Remembering Ed Kohn
by Seth Rogovoy

(WILLIAMSTOWN, Mass., Oct. 22, 1999) – The Berkshires lost one of its very best last June when Ed Kohn died. The loss of the singer-songwriter, who lived in Windsor, struck especially deeply in the region's folk music community, where Ed was much beloved for his talent as a writer and performer and for his warmth as a person.

That community will come together this Sunday, Oct. 24, at the Dream Away Lodge in Becket at 1 p.m., to pay tribute to Kohn with an informal "musical memorial." The event will feature local musicians and others sharing stories about Kohn and performing his songs round-robin style. There will also be a brief slide show about Kohn. The event is open to the public; for more information call Valerie Kohn at 684-1731. For directions to the Dream Away Lodge, call the restaurant at 623-8725.

I did not know Ed Kohn well. But I did know his music. I saw him perform several times in various different venues – at informal song-swaps, before a private audience at a house concert, and warming up the crowd for at least one nationally-known act. And I knew Kohn's recordings: "Pressure-Treated Town," "The Greens," and "Double Yellow Line."

Most of all, I knew Ed's songs. I knew them well enough to know that the best of his material ranked with the best of anyone's. Although Kohn wrote different kinds of songs – nature ballads, family epics, break-up songs, philosophical reflections -- his specialties were topical songs – in particular, satirical tunes that sent up socio-cultural trends – and children's songs, of which he recorded at least a whole album's worth, some of which were recorded and performed by the nationally-known children's duo Trout Fishing in America.

I suppose it says something about Kohn that his topical and children's numbers were his best, but not having known him well I hesitate to speculate on any connection between the man and the work. His songs do, however, manifest a keen intelligence tempered by a gentle wit. One of his most-requested tunes was "Velveeta." The genius of the song is you don't really know who the singer is poking fun at: the unsophisticated, blue-collar guy who prefers Velveeta to gorgonzola, or his pretentious partner who prefers Port Salut? Both of them, one supposes, as Kohn's target was seemingly pretense of any kind.

This level of subtlety pervades all of Kohn's work, which is partly why long ago I started calling him "the Berkshires' answer to Tom Paxton." Kohn was that good, but therein lies something else about Ed – something to which I suppose only I was privy. The relationship of the regional music critic to the aspiring local is a delicate one. I don't mean to make more of it than needs be made, but often performers of much lesser talent than Ed Kohn have expected much more from me in terms of public support. Others have approached with chips on their shoulders, complaining of how unfair it is that the world at large hasn't recognized their talent.

Again, Kohn seemed immune to the sort of pretense that informs either of these outlooks. Here was someone who must have known how good he was, what a talented songwriter he was – indeed, I told him several times myself, in person and in print. Yet not once did he ever indicate any feelings of frustration or resentment, toward me or the world at large. He never asked for any favors, but was simply very matter of fact when he finished a new recording or had a local gig planned. He was as generous with news of other local artists as he was with news of his own.

I never got the feeling that this was a case of insecurity or false modesty, equally annoying traits. It simply seemed to me that Ed Kohn knew the score. Just as he was able to apply his intelligence and wit to the contemporary workplace to come up with his modern version of a classic sea chantey, "Landlubbers' Lament," so too did he seem to have some innate capacity to see through to the truth of his talent and keep it in perspective, and not confuse his artistry with the insanity of the popular marketplace, in which talent simply does not figure as a value. More than anything, Ed just seemed to know himself, and be happy for the chance to share music with a tight-knit local crew of musical friends and hangers-on. Maybe I'm totally wrong about him, but that's the way it seemed from where I sit.

Several years ago one late summer evening, Kohn and I coincidentally showed up at the Dream Away Lodge on the same quiet night, when Leonora Toomey was still hosting weekly song-swaps. There was a small group assembled that night, many of whom seemed to be there as much for the cheap beer as for the music. Indeed, most folks seemed to have stumbled in unaware that there was going to be music that night.

Most of them were older men, a tough-looking crowd. I wondered how they would react to Kohn's well-crafted, somewhat sophisticated satires and parodies.

I underestimated Ed Kohn that night. He pulled out a trump card. He played his insanely silly child's song, "Six," in which the narrator asks a bunch of math questions, beginning with the easiest and working his way up to the impossible. Eventually a listener catches on that the answer to every problem is "six." It's the kind of humor that just knocks them dead in kindergarten.

I never saw so many tough old grown men laugh so hard. They had a wild time shouting out the answer to each question, "six!," and cracking up laughing, as if it was the funniest thing they ever heard in their lives. I never underestimated Ed Kohn again.

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[This column originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on Oct. 22, 1999. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 1999. All rights reserved.]