"Four or Three Nights Drunk" (Joshua Salyers)

After Reading Stephen Winick’s article “The World’s First ‘Kumbaya’ Moment: New evidence about an Old Song,” I was reminded of a similar search for the origins of a folk song that I once conducted for my father. When I was younger and my grandfather (my dad’s father) would visit us, my grandfather would get out my small guitar and sing what he said was an old folk song while strum the instrument with coherent music. Yet, it was the words that he had remembered and consistently sang for us. With his rough voice the performance was funny and usually something of a joke. Yet, after he died, my father sought out things in which to remember his father. So, I began my search for a song I knew only as “four nights drunk.” The lyrics went something like this:

I came home one night as dunk as I could be…

Found a horse in the stable, where my horse ought to be.

I said come here my little wifey, explain this thing to me.

What a horse doin in my stable, where my horse ought to be?

(her reply in a woman’s voice):

You bling fool, you drunken fool, can’t you never see…

Why that’s just a milkin cow my mother gave to me.

(the husband):

Well, I traveled this wide world over, a thousand times or more….

A saddle on a milkin cow, I ain’t never seen before.

I came home the next night, as drunk as I could be…

Found a coat on the coat rack, where my coat ought to be.

I said come here my little wifey, explain this thing to me.

Whats a coat doin on the coat rack where my coat ought to be?

You bling fool, you drunken fool, can’t you never see…

Why that’s just an old bed quilt my mother gave to me.

Well, Well, I traveled this wide world over, a thousand times or more….

Pockets on a bed quit, I ain’t never seen before.

I came home the next night as drunk as I could be…..

Found a head on the pillow where my head ought to be.

I said come here my little wifey, explain this thing to me.

What’s a head doin on the pillow, where my head ought to be.

You bling fool, you drunken fool, can’t you never see…

Why that’s just a cabbage head, my mother gave to me.

(Slowing the song down a bit, it ends)

Well, I traveled this wide world over, a thousand times or more…

A mustache on a cabbage head I ain’t never seen before.

(I am aware this is only three nights but he never sang the fourth. But this is an excellent lesson in oral history and transmission. While he knew the name of the song, he never bothered to explain the fourth “missing” night)

The problem with my search was that my father was particular about the version of the song being close to the one my grandfather used to sing. However, I became somewhat obsessed with finding the origins of the song. Each version I found significantly changed how I understood the song. I have determined that, tracing the origins of a folk songs is a natural impulse, especially ones that hold specific meanings for us. Yet, just as Kumbaya was became a cliché or childs song, so too had my grandfathers song been sanitized. I quickly learned that “four nights drunk” was in fact an Irish folk song (seriously) and not original to Appalachia. The Irish versions varied as well but were usually “seven nights drunk” (the other three nights removed for good reason). The “nights” that were removed included some graphic details of the singer’s wife’s infidelity. At one point, he catches them in the act and asked why another man’s…..(you get the point and if not, look up the Irish version).

My initial thought was that my grandfather might have removed the crude verses, not a stretch while singing in front of me. Yet, my research had showed that while several versions of the song in the U.S. had four or five nights, the crude verses were almost never present. For some reason, this obsession with song origins changes our perception of the folk song itself. Why did it matter whether “Kumbaya” was Angolan or Gullah? It just does. Mostly, because of our obsession with authenticity but folklore collection in part of historical practice and the search for origins, whether of a song or the of modernity, have long been an obsession among many historians and folklorists.