About the song
“Strange Fruit” by Billie Holiday is not just a song; it’s a poignant protest against the gruesome reality of racial violence in America. Penned by Abel Meeropol, a Jewish schoolteacher and poet, under the pseudonym Lewis Allan, this haunting ballad was first published as a poem in 1937 before being set to music and famously recorded by Billie Holiday in 1939.
The song’s powerful imagery, comparing the bodies of lynched Black Americans to “strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees,” shook the nation’s conscience, shedding light on the horrors of racial injustice. Holiday’s soul-stirring rendition of “Strange Fruit,” featured on her album “Lady in Satin,” marked a pivotal moment in her career and the history of protest music.
Despite facing immense backlash and censorship due to its controversial subject matter, “Strange Fruit” became a rallying cry for the civil rights movement. Its impact reverberated through the music industry and beyond, earning critical acclaim and recognition. The song’s significance transcends mere chart positions, as its legacy lies in its role as a catalyst for social change.
Billie Holiday’s rendition of “Strange Fruit” reached audiences far and wide, prompting introspection and fostering conversations about race, justice, and equality. Its chilling lyrics and haunting melody continue to resonate with listeners, serving as a stark reminder of America’s troubled history and the ongoing fight for racial justice.
In conclusion, “Strange Fruit” stands as a testament to the power of music as a tool for social commentary and activism. Billie Holiday’s rendition remains a timeless symbol of resistance, inspiring generations to confront the injustices of the past and strive for a more equitable future.
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Lyrics
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia, sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop