In the evening, all of our household – Rick Best, Celia Ross, Bruce MacDonald, Kathleen Murphy – went to hear her concert, with the superb pianist Jeff Langley. Many of Bruce’s Reevaluation Counseling (RC) friends, plus many others we know, were there.

Holly and Jeff’s show was entertainingly heavy. She sounded more feminist than her records. Between the songs, she read announcements from local, progressive, and political groups.

My interview of Holly was recorded by Diane Schnieder, at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, Mass. on September 30, 1976.

After editing, I aired the 16:24 minute recording on my radio program Gaybreak, on November 17, 1976. On this version, Holly’s music ran throughout the entire interview.

Holly thought it better to only play the music between the interview segments. She was correct. I reedited. Version two aired on Gaybreak on February 16, 1977.

Here is the (version 2) recording of Holly’s November 17, 1976 interview.
No questions are heard, only Holly speaks:

The following is Demian’s transcription of the 1976 interview, with only minor edits for clarity and brevity:

         Music Clip: “It Could Have Been Me”
         on “And Still We Sing: The Outspoken Collection” (2002)

I used to be a singer, dancer, song writer, actress, and all these different names. After doing that in the daytime, I’d address leaflets, or something, at night. I was trying to find a way to bring all those things together.

My social concerns, which, early in my life where fairly naive and underdeveloped, but still there, in my music. Finally, I got the opportunity for those things to come together, when I went on the FTA show, which stands for Free the Army. It was a group of performers that traveled to entertain G.I.s and service women, who were against the Vietnam war and racism.

I didn’t have any songs to sing. I went through a lot of old, labor, anti-war, and civil rights songbooks, trying to find a program. I only had to do 20 minutes in this tour, but I wasn’t finding anything that spoke from my perspective, as a women, to what was happening in the world, in 1971.

When I got back from that tour, I started writing my own music. And to study how one can use their powers, as an artist. You do have power; I have a microphone here, people work very hard producing concerts, and all of you pay money to come hear or see. All of that together, means a certain amount of power. How can an artist be responsible for that?

Over the years, we’ve been trying to find how we can be workers, rather than stars. How can we demystify the art form, so that it becomes useful, rather than detrimental.

         Music Clip: “Water Come Down”
         on “A Live Album” (1975)

I tried really hard not to get set in my ways, because I don’t think any of our ways a right, yet. You have to stay flexible and be open to peoples criticism, to learn and change. If you’re a public person, you need to stay relaxed enough, without feeling the pressure of people attacking you, but rather see it as constructive criticism.

I wrote a song in the early part of 1970, called “It’s More Important to Me,” which is basically a song about friendship between women, after all these years of competing with one another over men. There’s a line in it that says, “Men come a dime for twenty, and for me that’s going to more than plenty.”

I wrote the song out of a real healthy anger. I feel angry that the first whole part of my life had kept me apart from women. I don’t want to deny that anger and where that song came from, and the importance of the song to talk about friendship with women. But, as that anger got turned into constructive political work, I realized I didn’t want to put a price tag on any human being. I don’t do the song much any more, unless I explain that.

There’s another line in it: “If he’s the man that your after, well, that I can understand.” The whole idea of being after someone, of possessing a human being that you love, it’s just not a good song the way it is now. I’d have to rewrite it.

That’s one of the questions I get; “Do you rewrite a song, or do you leave it, as is, in order to record your history?” In this case, I decided to leave it like it is, and just not sing it. If anybody want’s me to sing it, I explain all this before I sing.

“It Could Have Been Me” went through some changes. The first verse was about the students at Kent State. Someone reminded me that Kent State got all the attention, while the black students at Jackson State never got talked about; which was an inherently racist denial, that white liberals didn’t deal with Jackson as seriously as they dealt with Kent. I changed that verse.

Someone told us, just today, that the story about Lord Amherst, how the blankets were infected and then gave them to the Indians, has never been documented. Now we need to decide whether to tell a story that’s never been documented, because someone could challenge, or harass you about it, and wipe out all the other documented information. Or, whether you continue to use the story.

These are constant things that keep happening, and we need to reevaluate the music and every new addition in the songbook. For the books, sometimes edit the words, or show the different versions no longer used.

We’ve gone through the songs and tried to take out pronouns, so that the songs are useful for people who don’t don’t fall right into that “boy meets girl,” heterosexual myth that is so profusely laid upon us all from the day you were born with pink booties, or blue booties.

Those kinds of changes go on in the songs all the time. I like to get critical letters from people, who have new perspectives on the lyrics. That’s real helpful.

         Music Clip: “Broken Promises”
         on “You Can Know All I Am” (1976)

One thing you might be interested in, when FTA was touring in Viet Nam, we learned about their cultural workers. They have a Ministry of Culture, right up there with the Ministry of Defense. It’s clear when you talk to Viet Nam people they feel the cultural work – the songs, films, dance, television, radio – has equally important a part in winning the war, as did the military.

There’s an old folk tale about a farmer who has to leave the land. He has two chickens left. He gives one to a folk singer coming through, and the other to the leader of the People’s Army. It symbolizes the two things ultimately the most important to them; the defense of their nation, and of their culture.

The Ministry of Culture is divided in two parts; amateur culture workers and professionals. The professionals whole livelihood is in their artwork. If they were, say, a poet, they might have three months off to write their own poetry, and the other nine months working at a publishing house, or bookstore, some writer-related business, but they don’t have their whole life to do their own personal work, they have to serve the whole community. They get paid as writers. That’s their work.

Having amateur cultural workers is acknowledgment that there’s a lot of people who have skills and talents, who might not want to make lifelong work out of it. These people may be factory workers, who’ll get together at night to make a song and dance group, to perform for other factory workers.

We met some machinists who put together an amateur culture group. They would go down to the dock workers in Hai Phong, and would perform for them. They’re very good. Sometimes, they’re just as good as the professionals, if not better, but it’s not their life work, and they don’t get paid for it. It’s something they do on the side.

It acknowledges that everybody has different cultural talents. You don’t have to be a lifelong artist in order to share those skills. It’s wonderful. It takes care of the problems of stardom. Because there are highly respected professional artists, and you can respect someone without having to negate your own talent.

American industry promotes and perpetuates the concept of stars, because, if you make something very valuable, you can charge a high price for it. They want everyone to feel like lesser people, so that your stars, presidents, and congress people, maintain this sort of godly position in society. And everyone else feels incompetent.

         Music Clip: “Sister-Woman-Sister”
         on “You Can Know All I Am” (1976)

Most of the letters I get are from women, who say that their lives have been diametrically changed. They walk into the hall one way, and walk out the other.

I’m not saying this from a humble place, but I don’t think its anything we ultimately do to them. I think that it’s stored up, and all a concert does is give them a place to look around, and see other women reacting and responding. It just pulls the plug. It’s already there to happen. It’s just a matter of having the support to have it happen.

Or, someone who been feeling real uncomfortable about the society they live in. Whether it’s the food they have to eat, air they breathe, school they go to, or alienation they feel. They come to an event, and they see all of you.

I think a lot of what happens to people has to do with people who are at the concert responding. They look around and see people responding positively to the idea of organizing, women taking power, fighting racism, fighting nuclear power, and positive reactions to songs about lesbianism.

Whatever the thing is that’s been brewing inside of them is given permission to come out. I think that’s the most beneficial use of the concert. It’s why I really hope that people who go to concerts, of someone they like who sings, writes, or makes movies about their politics, will always take someone, who has not had that opportunity, and isn’t working within some movement, or organization. So that you all take responsibility for having it grow. Rather than the concerts being private parties.

         Music Clip: “Song to a Melody”
         on “You Can Know All I Am” (1976)

One of the reasons a lot of people had to leave the anti-war movement was because it didn’t take care of their lives. It didn’t provide for parties, rest, relationships, childcare, for lesbians to be part of it, for any of the things that people are going to need in their lives. You just can’t stay in that kind of intense situation, all the time, without your needs taken care of.

I don’t think there’s room on this planet for us all to be rugged individuals. I think we’ve got to start sharing wealth, ideas, food, and space. This comes back to the art and politics thing.

People talk about censorship, what about censorship in these political countries that have had their revolution? Are artists allowed to retain their individualism? I learned in Viet Nam is that this has to do with what are considered to be the priorities. This is where that word “individualism” comes in. Artists are allowed to develop their own talents. Because people are all very different from each other, they can develop them in those different ways.

But if an artist, for instance, wants to do a poster which perpetuates rape, they are not allowed to do that. You can call that censorship, or you can call that government protection of a women. The government has to decide which will be their priority, this artist, who is going to perpetuate rape, or this woman who has the right not to be raped.

In America, all of the support goes to the perpetuation of rape, and none to the woman who is being raped. Whereas, in Viet Nam, all of the support goes to the woman being raped, and none of it to the artist perpetuating rape. They’re allowed to have individualism, as long as it is not harmful.

They could say it’s not an individualistic community, or society. It’s not, in the sense that you can’t just go out and do whatever you want. There’s a lot more censorship in America, than there is in Viet Nam. We are censored by the fact that we don’t have access to the media. That’s a kind of censorship.

There’s not artistic freedom here because poor people don’t have the money to buy crayons. It’s a different kind of censorship.

         Music Clip: “Harbor Me”
         on “Simply Love: The Women’s Music Collection Album” (date?)

It’s a real predicament to figure out what to write. When you sit down, and there’s a thousand ideas in front of you.

This last year, I’ve been so inundated with learning about how unconscious I’ve been about women. That’s been taking up most of my energy.

Apartment mate Mark Jones and me go to Holly Near’s Boston concert. Superb, beautiful. Lots of people we know, including many (RC) co-counselors. Susan Freundlich’s signing was gorgeous. (I’d recently begun learning some ASL.) The concert was an inspiration.

At intermission, I wrote a note about my pending Sweet Corn show, an original play called “Inseparable Pieces.” It addressed themes of sexism, racism, as well as lesbian and gay liberation. It was a fund-raiser for the Boston Metropolitan Community Church. I hoped she’d read the note during one of her song breaks. I brought it, and one of our cast members, Laurie Brandt, to greet Holly backstage. Later, between songs, Holly read the note.

She also announced an upcoming concert that was just for women. A male audience member spoke out angrily, stating that he thought barring men at one of her concerts was sexist. While hostile in expression, I thought he felt genuinely left out.

She paused, read another political note. Then addressed his concern. She mentioned the fact that men so dominated all social events, that a women-only space was necessary for balance and safety. She also recommended that men organize male-only events that address their sense of entitlement, and treatment of women.

I was impressed by her answer, and more so by her waiting before responding to his angry remark. Her moment of silence allowed some of the reaction to anger to be dissipated, and gave her time to gather just the right response to thoughtfully address his concerns.

Walk to a reception for Holly Near at the New Words Bookstore. I mentioned to her we’d met about two years ago, during her show’s intermission. At that time, she had read the notice I gave her about my play. She asked, “How did the show go?” I said, “Not as well as I’d hoped.” I asked her if I could take a few photos of her.

Before I left, I told her that I wished her “good luck” on all she’s doing, and that I thought she was an inspiration. She’s rooted, centered, gracious, and thoughtful.

When meeting someone new, I’m often asked: “What do you do?” – usually meaning “what do you do for a living?” Over the years, I’ve taken many, diverse money jobs, however, they’re usually not connected to what I actually love to do, which is far more important than what I do for income.

The most important work for me is make movies, photographs, to write (often political) articles, plays and movie scripts, as well as acting and directing. I also consider my massage, teaching, and child care work to be very critical.

Holly sums it up for me when she talks about being a “Cultural Worker.” What I do, can now be explained simply: “I’m a cultural worker.”