September, 1936

Pete Seeger sits tuning his Banjo, absentmindedly. He hums the tune to Solidarity Forever as he plucks each string, trying to get the perfect twang out of each one. Finally, he finds the perfect harmony, and plays each string in tune.

Perfect. Lovely.

Woody Guthrie kicks in the door, causing Pete to drop his banjo, thus knocking all the strings out of tune again. He curses under his breath as Woody starts to say something, then stops, then starts to say it again.

"What? Is everything okay, Woody?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, everything is great. Listen, I hit my head while waking up this morning, and a revelation came to me."

"Um."

"The future is coming fast, isn't it? With them newfangled tubes down in Brazil, and of course, all sorts of new technologies for war is happening. Medicine, psychology, music theory, so much science, so little time, and so unguided, too!"

"Well, I guess. Is this a song idea, or--"

"The future needs guidance, Pete. The future needs a kind of syndicalism that is visionary, maybe even super-visionary-- no, ultravisionary! Yes, I like the sound of that."

"Umm."

"Technology, guided by and hand in hand with the ideology of the revolutionary working man! A truly scientific future for all of the good people of mankind!"

"I'm sorry, did you say something about hitting your head earlier?"

"It wasn't a hard bump. Think about it, Pete: While constructing a truly proletarian culture, we could construct a truly proletarian science. Science, Culture, Ideology, all bound together in a perfect trifecta of socialism!"

"Well, I mean, I guess it-"

"We could construct proletarian music theory! A music theory of folk music, of jazz, of whatever the hell! But what's more, we could go further than just music; A communard America on Earth would be an achievement, but just imagine, a Communard Moon, A Worker's Council on Luna! What would be next but Mars, Venus, who knows?"

"Alright Woody, you're getting a little wacky here for me. I think that I'll stick with making the music for the movement for now, I hope you won't abandon that, either."

Pete picks his banjo back up, and begins plucking each string again, placing each back in harmony.

"Oh, Pete, of course I won't stop, but this is more than just the music of the now; this is the cultural science of the future!"

Pete gives a harmonious strum to the Banjo as Woody finishes that thought.

"Well, that's something to chew on, I guess."

The two of them stand in awkward silence.

"Any good new song ideas?" starts Pete.

"Uh, a few. Nothing to speak of, really. You?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

"I guess it feels a little too early, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess it does..."

"Well, hey, maybe one-- or both!-- of us will have something good going by, hell, 1939, 1940?"

They both have a chuckle at that. That's a little silly.

As Woody leaves, he has a thought about something involving something being made for a "you and me", but he doesn't know what the song would entail otherwise. What would be made for you and me? Perhaps it'll come to him in another one of his "ultravisions", though hopefully he doesn't need to hit his head this time to see it. Perhaps, soon, everyone will be able to see it.