960s and 1970s have been
reissued, underscoring their persistent vitality. Over the last several years,
at least three documentaries (film and audio) have accompanied a resurgence of
interest in her music.
more on “katie
cruel”
The traditional American folk song “Katie Cruel” (sometimes titled
“Katy Cruel”) may date back to the eighteenth century. A 1939 work, Folk
Songs of Old New England, as presented by folklorist Eloise Hubbard
Linscott, situates the tune among the region’s historical “ballads, folk songs,
and ditties.” Linscott further describes “Katie Cruel” as a marching song favored
during the Revolutionary War. She offers notated music alongside an array
of lyrics.
Dalton recorded the song at least five or six times, often accompanying
herself on banjo. In some of these versions, she whistles. The most famous
rendition of “Katie Cruel,” however, pairs Dalton’s vocals and banjo with the violin
of Bobby Notkoff. This recording, captured on the 1971 album In My Own Time,
ought to puncture the thickest, most world-weary veneers. Where Dalton may have
whistled on solo renditions, Notkoff instead enters on violin, just bursting with
reverence for the song’s elegiac carpentry. It could be argued that both he and
Dalton understood the song equitably.
A few critics have approached Dalton’s
performances of the song. One writer, Rick Moody, correctly characterized
“Katie Cruel” as Dalton’s “signature tune,” yet misapprehended Notkoff’s role
in the song. He deems the effort “an intrusive fiddle.” Another writer, Barney Hoskyns, offers a welcome
improvement. In designating Dalton’s recording of “Katie Cruel” as being both
“darkly chilling” and “terrifying[ly] beautiful,” Hoskyns acknowledges the
accompaniment of Notkoff’s “spooky electric violin.” And by “electric” he may suggest
“plugged in,” or reminiscent of high voltage, or both.
dalton’s lyrics
Here are Dalton’s lyrics for your consideration as you
absorb the song. We suggest you especially meditate on the two iterations of
the chorus.
When I first came to town
They called me the roving jewel
Now they’ve changed their tune
(And) call me Katie Cruel
Through the woods I am going
Through the boggy mire
(And) straightway down the road
Till I come to my heart’s desire
[Chorus]
If I was where I would be
Then I’d be where I am not
Here I am where I must be
Where I would be, I cannot
When I first came to town
They bought me drinks aplenty
Now they’ve changed their tune
(And) hand me the bottles empty
[Chorus]
If I was where I would be
Then I’d be where I am not
Here I am where I must be
Where I would be, I cannot
At first appearing in town as an attractive
drifter, namely, “the roving jewel,” the speaker subsequently traverses the
woods and bogs as an outsider. No longer receiving free “drinks aplenty” at the
tavern, the speaker has been callously nicknamed “Katie Cruel.” In an equally damaging
turnabout, she is the recipient of empty bottles, a gutting twist of mockery. “Katie
Cruel” traffics in both estrangement and the tides of isolation. The potent
mystery of the song revolves around whatever led to the “changed tune” of the
townspeople. What had the speaker done, to deserve the withdrawal of their kindliness?
She’s not being stoned to death, as in Shirley Jackson’s famous short story,
“The Lottery,” but she is being shunned to death.
and the chorus?
The oppositional values of the lyrics may correlate with Dalton’s
own clashing presences. She was Dylan’s favorite singer, on the one hand, yet
didn’t succeed as a popular musician. As “the roving jewel,” Dalton arrived in Greenwich
Village and became a fixture during the American folk revival, but years later,
by then largely forgotten by her community, she grappled with the vagaries of
addiction and terminal illness. Her physical appearance, though marred by
missing teeth, was undeniably beautiful. Dalton therefore resembles the character
she sings about, in “Katie Cruel.” That she listed too deeply into the fictional
world of the song and began to resemble (or embrace) its outcome, cannot be
conclusively thrown aside. The lyrics are mournful without specifically
mentioning death, yet the tune obviously conjures the acids of loss through the
devastating grief of the music.
Dalton, of course, did not invent “Katie Cruel.” She adapted
the lyrics from the tune’s traditional form. It may be helpful to compare the
1939 anthologized chorus (from New England) with the chorus that Dalton frequently
recorded, as there are minor differences:
Oh, that I was where I would be
Then should I be where I am not
Here I am where I must be
Where I would be, I cannot
—Linscott, 1939
If I was where I would be
Then I’d be where I am not
Here I am where I must be
Where I would be, I cannot
—Dalton, 1971 (among other times)
The most important word in both renditions — given its
repetition — might be the indistinct locator, “where.” The speaker,
accordingly, searches for footing. “If I was where I would be” relies heavily
upon the conditional word, “would.” It imagines an impossible alternative journey, or era, and in doing so, confers a gloomy sense of irony on the ensuing line:
“Then I’d be where I am not.” Dalton alleges a certain inescapability when she
sings “Here I am where I must be,” that is, in the world of being dubbed Katie
Cruel and trudging the desolate landscape as an outcast. “Where I would be, I
cannot” trails off, cementing the singer’s demise. Since Dalton “cannot” situate
herself in the place “where [she] would be,” the listener, of a sudden, apprehends
the doom, the blow the singer cannot overcome.
coda
“Katie Cruel” drifted towards Karen Dalton
perhaps from the distant days of the Revolutionary War. She embraced the tune
and made it the “jewel” of her repertoire. She may have even resembled the
“roving jewel” she sang about, enduring multiple tragedies akin to those
revealed in the lyrics. The chorus itself doesn’t merely reinforce these
tragedies, but deals in multiple presences. It may conjure the way Dalton’s
song hovers about us now, preparing each of us for that solitary “going,” the
way we would be and the way we must be, as the late-day sunshine
glances off our fingertips and the love, like a fierce echo, escapes our
grasp.
sources of
information:
BBC audio documentary Sweet Mother KD (2016).
The Guardian article
on the 2021 Karen Dalton documentary film.
Barney Hoskyns. Small Town Talk. Da Capo Press, 2016.
Eloise Hubbard Linscott. Folk Songs of Old New England.
The MacMillan Co., 1939.
“Rick Moody on Karen Dalton.” icon. Amy Scholder,
editor. Feminist Press, 2014.
Washington Post article
on Dalton’s mysterious life (and 2021 documentary).
Wikipedia page for Karen Dalton.
Discographic information for “Katie Cruel.” Karen Dalton, In
My Own Time, fourth track. Traditional lyrics, arranged by Karen Dalton.
Recorded in New York, 1970-1971. Released 1971 on Paramount Records. Dalton:
banjo, vocals; Bobby Notkoff: violin. Dalton
recorded other versions of the song at other times and performed it often
during live appearances.
Karen Dalton was also featured in our “Unassailable
Vocalists” post from 2017.
