A life of spirit and surprises

Two years ago, after several failed attempts in my youth, I finally grasped Odetta's artistry. On the eve of what would be her final performance at the Newport Folk Festival, I wrote a story for the Globe about why Odetta, who died Tuesday at 77, still mattered.

Specifically, I wanted to explore how someone born in the late '70s could come to revere a legend so closely associated with the civil rights movement, a tumultuous era far removed from my middle-class upbringing in Illinois. I concluded that I simply wasn't ready for Odetta when I discovered her in high school, when Joan Baez and Bob Dylan were my heroes.

I spoke to Odetta for that story, and I'm glad I did, even though she wasn't the easiest interview. She was receptive to my theory that sometimes we're not prepared to appreciate certain kinds of art when we first encounter them. "Well, of course, the music makes sense to you now," she told me on the phone from her apartment in New York. "Our world has changed so much since you were 18 and now you're 28."

True to her regal reputation, Odetta didn't suffer fools, especially late in her life, and then I made the mistake of asking what songs she would be playing that weekend in Newport. "I don't understand where these questions are taking us," she said curtly. Point taken, and after just nine minutes on the phone, it was clear I had gotten what I needed. She very politely thanked me for my interest in her music. We hung up.

Obviously, it wasn't personal, and besides, I couldn't be upset with someone who had inspired me so much. Every time I hear her voice - that majestic, booming instrument that seemed to descend from on high - I'm reminded of how transformative music really is. To me, Odetta harnessed a visceral energy, a vibe as fierce as her Afro, whether she was singing folk, blues, spirituals, or pop songs. I dare you to watch the brief YouTube clip of Odetta performing "Water Boy" in "No Direction Home," Martin Scorsese's 2005 documentary on Dylan, and not get the chills. Or maybe you'll feel a little terrified when she starts barking and bellowing as the camera suddenly draws back almost as a reaction to the force she unleashes.

As soon as I heard about her death, my first and only inclination was to pull out all of my Odetta albums on vinyl - hard-won treasures secured in the last minute of bidding on eBay. For such an icon of song, Odetta rarely gets enough credit for what she accomplished as a musician. She's renowned for her spirit, her conviction, her role in the fight for civil rights, but much of her catalog is shamefully out of print.

There are so many memorable Odetta moments on record, as stirring now as when they were pressed 30, 40, and 50 years ago. From "Odetta Sings Ballads and Blues," her 1956 solo debut, she sounds like a mournful siren who's lost her way on "Deep Blue Sea." Put on "Tomorrow Is a Long Time," from "Odetta Sings Dylan" (1965), and marvel at how she takes her time to illustrate the loneliness of waiting for a true love to return.

More recently, indie-pop auteur Stephin Merritt recruited Odetta to sing "Waltzing Me All the Way Home" on the 6ths album "Hyacinths and Thistles" in 2000. He later said Odetta had told him she thought the song was about two gay black soldiers during World War II, which was news to Merritt.

That was Odetta, as full of surprises as she was spirit, and the list of her unforgettable performances goes on and on. Now it's really up to a record label to crack open the vaults and get Odetta's full catalog back in circulation. After all, a national treasure deserves a national audience.

James Reed can be reached at jreed@globe.com.