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These are the right-wing extremists we’re watching out for in 2026
There was a cultural inversion in 2025. As Trump took over the country, “woke” concerns were eliminated from major companies’ priorities — topics like transgender rights became taboo, and social media companies eliminated fact-checking. Diversity went from being a good thing to a bad word overnight, and shitposting and trolling turned into the lingua franca of not only the government but of all American society; the Department of Homeland Security took to posting joking videos of ICE raids and even the assassin who shot Charlie Kirk allegedly carved memes into his bullets.
In short, the internet broke containment. Discourse that once remained quarantined in extremist corners of forums like 4chan, places the average person never visited, roared into the mainstream. Hatred and conspiracy theories that were once far too niche and too extreme to make it out of their dark corners were suddenly being imbibed by millions and normalized.
This change has been led, and capitalized on, by far-right live-streamers, podcasters and other online creators. These influencers have become some of the main arbiters of American thought, upending the existing political schema of right and left with the mix of ideologies and conspiracy theories they espouse. They largely appeal to disillusioned young men, an audience Trump courted heavily, and won by a large margin, in 2024.
The impact has been huge, particularly on younger generations who get most of their news and information online. In one recent roundtable discussion of Gen Z conservatives, run by the Manhattan Institute, a conservative thinktank, participants disagreed on questions of universal healthcare, abortion and other former mainstay issues of the American right. But many of them agreed that there were things to like about Hitler, and reasons to fear Jews.
An important thing to note is that many of the players are part of what one might call the Nick Fuentes Extended Universe; many operate in a shared ecosystem, doing videos together and riding each other’s coattails to a larger audience. It’s a type of clout-chasing that pushes the the entire online ecosystem toward antisemitism, misogyny and other forms of hate as a tried-and-true path to virality.
These are some of the online extremists we’ll be keeping an eye on this year.
Nick Fuentes: A neo-Nazi king of extremists
Last year, Fuentes, the avowedly antisemitic 27-year-old streaming host, went from being a pariah on the fringes of the right to the face of its new flank, and his army of conspiratorial followers, known as “groypers,” became the Republican Party’s most-desired demographic.
While Fuentes was deplatformed from Twitter, YouTube and most mainstream platforms in 2020 — thanks to his open endorsement of racism, antisemitism, Holocaust denial, misogyny and other hateful views on his streamed talk show, America First — Elon Musk returned his account to X in 2024. But the real key to Fuentes’ rise was the murder of Charlie Kirk.
Groypers had long shown up to events run by Kirk’s Turning Point USA events as part of what they called “groyper war.” Fuentes and his followers maintained that the young conservative movement headed by Kirk epitomized everything wrong with the party, namely that Kirk was too friendly to Israel and to people of color. Though Kirk was far from a moderate, the two represented opposing visions of the American right for their audiences of largely disillusioned young men.
When Kirk was killed, many experts who tracked the extreme fringes of the right suspected the shooter might have been a groyper. Though that seems not to have been the case, this significantly elevated the profile of Fuentes, who went on Tucker Carlson’s show and ranted about the problem of “organized Jewry in America.” Despite strong criticism from Republicans like Ted Cruz, Carlson defended the interview, as did Trump — “You can’t tell him who to interview,” he said — and Kevin Roberts, the head of the conservative Heritage Foundation, who called Carlson’s critics “the globalist class.”
Fuentes’ increased influence on the mainstream discourse of the right could be seen clearly in this year’s Turning Point USA’s AmericaFest conference, which took place after Kirk’s death. Fuentes fans and those influenced by his thought — particularly his harsh criticism of Israel — made up much of the audience, even though many also came to honor Kirk.
Key to Fuentes’ appeal is his ironic, trolling tone, which gives him plausible deniability for many of his more extreme statements; he has, for example, denied being a white nationalist, despite making statements like “The rootless transnational elite knows that a tidal wave of white identity is coming. And they know that once the word gets out, they will not be able to stop us. The fire rises!”
This plausible deniability is core to Fuentes’ strategy. “We have got to be on the right, dragging these people kicking and screaming into the future,” he said on America First in 2021. “If we can drag the furthest part of the right further to the right, and we can drag the center further to the right, and we can drag the left further to the right,” he continued, “then we’re winning.”
Candace Owens: A conspiracy theorist with reach
Candace Owens sounds like a crank. Once an employee of The Daily Wire, conservative Jewish pundit Ben Shapiro’s outlet, Owens was ousted in 2024 due to her antisemitism and general conspiratorial thinking, which has included the assertion that the moon landing was faked by Stanley Kubrick and that dinosaurs are “fake and gay.”
This may make her appear unthreatening; who could take that seriously? But her departure from The Daily Wire didn’t slow her down at all; she not only continued to espouse antisemitic conspiracy theories, but went deeper.
In the past few years, the podcaster regularly spread conspiracies about the Frankists, a little-known and long-defunct — though not according to Owens — group of Jewish apostates who supposedly control the government and media.
As was the case with Fuentes, Owens’ influence was buoyed by Charlie Kirk’s murder; she spread conspiracy theories that Israel, along with Emmanuel and Brigitte Macron and Egypt plotted the killing. No matter how absurd these ideas seemed, they gained so much traction that Erika Kirk, Charlie Kirk’s widow, met with Owens in December to attempt to quash these theories. She failed.
Owens’ conspiracy theories run the gamut from relatively random and harmless — her suspicion of France, for example — to virulently antisemitic; she has blamed “Zionists” for everything, including the Trump administration’s recent capture of Nicolas Maduro, and Kirk’s murder, and has also made more nebulous claims of Jewish control.
The rise in anti-Israel sentiment and increased acceptance of antisemitism on the right — JD Vance dismissed uproar over a leaked antisemitic group chat between leaders of the Young Republicans as “pearl-clutching” — has created fertile ground for Owens. With nearly 6 million followers on her YouTube podcast, and several million views on many of her individual videos, the wackiness of many of her ideas only serves to push the boundaries of what ideas enter the discourse on the far-right.
Tucker Carlson: An old-school pundit courting the new right
Tucker Carlson is not exactly a new figure to watch — his show was once a centerpiece of rightwing discourse. But after he left Fox in 2023, he fell temporarily into comparative obscurity. He began to stream his own show on X, but, for a time, ceased generating major headlines.
While he was lying relatively low, he took on a new persona: He revamped his signature look, exchanging his bowtie for a folksier checkered shirt and streaming from a wood-paneled cabin, and began sharing conspiratorial ideas about 9/11 and chemtrails, and offering increasingly harsh criticism of Israel’s influence over the American government that sometimes edges into antisemitic conspiracies.
When Carlson interviewed Fuentes in fall of 2025, he roared back into the discourse as a sort of kingmaker on the right. His outreach to Fuentes symbolically meshed the old guard with the new right’s younger and more extreme audience.
He continues to heavily critique the establishment Republican party, creating fractures that the Fuentes crowd can take advantage of to continue to shift the party’s ideology.
Adin Ross: Gaming streamer with a side of antisemitism
Ross made his name through gaming and video game commentary — largely Grand Theft Auto — on Twitch. He has been repeatedly banned from the platform for hateful and antisemitic comments.
The world of gaming streamers is often dismissed by those who aren’t in it. After all, video game expertise does not have any obvious relationship with news or politics. But many of these influencers talk as they game, and followers come to them not only to watch them play, but also to hear these defacto pundits’ opinions. Acknowledging the power of these streamers on the mainstream right, Trump made a 2024 campaign appearance on Ross’ show, where the streamer gifted him a Tesla Cybertruck.
Despite the fact that Ross is Jewish, he has allowed hateful rhetoric in his comments and has made similar comments himself, regularly rubbing his hands together to imitate the stereotype of greedy Jews. He has repeatedly hosted Fuentes on his show, as well as a slew of other figures who have made antisemitic comments that Ross has either laughed at or let go. He also regularly makes homophobic and misogynistic remarks. In the rapid-fire comments on his streams, his viewers reflect these ideas back at him, using the term “gay” as a slur and sending memes of the “happy merchant,” an antisemitic caricature of a hook-nosed, Orthodox Jewish man rubbing his hands together.
Ross is also kind of an idiot; famously, after someone in his chat called him a fascist three years ago, he looked up the definition while live streaming and was unable to pronounce it, or many of the words in the definition — including “authoritarian” and “ultra-nationalist.” Nor had he heard of the examples of fascists given, such as Mussolini. Nevertheless, Ross has 7 million followers on Twitch and nearly another 2 million on Kick, another streaming platform.
Manosphere podcasts: A broad web of influence
The so-called manosphere of podcasts is nothing new; it includes massively popular creators like Joe Rogan, Theo Von and Andrew Tate who run some of the most-watched video podcasts around. They sit around microphones speaking seemingly off the cuff for hours-long shows, and have massive appeal among young men, who turn to them for advice on dating and finances, and look to them as models of masculinity.
While Tate is overtly toxic, calling himself a misogynist, encouraging viewers to assault their girlfriends as well as praising Hitler and telling his followers to “bring back” the Nazi salute, many of these podcasters are less open about their extremist views.
Some, particularly Rogan and Von, take a stance of “just asking questions,” bringing on guests with extremist ideas such as Holocaust denial, and legitimizing those positions by engaging with them seriously.
Even if these podcasters are not overtly antisemitic, racist or misogynist, or might not personally share the views of their guests, their popularity means new audiences get exposed to ideas like Holocaust denial, making them a sort of gateway drug to extremism. As racism and antisemitism become more acceptable on the right, it’s likely these podcasters will welcome increasingly extremist guests than they already do, bringing their ideas to their massive audiences.
Joel Webbon: Christian nationalist internet pastor
Joel Webbon, a Christian nationalist podcaster and influencer who runs Right Response Ministries, is still slightly niche, but his ideology is on the rise.
His audience is largely devout Christians, but it’s still sizable, with about 150,000 followers on YouTube; he is one of what some many, including myself, have termed the TheoBros, conservative Christian nationalists who combine theology with the sort of life advice on masculinity, women and fitness that made Andrew Tate and Theo Von famous. Webbon’s tone of theological expertise gives him extra influence among young Christian men, who turn to him as something of a religious mentor.
Webbon has recently launched a new channel, New Christian Right Studios or NXR, which he calls “theology in practice” — Christianity applied to politics and society. Webbon has always advocated for ultra-conservative Christian political ideas, such as a Christian government and removing women’s right to vote. But the rebrand is a sign that he intends to engage more in targeted political advocacy, aiming for a larger audience than just the theology obsessives, and hoping to draw in the kind of red-pilled, conspiratorial young men that Fuentes speaks to.
As part of the new mission, Webbon has turned toward open Jew-hatred, Holocaust denial and white nationalism — a step away from an older generation of Christian nationalist pastors who, while extreme, stayed clear of such overt antisemitism. His X account is full of allegations that Jews are “marked by subversion, deceit and greed,” opposition to interracial marriage, and statistics about the declining white population. He also released a book titled The Hyphenated Heresy: Judeo-Christianity, whose subject is solving the “Jewish question” within Christianity, and arguing that the church has moved too far toward Jewishness.
In the past year, Webbon has spoken with open admiration for Fuentes’ ability to connect with young men. And, at the beginning of 2026, he released a 10-part series of videos in which he talked to Fuentes about such topics as “The Inner Workings of ‘World Jewry.’” This crossover with Fuentes, who is a devout Catholic and advocate of Christian nationalism, will likely bring a whole new audience to Webbon, who is ready and waiting with warped biblical justifications for his antisemitism and misogyny.
Clavicular: An appearance-obsessed streamer with confused politics
Perhaps the oddest entry on this list, Clavicular is what is called a “looksmaxxer,” a type of influencer who believes that appearance is the most important thing in the world and the key to success. Clavicular, whose real name is Braden Peters, gives advice to young men hoping to get good jobs and attractive women. But looksmaxxing is not just a lifting routine; it involves routines like “mewing” — pressing your tongue to the roof of the mouth to supposedly improve your jawline — intensive plastic surgery and even taking meth to “leanmax” and get defined abs. This is all in pursuit of a look known online as the gigachad — based off of a meme of a white man with a sharp, square jawline, bulging muscles and a beard.
Despite the obvious absurdity of this subculture, the 19-year-old streamer is on the rise. Both YouTube titan Mr. Beast and internet journalist Taylor Lorenz have said he is likely to be the biggest streamer of 2026.
Clavicular has yet to openly espouse much political ideology. But the subtext of looksmaxxing is white supremacy; that’s part of the gigachad look. And Clavicular also did a chummy hours-long video with Fuentes, exposing his audience to the neo-Nazi and implying a friendliness to Fuentes’ antisemitic and misogynist ideology. In the video, Clavicular said he got into looksmaxxing after being interested in politics in high school under the theory that his good looks would aid his ability to influence people politically. In the same conversation, he said that “saving European culture” requires steroids and looksmaxxing, and modeled his social media strategy on Fuentes’ own.
It’s hard to say where Clavicular is heading. But just as the gaming streamers began to include extremist political ideas alongside their video games, it’s likely that Clavicular will turn to the same tried-and-true strategy to grow his own profile.
The post These are the right-wing extremists we’re watching out for in 2026 appeared first on The Forward.
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Call Your Mother bagel shop, JCC were refuge during deadly DC shooting
As a deadly shooting unfolded Thursday in Washington, D.C., people fleeing the scene in the Logan Circle neighborhood took refuge in a bagel shop and a local Jewish Community Center.
The shooting took place at VIDA gym, and outside the gym in the street, just north of the White House. One person was killed, four were injured, and the suspect took his own life, authorities said, after barricading himself in his apartment.
The bagel chain Call Your Mother, located just around the corner from the gym, helped locals stay safe.
“We tried to get as many people who were running out into the building,” general manager Oscar Vazquez told reporters. “After that we locked the doors.”
The shop posted about the incident on its Instagram page. Many users commented thanking Vazquez for ushering people to safety during the crisis.
“We are proud of our shop’s General Manager for leading with care and composure through such a difficult situation, and we thank our entire team for supporting one another,” said the bagel shop in a statement to the Forward.
About 8-10 employees were in the store at the time, Call Your Mother owner Andrew Dana told The Washington Post.
The shop closed for the rest of the day following the incident.
“Obviously, selling bagels is not important,” Dana told the Post.
The Edlavitch DC Jewish Community Center, located a few minutes away from the gym, sent an email to its community members Thursday afternoon assuring them it wasn’t a target of the shooting and noted certain programs would be canceled for the rest of the day:
“Throughout today’s events, we have been grateful that the EDCJCC could serve as a safe, welcoming space for our community, including neighbors who were evacuated from their homes and the law enforcement officers responding to the incident.”
The post Call Your Mother bagel shop, JCC were refuge during deadly DC shooting appeared first on The Forward.
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In a family divided over Israel, which side would Tevye choose?
Sixteen members of my family spent two terrifying years concealed in the attic of a peasant’s home in rural Poland during the Holocaust. Their lives depended on the extraordinary courage of the Polish couple and on the hope that the world outside would eventually become a place where they could live freely again. When liberation came, the 13 survivors emerged carrying memories that would shape generations to come.
My mother was among them. Like so many survivors, she rarely spoke of the past, but its presence was unmistakable in our childhood. We inherited our parents’ anxieties, their sense of vulnerability and their understanding of how suddenly the familiar world could become dangerous.
For the generation raised in the shadow of the Holocaust, the establishment of Israel represented an extraordinary transformation in Jewish history. After centuries of persecution, culminating in the systematic murder of six million Jews, the Jewish people possessed a sovereign state capable of providing refuge and defending its citizens. For families such as mine, whose survival had depended on the willingness of a stranger to risk her life on their behalf, the significance of Jewish self-determination carried an emotional weight far beyond the ordinary language of politics.
For many younger American Jews, their understanding of Israel has been shaped by the occupation of the West Bank, the expansion of Jewish settlements there, the suffering of Palestinians and now the Oct. 7 attacks and the devastating consequences of the war in Gaza.
The result is a profound generational divide in which people who share a historical inheritance increasingly struggle to recognize one another’s moral reasoning. For parents whose understanding of Israel emerged from the Holocaust and its aftermath, challenges to the legitimacy of the Jewish state can awaken deeply embedded fears about Jewish vulnerability. For their children, expressions of unconditional loyalty to Israel can seem incompatible with the moral responsibilities they associate with their Jewish upbringing.
As I began thinking about how to explore these divisions dramatically, I found myself returning to Sholem Aleichem and Fiddler on the Roof. Tevye the milkman struggles to reconcile his love for his daughters with their rejection of traditions he has spent his life upholding. His conversations with God, his humor and his anguish capture something timeless about Jewish family life: the painful realization that the next generation may not embrace the values and beliefs that have sustained its parents.
I wondered what Tevye’s dilemma might look like in an American Jewish family today. The questions have changed, but the underlying struggle remains remarkably familiar. Where Tevye wrestled with his daughters’ choices about marriage and religious tradition, today’s Jewish parents may find themselves confronting children whose views about Israel challenge their deepest understanding of Jewish history and survival. Like Tevye, they must ask themselves how far they can bend without betraying what they believe, and whether holding too tightly to those beliefs risks losing the people they love most.
Marc Chagall’s paintings provided another source of inspiration. His floating violinists, suspended above the rooftops of Eastern European villages, evoke a Jewish world that has largely vanished but whose traditions, memories and anxieties continue to shape succeeding generations. The image of a violinist hovering above a modern Manhattan street became a way for me to connect that lost world to the lives of an American Jewish family struggling with questions their ancestors could scarcely have imagined.
Such tensions form the central conflict of my new play, The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue, which unfolds during a gathering in the Upper West Side apartment of a Jewish family. The evening descends into confrontation when the youngest son arrives with his anti-Zionist girlfriend, whose convictions challenge the father’s understanding of Jewish history and survival.
As the argument deepens, the son insists that Jewish identity carries no automatic obligation of loyalty to a state, while his father, for whom Israel embodies the aspirations and sacrifices of generations, demands an affirmation of the Jewish state’s importance. Their disagreement becomes so painful that the father orders the young couple to leave, turning a family celebration into an occasion of rupture and exposing the fragility of relationships that had seemed secure.
The father’s anguish emerges from a history that has shaped his deepest convictions, while his son’s resistance reflects a different understanding of the responsibilities that accompany Jewish identity. Each approaches the argument with the conviction that something essential is at stake, and each experiences the other’s position as a challenge to values that have become inseparable from his sense of self. Their inability to recognize the emotional and historical foundations of each other’s beliefs transforms a political disagreement into a crisis of familial belonging.
I recognize in this conflict an echo of the questions that first led me to explore my history. In 1988, I made a documentary about my family’s experiences, returning to Poland with my aunt and cousins to meet the couple who had sheltered our relatives. The journey was an attempt to recover a history that had shaped our lives while remaining largely beyond the reach of ordinary family conversation.
My mother’s generation carried experiences whose enormity often exceeded the possibilities of language, while their children absorbed the consequences of those experiences through the atmosphere of family life. The silence surrounding the Holocaust became a form of communication in itself, shaping our understanding of danger, responsibility and the precariousness of Jewish existence.
Today, the challenge facing many Jewish families arises from the intensity of their disagreements and the difficulty of sustaining meaningful conversation across them. The language of political conviction can leave little room for complexities, and can seem to contradict inherited experience, particularly when arguments about Israel become measures of moral character or Jewish authenticity.
I have experienced some of these tensions within my own extended family, particularly in conversations with younger relatives whose understanding of Israel differs sharply from mine. One nephew has been intensely critical of Israel’s conduct during the war in Gaza and deeply sympathetic to the Palestinians, while firmly rejecting Hamas. He accepted many of the accusations made against Israel during the war, including some that were subsequently disputed or discredited, such as an early account of a hospital bombing. Our disagreements reflected the different sources of information we trusted, as well as the different assumptions and experiences we brought to the conflict.
My nephew and I eventually recognized how quickly our conversations became heated and decided to try a different approach, exchanging articles, podcasts and other material that might help each of us understand the other’s perspective. Even that effort generated tension, and we gradually abandoned it, leaving Israel as a subject we largely avoid when we are together. I have often wondered whether the play might help us find a way back to those conversations, allowing us to recognize in the characters something of ourselves and perhaps understand why the same events can provoke such different reactions among people who love one another.
The fears of older generations deserve to be understood within the historical circumstances that produced them, just as the ethical concerns of younger Jews deserve serious consideration on their own terms. Acknowledging the suffering of Palestinians and the legitimate aspirations of their people can coexist with an understanding of Jewish historical vulnerability and the importance of Israel to Jewish collective life. Such recognition requires a willingness to engage with the experiences and convictions that give different perspectives their emotional force.
Families possess a particular responsibility in this regard because their bonds reach beyond the political positions of any given moment. Parents transmit values, memories and traditions to their children, but the meaning of that inheritance inevitably changes as children encounter the world through their own experiences. The continuity of a family depends in part on its capacity to accommodate that transformation while preserving the relationships through which its history is passed along.
In my play, the father eventually encounters a form of ancestral wisdom through a dream in which his family’s long-departed relatives return, including the milkman who, according to family lore, inspired Sholem Aleichem’s Tevye. These ancestors urge him to apologize for the harm he has caused and to leave the door open for his son, an appeal that places the preservation of their relationship alongside the convictions that have divided them. Family can and must prevail, even when the questions at stake touch the deepest elements of identity.
When I think of the 16 members of my family who survived together in that attic in Poland, I think of the extraordinary value of the lives that were preserved and of the generations that followed because a courageous woman chose to shelter them. Their story belongs to a history of persecution and survival, but it also attaches to the human capacity for solidarity and the responsibility we bear toward one another.
The generations that followed inherited both the memory of that vulnerability and the opportunity to build lives enriched by freedoms their ancestors could hardly have imagined. Honoring that inheritance requires an understanding of the fears that shaped our parents, together with an openness to the different moral questions that confront our children.
The future of Jewish family life will depend in part on our ability to sustain those conversations with generosity, humility and a recognition of the profound bonds that connect us across generations. Our disagreements over Israel may remain intense, and the questions they raise will continue to demand serious engagement. Yet the preservation of our relationships is itself an expression of the continuity that our ancestors struggled so desperately to secure.
We can honor their memory by keeping our doors open to one another.
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This 90-year-old Jewish performer and promoter is the Zelig of folk music
Harry Tuft was in a taxi with Judy Collins, who had her guitar with her. The cab driver looked back and asked if the two of them were folk singers. They replied in the affirmative.
“Folk music is dead,” the cab driver asserted.
“We kind of chuckled a little and said, ‘Oh, really, how come?’” Tuft recalled.
“Did you see Ed Sullivan last night?”
The passengers replied that they hadn’t.
“There was a group on there called The Beatles. Folk music is dead.”
To paraphrase Mark Twain, the reports of the death of folk music were an exaggeration.
“That was a time when, really, we didn’t know what was going to happen,” Tuft said during a recent Zoom interview from his home in Denver.
“I think it’s thanks to groups like Peter, Paul and Mary and maybe somebody like Joan Baez and Judy Collins and John Denver — people who were popular enough and smart enough to appeal to a larger segment of the population. They really kept folk music alive.”
The genre lived on, also, thanks to the efforts of the now-90-year-old Tuft, who was more than a bit player in the folk music revival during the 1960s. He founded the Denver Folklore Center in 1962 and, with others in 1979, founded the Swallow Hill Music Association, which presents concerts, teaches music classes for all ages and offers outreach programs. In 2012, Tuft was inducted into the Colorado Music Hall of Fame.
Tuft was also a link in the chain that led to Bob Dylan meeting the Beatles. He also may be the only nonagenarian who released an album this year.
“Friends, Lovers & Other Strangers” includes songs by artists like Bob Dylan and Paul Simon, as well as ones by some of Tuft’s friends. It also includes a cover of the Nat King Cole Trio’s “Nature Boy.”
“I grew up in Philadelphia listening to pop music of the day on radio stations WPEN and WIBG, and R&B stations at night,” Tuft writes in the album’s liner notes. “This song was popular across the board.”
Tuft’s paternal grandfather, Dr. Jacob L. Manasses, was the founder of Bushkill Farms Camp, a Jewish boys camp in the Pocono mountains. Tuft went to Indian Lake, another Jewish camp in the Poconos. A counselor at his camp played the ukulele. Tuft, who played piano and clarinet, soon acquired a ukulele. “I found out there was such a thing as a baritone uke and it turns out that the tuning of the baritone is the same as the four highest strings of the guitar, so I was already two-thirds of the way to a guitar,” he said. “It was very customary in those days for Jewish kids somewhere in their college years to go to Europe so I bought a Chimes guitar and carried it with me.”
Tuft intended to become a doctor like his father and paternal grandfather. But his grades weren’t good enough to get into medical school. Instead, he graduated from Dartmouth in 1957 with a degree in philosophy. He went to graduate school for architecture at the University of Pennsylvania with thoughts of being a city planner.
“But music won out,” said Tuft.
While at Dartmouth, Tuft met Pete Seeger at a folk club. Seeger met with the club members in the afternoon and performed that night.
“He was really intent on getting us as a group to go out into the community and see if we could find people who had songs to offer. He arrived in a blue Plymouth station wagon with his kids on a mattress in the back. His wife, Toshi, set up a display in the hall and sold Pete’s Folkways Records after the concert. Here was this icon, this important person in my musical life in the moment, and he was just getting along,” he said.
“He requested a large log, and did a song called ‘Didn’t Old John (Cross the Water).’ It included a place to swing the axe. Unfortunately, the podium was very slick and Seeger ended up chasing the log all over the ‘stage.’”
After graduating from Dartmouth, Tuft joined the growing folk music scene that was centered around the Gilded Cage in Philadelphia. There, he met his lifelong friend Dick Weissman, a banjoist and guitarist who was in the Journeymen with John Phillips, who would go on to found the Mamas and the Papas.
Tuft eventually ventured out to Colorado, where he auditioned at The Exodus, a Denver folk club.
Tuft was told about the owner: “If he was going to hire you he would be critical and if he was not he would be nice to you. And he was nice to me, so I knew that I wasn’t going to get a job there.
“I had a repertoire that was out of the ordinary, and I was never really attracted to the ‘quote’ popular folk songs,” Tuft said. “As a matter of fact, when it came to trying to make a living playing in the bars what they wanted to hear were the popular songs by the Kingston Trio or Peter, Paul and Mary or the Brothers Four, and I didn’t know those songs.”
“I’m a sucker for a story, I’m a balladeer. I love ballads. Quite often, I do ballads of 10, 12, 14 verses because I like the form so much.”
The Exodus owner said that he thought someone could make a part-time living opening a folklore center like Izzy Young’s Folklore Center in Greenwich Village. “I sometimes joke and say that he was right. I opened a full-time folklore center in order to make a part-time living.”
Tuft also sold records, instruments, strings and accessories and it was the strings and accessories that paid the rent.
The shop became a way station for up-and-coming folk musicians traveling between Chicago and the West Coast. When Bob Dylan made his first cross-country tour and played in Denver, he had his mail forwarded to Tuft’s store.
“Even then, he had an attitude about him,” Tuft recalled. “The following summer I saw him at the Kettle of Fish in the Village, and he grudgingly acknowledged that we had met.”
After a visit to Chicago’s Old Town School of Folk Music, he started a school for Denver musicians and soon branched out into promotion. His first job was for Joan Baez who sold out a 2,400 seat house in March 1964.
Baez was involved with Dylan at that time and wanted to get him to meet The Beatles, who were playing Red Rocks on August 26. Baez was scheduled to play at the venue a couple days earlier, so a plan was hatched for her to come out a few days early so that she could meet the lads and arrange for them to meet Dylan in New York, where The Beatles were going after Denver.
The day before The Beatles’ show, Tuft and Baez went to see A Hard Day’s Night. The musicians met before The Beatles show and Tuft recalled that Baez and the band members were deferential to one another. Except for Ringo, who wasn’t interested and was reading a comic book.
Tuft also brought the Mamas and the Papas to Denver’s Municipal Auditorium Theater with 7,600 seats in 1966. Richard “Dick” Lamm, a friend and lawyer, fronted him $5,000 for the guarantee. Lamm later admitted that he had absolutely no idea who the Mamas and the Papas were. “That showed the amount of trust he had in me,” Tuft said. “And he said he was nervous until a week before the concert until they were on the cover of Life magazine.” Lamm used his profits to fund his first run for the Denver statehouse.
Later, John Denver offered his services for a benefit Tuft organized and helped raise more than $40,000 for Lamm’s successful run for governor.
Folk music endures, Tuft said, “because the best of folk music involves music. And the best of music is melodic. And whatever it is in our physical makeup that involves not just the heartbeat, which is our basic rhythm, but something about our voice, maybe, and the way we speak and our desire to communicate that all put together leads to somebody creating a song about something that happened, and if the kernel of it, either the music or the words, or both are such that people like it and repeat it and you get musical history, and history of countries and our country in particular, of the songs.”
Tuft is already putting together his next album — a double album of cowboy and western songs, traditional on one side and contemporary on the other.
“I’m a song addict,” Tuft said. “And I like to think that I have pretty decent taste in songs. Nothing pleases me more than to be able to find a new song, make it my own, and pass it on and open it up to whatever audience I’m able to bring together.”
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