Cross of Gold is a reflection on the Farm Crisis and its aftermath. After the "get big or get out" policies of Butz's administration under Ronald Reagan, the small farmers of the US were caught in a perfect trap of high debt and low prices. American agriculture has always suffered from crises of overproduction since the settlers colonized the prairies and cut much of the forests, and turned once-rich, biodiverse lands into vast swaths of crops planted in monocultures.
These crises drove farmer movements ranging from the populist Farmer-Labor movement (the origin of Minnesota's DFL, before the Democratic Party devoured the Farmer-Labor Party), to the Free Silver movement (the origin of the term "Cross of Gold"), to farmer unions. After the New Deal there was a reprieve in the form of "ever full granary" policies which sought to stabilize prices and store over-produced crops for lean times. But as more complex machinery, fertilizers, and other inputs allowed the (near term, not sustainable) productivity of a single capital-intense farm to rise, the American ruling class saw an opportunity to gut the small farmers who had been politically unreliable and troublesome- prone to siding with wage workers on too many issues.
The Reagan administration engineered the consolidation of the agricultural sector by way of a debt-and-price crisis, at the same time as broader outsourcing, union busting, and mechanization gutted the power of workers across the former Steel Belt- now the Rust Belt. The consequences have included emptied out rural communities and shuttered rural schools, declining tax bases and social services in rural areas, and more and more kids that grew up on farms making the same choice I did- to leave and come to the city as a worker. The towns we leave behind are slipping into social decay and neglect, with deadly consequences.
The song reflects on the sacrifice of blood to the growing of corn- a tale which European colonizers told about the indigenous people as part of their justification for taking this continent. Yet, it is the cross of Gold which we live under, which demands blood sacrifice.
lyrics
D
That combine is a war machine, the widest yet I ever seen
A Bm
said get big or get out, they’re weren’t lying
G D
plant to harvest, life is filled with making ends meet at the mill
D A
and gettin’ out is just the same as dyin’
D
trawling fields like a golden sea, fish for corn or subsidies
A Bm
Fed into the silos by the tracks
G D
keep it going day by day, that river cuts the land away
D A
the rain digs out the soil deep and black
A G D
As long as the levees hold it back
Bm G D
And my father, said you’ve got two hands that you’re dealt
Bm D A
One you give freely when a neighbor falls behind
Bm G
And the other your hold pressed like a secret to your chest
D Bm
So when the plant was out he never crossed the line
D A D
Though said what’s yours is yours and mine is mine
My great grandpa was a refugee when he came from the old country
The King’s police were barking at his heels
In the city or on the land, either way you’re living by your hands
Either way the rich man finds a way to steal
The cavalry corp’s killing floor, stolen in the Indian war
The arrowheads still come up with the plow
he built the cabin out of sod and a rugged cross to a murdered god
To bless the crop, the sweat from off his brow
But you get nothing without more blood anyhow
God was a carpenter, built mangers for the shepherds.
He was a shepherd, trying to lead his flock to fold
But now the Romans own the rails, and these prices are the nails
And they crucify us on a cross of gold
They crucify us on a cross of Gold
The quarter’s on the auction block, some man buys land he’ll never walk
Another farm is fallen through the cracks
Boom to boom and bust to bust, everyone does as they must
Anything you’re given can be taken back
You each grow more, the grain gets cheaper, costs get higher, debts get steeper
Each auction is a player quit the game
The kids look through us and their sights are trained onto the city lights
Like a moth looks past the night into the flame
But this life’s already burned, so who’s to blame?
And the grass whispers the memories of a prairie
And the glass offers confessions from the rye
Waiting for the sun to set but it hasn’t got there yet
Watch it sinking in the corn fields like the price
The blood, God knows, has been the sacrifice
Emmett is a working class rebel musician- a union carpenter, former river deckhand, raised on a farm in central Minnesota.
With American country and blues and Irish traditional roots, he keeps the Long Memory going while singing about today's struggles. His work is rooted in social movements he's an active part of, from labor to defending the earth to fighting hate....more
Bright and skipping songs that foreground the sound of the banjo and fingerstyle guitar in music that feels timeless. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 5, 2020
This album speaks to the continuum of African diasporic culture that is central to the vibrant canon of Americana folk music. Bandcamp Album of the Day May 29, 2020
