stephen foster
Up through the years, I've read and heard several times that Stephen C. Foster isn't worth a cent. The vignette picture here should counterprove it, but he was a controversial person already in his time, for his ways of writing lyrics. But there are a few facts that can't be denied. Many consider him being the greatest songwriter of the nineteenth century, he was the first full-time professional songwriter in America, he is the only person to have written two state songs (Florida and Kentucky) and he's even been called "Father of American Music". Most of all; there is no doubt he was a brilliant composer.
Stephen Collins Foster (July 4, 1826 – January 13, 1864) managed to write more than 200 songs during his rather short career, starting at the age of 14. There is no evidence he was a racist, or had political convictions at all. He was simply a product of his time. And; really, are Americans much better nowadays, when it all comes down to dust?
There is no official biography; he left nothing himself, and his brother Morrison most probably shuffled things away for sheltering reasons. Among quite many varying efforts I found one from an academic point of view, "University of Pittsburgh". From the condition of that website, and the fact that I consider ALL .edu-sites on American servers being volatile due to the political situation, I ripped the text and put it HERE. Foster's icon at the bottom links to the original site, if still existing.
I've gathered a few of his songs, because I like them. Against my normal habit (skipping most signs and capitals except for names) I leave the lyrics exactly as I found them in the old Pittsburgh archive, because Foster was almost autistic in punctuation and spelling, and I respect him. I judge only the music. Don't shoot me; I'm only the guitar player.
This song was first published in 1851 for performance by the blackface musical troupe "The Christy's Minstrels", and first recorded by Len Spencer in 1892. Up to date, June 2026, 365 versions and 9 adaptions are registered. The subtitle is a misspelling of Suwannee River, Florida.
Way down upon the Suwannee River
Far, far away
There’s where my heart is turning ever
There’s where the old folks stay
All up and down the whole creation
Sadly I roam
Still longing for my childhood station
And for the old folks at home
All the world is sad and dreary
Everywhere I roam
O dear ones, how my heart grows weary
Far from the old folks at home
All ‘round the little farm I wander’d
When I was young;
Then many happy days I squander’d
Many the songs I sung
When I was playing with my brother
Happy was I
Oh, take me to my kind old mother
There let me live and die
:/:
One little hut among the bushes
One that I love
Still sadly to my memory rushes
No matter where I rove
When will I see the bees a humming
All ‘round the comb?
When shall I hear the banjo strumming
Down in my good old home
:/:
For the following CHORD section, fullscreen/horizontal mobile is recommended.
Chords in brackets may be omitted.
G G7 C Am7 way down upon the suwannee river G Em A7...D7 far far away G G7 C Am7 there’s where my heart is turning ever G D7 G there’s where the old folks stay G G7 C Am7 all up and down the whole creation G Em A7...D7 sadly I roam G G7 C Am7* still longing for my childhood station G D7 G and for the old folks at home D D7 G Em7 all the world is sad and dreary C Am7 [Dsus4]...D7 everywhere I roam G Em C Am7* o dear ones how my heart grows weary G D7 G far from the old folks at home
