'Society' folk: Janis Ian reminisces on Philly festival

IT'S NOT EASY being a child star - just ask Britney Spears.

But for a much deeper and more satisfying response, from a survivor with a real head on her shoulders, check out Janis Ian's entertaining and enlightening tome "Society's Child: My Autobiography" (Tarcher/Penguin).

At the same time, you can tune in to her newly issued companion disc, "Best of Janis Ian: The Autobiography Collection" (Rude Girl Records).

Oh, and don't forget to catch this author and performer in concert, coming home to roost this weekend at the Philadelphia Folk Festival, in Schwenksville.

Offspring of lefty intellectuals, spoon-fed on folk music and jazz at a summer camp where Pete Seeger, Odetta and Richie Havens were instructors, Ian broke out big at age 15 with "Society's Child," a folk-pop lament about an ill-fated interracial teen romance.

Spawned in the era of civil-rights marches, the song won Ian rapt attention and praise from the likes of famed conductor Leonard Bernstein - who first showcased Ian's talent on national TV - and death threats from bigots.

It planted Ian on the front line of the burgeoning singer-songwriter movement of the 1960s, mixing it up with the likes of Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk, Judy Collins and Tom Paxton (the latter two are also returning to this year's folk festival). Ian's music also connected her to sympathetic rockers like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, who modestly introduced herself as "the other Janis" when in Ian's company.

A good chunk of the new book is focused on her years in Philadelphia. It was here that Ian sought refuge and psychiatric counseling in her late teens, when pressures of the business and stresses in her family life began to take their emotional toll. And it's here where she returned, time and again, to perform at the Main Point and the Philadelphia Folk Festival, which embraced the singer/songwriter long before the bigger Newport fest would give the kid the time of day.

I got on the phone with the artist (long based in Nashville, Tenn.) recently, to reminisce.

Q. Thanks for your kind thoughts about Philly in the book. What are your memories of our town?

A. Philadelphia is where I learned to be a real writer. Also where I learned a lot about recording techniques, interning at a local studio. It really was my second home. I lived in a lot of unpopular neighborhoods that have since gotten much nicer: near Elkins Park, near Germantown, then in the 3rd and Chestnut area and down near Chinatown.

The Main Point was always welcoming to me, even when I was between record labels and albums. And the Philadelphia Folk Festival was the kinder, gentler festival. Going there is still like going back in time. It was a seminal place in my life.

First year I went, John Prine's performance really knocked me out. I'll always remember Bonnie Raitt sitting at the feet of Muddy Waters - what an image. There's a picture of me and Odetta in the book that was shot at the festival. Really, it's been a constant in my life. I've been there 10 times in the last five decades. I know 'cause Gene [Shay, the dean of folk DJs and the fest's eternal master of ceremonies] looked it up.

Q. What's your agenda for this weekend?

A. On Saturday I've got a daytime workshop [11 a.m.] about my book, then I'm on the night stage. I don't have a clue how much time I've got or what I'll sing, but, hey, it's Philly, not to worry. Then on Sunday, I'm sharing another workshop [11 a.m.] with a vital young artist named Nicole Reynolds and her group, The Refugees.

Q. What took you so long to write your story?

A. I first got an offer to do a book when I was 16. If it had come out then, and I'd revealed I was gay, there never would have been an "At Seventeen" (her second, semi-autobiographical and career-establishing hit). Radio wouldn't have played it. And I might not have even gotten a record deal. They had moral clauses in the contracts back then about sexual deviancy. It really was a different world.

The last time I got a book offer, about 12 years ago, an agent from William Morris promised me a huge advance and a movie deal. When I turned him down, told him the time wasn't right, he warned, "Lesbians won't always be fashionable." You gotta love that line.

But the last four or five years really have seen a huge change. I think people have slowly realized, as I've always said, that there's a lot more to worry about than who's sleeping with who. Now we're worrying about things like affording heat for the house and paying for gas.

Q. I loved your anecdotes - Dylan "incoherently" propositioning you at the Philly fest, Jimi Hendrix introducing you to a dish of coke and you sneezed most of it away, very Woody Allen-ish. And Nina Simone, crazed on whatever and demanding royalties for "Jesse," a song she sang but you wrote. I wanted more of that. Why'd you hold back?

A. The problem with something like this, you have to make sure you tell the whole story but not so much that you wind up with four volumes. As it was, the book came out with 20,000 more words than I contracted for. I really wanted it to be a quick, fun read, like a John Grisham novel.

Q. Do you think there are life lessons here for young performers, especially given how you were taken to the cleaners by your label, your accountant and the IRS?

A. I don't know. I tried to tell a truthful story without whining too much, but beyond that, I don't know what people will think or make of it. The music industry is so radically different now. Things that I was just dreaming of years ago - like an online site where you could get music - have now transformed the business. I just hope enough people will find and enjoy the book. *