Folk Singers: Solitary Indian

She is a little girl lost behind a battered big-bellied guitar. Her dusky face, framed by a cascade of raven hair that spills across her shoulders and down to her waist, seems frozen in mournful repose. In a throaty voice edged with anguish, she sings some of the unlikeliest lyrics ever heard in a nightclub: But where in the history books is the tale Of genocide basic to this country's birth, Of the preachers who lied, How the Bill of Rights failed?

Then, with a shy hint of a smile, she says to the audience:...

Want the full story?

Subscribe Now

Subscribe
Subscribe

Learn more about the benefits of being a TIME subscriber

If you are already a subscriber sign up — registration is free!