The words and accompanying jingle of the 18-minute spoken-word song, "Alice's Restaurant," catapulted Arlo Guthrie to fame in 1967.
The tune recounts Mr. Guthrie's real-life experiences at a hippie Thanksgiving dinner inside a church, a trip to a landfill in a Volkswagen van and hung-over dealings with the draft board.
The 1969 movie of the same name, directed by Arthur Penn of "Bonnie and Clyde" fame and often described as the first music video, forever tied the fifth son of American folk music icon Woody Guthrie to the Summer of Love, Woodstock and the height of hippiedom.
At 62, Mr. Guthrie said he's quite all right with all that. But he won't be playing "Alice's Restaurant" when he takes the stage at the Southold High School auditorium next Saturday.
"It's been off the menu for a while," he said during a phone interview last week before his show at the Fitzgerald Theater in Minneapolis. "I can't do the half-hour every night. It'd be like living in that Groundhog Day movie. It would drive me nuts."
Mr. Guthrie said he'll play "Alice's Restaurant" only on anniversary dates of the song, and that the Southold appearance is just one of a few "in and out" performances around the country before his lengthy solo tour kicks in.
He said certain signature songs like "Coming into Los Angeles," featured on the Woodstock soundtrack, and "City of New Orleans" are often featured in his recent shows.
He'll also play a few of his father's songs, many of which have become part of the country's cultural fabric: "This Land is Your Land," "Do Re Mi," and "Deportees," a song about the death of 28 migrant farm workers in the 1940s.
Born in Brooklyn, Mr. Guthrie grew up surrounded by folk musicians like Pete Seeger, Leadbelly and Ramblin' Jack Elliott. He often performs with such modern-day music icons as Willie Nelson, Judy Collins and Emmylou Harris, playing guitar, piano and harmonica at venues from bars to churches. He's even performed alongside the Boston Pops Orchestra.
Mr. Guthrie discussed his music and a gave his take on current events during an interview with a reporter from The Suffolk Times:
Q: When did you realize you had a knack for your particular kind of spoken-word songwriting?
A: As a kid, I didn't know a lot of songs. So I'd spend a lot of time in between songs, telling stories to justify why I was on stage [laughs]. That ended up being a major part of what I did.
Q: Are you seeing some younger faces out in the audience these days?
A: I actually am, especially the past two years. My audience was typically my father's peers [in the beginning]. Then I was able to gather my own flock and maintain them. Now I think I'm seeing their kids and grandkids.
Q: A song like your father's "Deportees" is still relevant, I would say even more so today, especially on the East End of Long Island with its Guatemalan workforce. Your father captured the emotion around these societal ills that will never go away, yes?
A: For sure. Some of the songs have changed their meaning over time. On the one hand, it's great that the songs were written with a long shelf life. But it's too bad the world still sucks. You'd have thought we'd have gotten somewhere by now.
I think the problem [of immigration] is about the same. Not only here, but around the world. When it becomes bad in one place, you naturally have to move. My father's generation got caught up in that too. The Depression and the big drought happened simultaneously, breeding doubt and fear.
Q: Are we on the brink of another great depression?
A: Well, I'm not a fortune teller -- but it ain't over yet.
Q: Do you ever feel pigeonholed as a hippie? Overly tied to the late '60s, Woodstock, the whole thing?
A: Not at all. It's like the wake of a ship going through. You can't deny that's your wake back there. I've always had fun with it.
In fact, I just found a tape that was recorded in late 1968. It was a concert I did with the Grateful Dead on Long Island, but I can't remember where it was specifically, it was so long ago. The tape had deteriorated over time, so I had it digitized. When it came back, it wasn't bad at all. When my kids heard it, they were in tears, holding their guts and just laughing.
There were songs on there that I hadn't remembered singing -- that I wrote! So not only am I tied to the '60s, I'm still releasing work from that era.
Q: So being the iconic '60s hippie forever is OK with you?
A: Oh yeah. Because the most important qualities of hippiedom didn't have to do with soap. They had to do with being free, with living your own life and taking care of yourself. Those were the values of the time, and they still have some value.
Q: Does the '60s-era hippie still exist in some form today?
A: I don't know. But there was a time when you couldn't work for the postal service if you had a mustache. We got through that idiocy, and now you can do whatever you want with a mustache. You can work a real job or you can be a flake. Nowadays, people are walking around in vampire clothing, and that's fine. So are suits and ties. These are the costumes of the soul.
Q: Are we freer than we were in 1969, then?
A: In some personal ways, yes. But we are less free with the overbearing rules and regulations, the constant Ralph Nader-isms. The state continues to protect people from themselves, from learning from their own mistakes and their own experiences. You didn't find that kind of idiocy 40 years ago.
Q: Have you ever defined yourself as a protest singer?
A: Yes and no. It's like being a farmer and going about your business on the farm, then having the black suits come in and tell you that what you're doing is illegal. So the idea of being an activist is not about protesting professionally. But there is an obligation to say something about the freedoms you had before they said "you can't do it."
Q: So as a musician, are you back to farming?
A: Well, we're still in Iraq. And there's the medical stuff and the money crisis, all affecting everybody in subtle ways. I might take some old songs and retune them [for today]. There are some things I'm not real happy about.
eschultz@timesreview.com
Arlo Guthrie Saturday, Aug. 1, 7:30 p.m. Southold High School Auditorium Oaklawn Avenue Tickets are $50 For advance tickets and more information call 734-6320 Tickets are also available by cash or check at: Cecily's Lone Lane Gallery, Mattituck Old Country Charm, Southold Peconic Liquors, Cutchogue JET's Dream, Greenport Barth's Drugstore, Riverhead