The Weavers

The Weavers possessed an unmatched background in folk and popular music, one that stood apart from any ensemble before or since. Their beginnings, the scale of their achievements, the pressures that abruptly halted their run, and the enduring appeal that sustains sales remain hard to account for, much as they defied easy explanation when the events unfolded. How could something as melodic and agreeable as "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine" carry subversive overtones?

The four musicians moved from widespread public acceptance and four million records sold to outright condemnation tied to the political histories of their members, then dissolved after just four years. Even with the surrounding disputes and the interruption of their momentum at its height, they reshaped popular culture nearly as deeply as any figure short of Bob Dylan; in fact, they prepared the ground for the 1950s folk revival, helped launch acts such as the Kingston Trio, and connected folk traditions to mainstream pop and topical songwriting, thereby opening pathways that later allowed Dylan to emerge. The pieces they composed or brought to prominence—"Kisses Sweeter Than Wine," "Wimoweh," "Goodnight Irene," "Wreck of the John B," "Follow the Drinking Gourd," and "On Top of Old Smoky"—kept appearing on new recordings and occasionally charting long after the quartet itself had passed from the scene.

Their story echoes that of the earlier Almanac Singers. Pete Seeger and Lee Hays first collaborated in 1940 within that ensemble, which enjoyed short-lived but notable radio exposure and issued topical folk recordings until its members' leftist politics drew scrutiny; the group found itself awkwardly positioned as committed Communists who had advocated pacifism and U.S. neutrality through 1940 and early 1941, only to shift course once Nazi Germany invaded the Soviet Union. In the years spanning World War II and its aftermath, both Seeger and Hays took part in efforts centered on global peace, civil rights, and labor issues. Late in 1948, Hays proposed assembling a new unit modeled on the Almanac Singers yet more systematically organized. The concept evolved through several stages, among them a briefly considered multiracial sextet that was ultimately set aside, before coalescing around Seeger, Hays, Fred Hellerman, and Ronnie Gilbert. Brooklyn-born Hellerman and New York-born Gilbert had encountered Seeger and Hays via People's Songs, an informal network of songwriters and performers established in 1946 in the basement of Seeger's Greenwich Village home to support postwar union and social causes. People's Songs began with considerable promise yet collapsed two and a half years later, coinciding with the broader left's setbacks after the 1948 election in which the progressive ticket of Henry Wallace and Glen Taylor finished last in a four-candidate contest. Immediately following that vote, Hays floated the idea of the new singing group; he, Seeger, Hellerman, Gilbert, and an initial fifth participant, Jackie Gibson, who departed shortly afterward, gave their first performance that Thanksgiving. The remaining quartet, first known informally as "the No-Name Quartet," played various New York venues and made one radio appearance through folksinger Oscar Brand before adopting the name the Weavers, taken from a play by Gerhart Johann Robert Hauptmann.

Their opening year involved a constant struggle against financial hardship. The members had aimed to back union events and progressive initiatives, yet discovered that the collapse of the Wallace campaign left few paying opportunities open to them. If 1948 had devastated the left, 1949 proved far worse, as reactionary forces, strengthened by Wallace's loss and an obstructionist Republican minority in Congress, launched direct assaults. Some incidents turned violent: during the late summer of 1949, rioting erupted at a Peekskill, New York concert, injuring hundreds at the hands of veterans' groups enraged by the presence of singer and activist Paul Robeson, who also survived an attempted assassination. Scrutiny of any folksingers with political content in their material, or of those who hired or recorded them, became routine.

Pete Seeger, the quartet's best-known figure, could command fees up to $15 at certain spots—schools still engaged him for children's programs—but that represented the ceiling, and the same rate could not be raised for the full group. The Weavers cut a few sides in the late summer and early fall of 1949 for the small Charter Records label run by former People's Songs supporter Mario Casetta; most remained unreleased, and the underfunded company folded in 1950.

A turning point arrived when the musicians, desperate to continue, auditioned for the Christmas week of 1949 at Max Gordon's Village Vanguard, a New York jazz club. Their reception was strong enough that the engagement stretched through winter and into spring at $250 weekly, divided four ways. Those six months at the Vanguard transformed their prospects. Weeknight crowds stayed sparse, yet weekend audiences embraced the quartet's straightforward, unadorned energy. By then folksinging had acquired an air of scholarly elitism, but the Weavers projected the opposite—four unpolished outsiders with no club experience. Their approach and growing popularity, amplified by the Vanguard's profile, soon produced favorable notices in newspapers and trade publications.

Through the Vanguard performances the group connected with Harold Leventhal, a young publishing executive. He admired their music yet candidly admitted his own limited business experience at the time and recommended manager Pete Kameron instead. They also drew the interest of Gordon Jenkins, one of the era's leading arrangers and bandleaders. Jenkins introduced them to Decca Records, where he held a contract, and arranged an audition before label head Dave Kapp; by the end the entire production team was listening and singing along. Initially uncertain how to present four white performers whose repertoire spanned gospel, work songs, and children's material, Decca declined. Only after Mitch Miller at Columbia offered a contract did Jenkins insist on moving forward; he secured an agreement and booked a session, placing the group on Decca.

Their first Decca release, a 10" LP of Christmas songs, drew little notice. The following session produced "Tzena Tzena Tzena," which reached number two, and "Goodnight Irene," which topped the chart for 13 weeks and sold two million copies as a double-sided single. Recorded just before the Vanguard run ended in June 1950, both tracks surprised everyone with their rapid success. Ronnie Gilbert had recently married and begun an extended honeymoon westward. As the couple traveled, they heard "Tzena Tzena Tzena" on jukeboxes and radio. A telegram urged her return to meet surging demand, and for the next year opportunities seemed limitless. Kameron secured high-paying bookings and television slots, while Decca rushed to record more material. Later critics faulted Jenkins's string and brass arrangements on originals such as "Goodnight Irene," "Midnight Special," and "Wimoweh," yet audiences accepted them and the members felt he had preserved their core sound within commercial conventions. They had no qualms about selling millions of copies of "Goodnight Irene," a song taught them by their friend Lead Belly, who had fought for recognition for decades and died the previous year. The label experimented with formats, even pairing the Weavers with baritone folksinger Terry Gilkyson on "On Top of Old Smoky."

The success proved fleeting, as they anticipated. From the first hit onward, the members foresaw that their earlier political ties would surface. Kameron minimized such associations by steering clear of union or rally bookings and avoiding overtly political material. Repertoire had always been assembled spontaneously; at the Vanguard, realizing their prepared songs would not fill demanded set lengths, they introduced numbers on the spot drawn from their individual histories, all chosen as suitable for club rather than political settings. Hays's upbringing as the son of a Methodist minister supplied a deep well of religious songs, while the others, with Seeger most influential after Hays, selected what they viewed as the safest and strongest pieces.

The irony was that their club and hotel performances remained so free of political content that the leftist press, including former colleague Irwin Silber in Sing Out!, dismissed them as sellouts. Then, in the summer of 1950, just as a 15-minute weekly television program was offered, the anti-Communist journal Red Channels targeted the Weavers. The show vanished, though the group recorded segments for Snader Television, an early syndicator, and bookings gradually declined. Records continued selling, with another two million copies purchased in 1951, led by "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine," their adaptation of an Irish folk song learned from Lead Belly. By then FBI surveillance had begun. The stigma attached to any dealings with those under watch or summoned before congressional committees was profound; careers could end, families divide, and refusal to sign loyalty oaths could cost teachers their positions or students their college enrollment.

For two years after the initial accusations in mid-1950, Kameron still obtained work in smaller northeastern venues whose promoters accepted the inevitable protests and threats. The group's visibility compounded difficulties: even an apolitical hit like "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine" drew constant fire, especially after Republicans regained congressional control in 1950 and the Korean War stalemate persisted. In effect, domestic targets substituted for unreachable foreign adversaries, and the Weavers' record sales and profits to Decca only heightened perceptions of them as a corrupting influence. Their sudden, largely unnoticed ascent itself became an affront, while their silence on the Korean War proved irrelevant amid the furor.

By the close of 1952 the quartet disbanded. Decca stopped recording them once distribution and airplay became impossible, though payments continued until the contract expired in 1953. Each member pursued separate paths. Seeger had never felt entirely at ease within a group format or with the compromises required. Over the next three years the public largely forgot them; Ronnie Gilbert and her husband relocated to California, Fred Hellerman taught music, Seeger played solo at willing schools, and Lee Hays wrote radio commercials.

In 1955 Harold Leventhal organized a reunion concert. Town Hall proved unavailable, so Leventhal instead booked Carnegie Hall, whose classical-music management remained unaware of any surrounding controversy. The event sold out, with hundreds turned away, and the performance was taped for release on Vanguard Records. The brothers Maynard and Seymour Solomon, who ran the independent classical label, issued the concert recording and a follow-up volume, initiating a new contract. Through these Vanguard releases and subsequent reunion shows, most baby-boom listeners and later folk-revival enthusiasts first encountered the group.

The Vanguard sessions were spare, featuring only the members' own instrumentation without added accompaniment; they are generally preferred to the earlier Decca material, much of which stayed unavailable in complete form for years. Seeger departed the reconstituted lineup in 1958 to focus on solo work. Ironically, the Weavers had already helped create conditions for such careers. Interest in folk material, validated by millions of copies sold of "Goodnight Irene" and "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine," had not gone unnoticed. By 1956 the Easy Riders, fronted by Terry Gilkyson and including former People's Songs members Frank Miller and Richard Dehr, scored major hits with "Marianne." Major labels explored folk, smaller ones recorded it, and the Kingston Trio's two-million-selling "Tom Dooley" in 1958 triggered broader acceptance. Collegiate groups proliferated, and even the once-blacklisted Seeger secured a Columbia contract. By decade's end, anti-Communist forces had lost momentum following Senator Joseph McCarthy's discrediting. The Tokens' 1962 hit "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," another version of "Wimoweh," further sustained the quartet's visibility.

Seeger's first replacement was Erik Darling, formerly of the Tarriers, who remained until 1961 before pursuing solo work and forming the Rooftop Singers. Frank Hamilton succeeded him until 1963, followed by Bernie Krause, an acquaintance of Hays, who participated in the group's final year, including the 1964 Carnegie Hall concert that reunited various lineups. The members then scattered, each staying active in music to different degrees, though Gilbert also earned a psychology degree. Seeger introduced Bob Dylan to established folk audiences and later stirred debate with songs such as "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy" about Vietnam. Hays saw his co-write with Carl Sandburg, originally "Wreck of the John B," retitled "Sloop John B" and turned into a major Beach Boys hit; he later mentored Don McLean, who also performed with Seeger.

A pair of Carnegie Hall reunion concerts in November 1980 marked the original quartet's last appearance together and became the centerpiece of the documentary Wasn't That a Time. Hays died the next summer, on August 26, 1981, at age 67, closing the original group's active chapter. The remaining members continued performing into the new millennium. Pete Seeger died in Manhattan on January 27, 2014, at 94; Ronnie Gilbert died in Mill Valley, California, on June 6, 2015, at 88; and Fred Hellerman, the last surviving original member, died in Weston, Connecticut, on September 1, 2016, at 89.

Two comprehensive box sets have appeared in the digital era: Wasn't That a Time on Vanguard, spanning 1950–1964, and Goodnight Irene: The Weavers 1949–1953 on Bear Family, focused on their initial four years. Kisses Sweeter Than Wine, a double-disc collection of previously unreleased 1950–1953 live recordings, came out on Omega Records, Vanguard's successor. Most Vanguard albums have been reissued digitally, and two compilations of the Decca sides have been released in Britain and the United States.

Heard today, the performances convey a striking timelessness. The very avoidance of controversy that alienated leftist contemporaries while enraging opponents on the right lent the music a breadth that more overtly topical songs of the period would have lost within a decade or two. At the same time, the quartet's unstudied manner, partly born of inexperience, imparted an honesty absent from the more academic folk approaches then common. The result is a catalog of several hundred songs that has endured.