The Church with One Bell - John Martyn

Track list:

1. He's Got All the Whiskey
2. God's Song
3. How Fortunate the Man with None
4. Small Town Talk
5. Excuse Me Mister
6. Strange Fruit
7. The Sky Is Crying
8. Glory Box
9. Feel So Bad
10. Death Don't Have Mercy
11. How Fortunate the Man with None (Original Version)

Running time: 47 minutes
Released: 1998

This album contains one of my favourite cover songs of all time. Martyn's take on Portishead's Glory Box is inspired. I don't have that much of Martyn's back catalog - just this, Solid Air, and his debut, London Conversation. I'm not quite sure why I have such spotty coverage but there we go. Time to see what the rest of this covers album is made of.

I don't actually recgonise any of the songs here besides Glory Box for their titles, or the listing of composers in the track metadata, so it is a bit of a voyage into the unknown in that sense. The opening number is a smoothly grooved track, with Martyn's sometimes gruff voice is applied in a hushed and softened manner. The tune is not revolutionary, the lyrics not great, but the overall vibe is much more positive. Mood is a massive thing in music and where Diagrams managed to butcher the mood on Chromatics with some very bland arrangements, here the tunes maybe simple but they hit the nail on the head, and support the central draw, our star's vocal.

There is a lot to be said for execution; the band here do just that. It could just be that I am in a more positive mood today, though.

Things get a bit weirder on How Fortunate the Man with None (which appears again at the end of the disc; apparently originally a secret track, my copy - digital purchase, I think - has it credited natively). There is a shift to the main structure of the piece, losing the easy, bluesy nature of the first couple in favour of a busier sound. Electronics creeping in to form a rather off-putting loop. I say off-putting because it rather dominates the tune, and frankly its not an interesting hook. There is some decent drumming around it, but Martyn's voice is subsumed into this underwhelming, synthetic sound, killing the majesty some. Thankfully it seems to be a one-track experiment.

Martyn had great resonance, a full sound, magnetic and with a natural depth to it creating a warm sound. His voice sits so well with slow, sparse, bassy tracks. Together this creates a comfort blanket in aural form, wrapping me up and captivating my ears. This is a laid back album for the most part, a late night album in some ways; it's early afternoon now but the sheer cool of the man, his band and their source material succeed in slowing things right down. I probably need more John Martyn records.

Strange Fruit switches things up a little, opening with a sedate piano melody that lasts 80 seconds before the vocal joins in. There is a touch of percussion in there too but this track is sparse. I love the slow tempo, the vocal becoming a drawl on the low notes; it drips atmosphere and reminds me a little of Tom Waits, only more welcoming. Martyn is a better singer, his voice smoother than Waits' I think, though I would be hard pressed to say which I prefer. The slow pace is a feature of a number of tracks here, but its effect is variable. I find it less endearing on The Sky is Crying, for example.

Musically, Glory Box is a faithful cover, upright bass taking on the riff with aplomb, but the real standout is the soulful way Martyn delivers the lyrics. He turns the track - always a downtempo classic - into a blues masterpiece. There is so much character in his low, meandering take - pretty sure he injects some new lines in places - that it really is magnetic. I have always loved the original track; covers are often difficult in that situation, but this one nails the aesthetic of the track so perfectly, whilst migrating it genre-wise. I put it easily alongside Portishead's version as an equal, if not a slight improvement on it.

Feel So Bad gets an injection of life; a livelier riff - and a better use of electronica than we heard earlier - switch up the overall tone, which the tune probably needed not to pale in comparison with what came before. The quicker, louder nature of the song cleanses the palette and so obviously distances itself from Glory Box that it doesn't suffer. It is a palette cleanser, too; the slow, low sound returns after one track away. I think this is album craft, a dying skill in the day of streaming and downloads. Death Don't Have Mercy gets to return to the style used to smash earlier efforts out of the park and still stand up brilliantly because we were pulled out of our soulful reverie for a short time.

Ah, now. The "original version" (metadata tag line, not mine) of How Fortunate the Man with None that I close on... this is much more accessible, more enjoyable than the credited version. This has life, soul and more organic sound. This has a clearer vocal, no dubious electronics and a groovier bass and drums. This is good, good enough for me to ditch track 3 and be happy to lose it. Everything else? Everything else is staying because everything else is pretty darn great.

The Best of British Folk [Castle] - Various Artists

Track list:

1. Streets of London - Ralph McTell
2. Colours - Donovan
3. Light Flight (Take Three Girls Theme) - Pentangle
4. Needle of Death - Bert Jansch
5. Her Father Didn't Like Me Anyway - The Humblebums
6. Mirrors - Sally Oldfield
7. Candy Man - John Renbourn
8. The Times They Are A-Changin' - The Ian Campbell Folk Group
9. I'm So Confused - Mick Softly
10. Boadicea - Dave Swarbrick
11. Both Sides Now - The Johnstons
12. The Alchemist and the Pedler - Dransfield
13. Bright Phoebus - Mike and Lal Waterson
14. Timeless and Strange - Keith Christmas
15. Stargazer - Shelagh McDonald
16. Breakdown of the Song - Decameron
17. When I Was on Horseback - Steeleye Span
18. Fiddler's Green - Tim Hart & Maddy Prior
19. Mary Skeffington - Gerry Rafferty
20. Matty Groves - Fairport Convention

Released: 1995
Running time: 79 minutes

What to say about this? It was probably a mistake, a quick unthinking purchase when I first realised I was getting into folk. It certainly feels that 1995 should be more like 1975 in terms of release and that this represents as much of what was wrong with folk music than what is right about it but we'll see. I recognise a few of the performers and a couple of the songs. Will this turn into the rag on cluelessness hour?

We open with Streets of London, a classic of sorts. Actually not a bad song, but I cannot hear it without thinking of a Big Train sketch where McTell is forced to just repeat it over and over as none of his audience know anything else. Video embedded below. That rather makes it a throwaway, pleasant roll that brings a wry amusement. it is not a song that grabs me and demands full attention, promising great reward.

Donovan. The name is synonymous with the less than enlightened folk that the filled wilderness years before the revival of the 00s that persists to date. I have never heard him before other than perhaps on Top of the Pops 2 with some shoddy faux-comedic captioning. I am not impressed. I will state now that I am sure my prejudicial attitude to this material will colour this listen, but I am not going to apologise for that.

The Pentangle track starts as a mess but improves when the vocal joins in, despite its rather airy tone it seems to bind the disparate threads of the music together. There are bits and pieces of interest in the composition but as a whole it falls flat for me. Ah, that is a bit better. Bert Jansch has a (very) little of Nick Drake about him, as much in the intonation as anything else. Not the voice or the delivery as a whole, but the cadence on certain words matches my metal recollection of Drake here and there. Alas it is nowhere near as enduring, and as the song wears on the performance starts to grate a little. The picked guitar is repetitive to a significant degree and the singing voice is harsher than I would like and I find myself happier once it ends.

That is not to say what starts next impresses immediately. It has that same comfortable impression: aiming to, and hitting, a very specific but very bland note. It tries to dispel this thought by the inclusion of brass and/or woodwind - which works to a point - but I find this uninspired TV theme tune music, as if it is aiming for the lowest common denominator of "not disagreeable" rather than shooting to impress.

If it weren't for the sleigh-bells and a horridly warbling vocal, Mirrors might have been interesting. That vocal is worse for the effect of the recording, self-echo or something. The rhythm here is more interesting, a little Latin in places, even, but there is no redeeming the bells. Ugh.

 

 Big Train does Streets of London

Candyman returns to a picked guitar and vocal - it is precisely the kind of blind Dylan-copy I expected to find on this disc. All the same idea, but with none of the craft or genre-defining pioneering, which makes it apt that the next track is a cover of The Times They Are A-Changin' that, by introducing a pretty bad harmony, hand-bells and a depth of accompaniment that overpowers the melody makes for a horrid experience. It is not even that I hold Dylan on a pedestal; I have a little, not much. This though? This is travesty. Of music. How it got on to any "best" anything is beyond me.

Almost half way through in terms of tracks, but alas not close for time. Yes, I am wishing it were over already. My evening plans broke down last minute, which is where I found the time to do this listen, started on impulse when I knew I wouldn't be going out. I have, again, been neglecting my self-imposed workload in favour of simple recovery or being busy. I'm So Confused drifts by almost unnoticed, and then we hit a fiddle tune, Boadicea.  This I like more and could see myself not skipping if it came up in a shuffle. It has enough of a tune that I can excuse the somewhat out-of-place electric bass, the little loopy "pause" being particularly effective for my taste. Glad this hasn't been a total waste of time, then!

It's funny that the "Best of British Folk" involves covers of notable people from across the Atlantic, eh? First Dylan, now Joni Mitchell. I figured this for a cover when I heard it start, but wouldn't have known of whom without Google - though I do apparently have another version of this song on Herbie Hancock's tribute, River. It isn't amongst the couple of Mitchell albums I have though. It breezes by, nothing noteworthy beyond its obvious non-traditional provenance.

We are back to quintessentially English folk-rock blahdom with Dransfield though. Straight out of the inoffensive middle of the road blandness that characterised a decade or two of "folk" on these shores. Twee guitar riff, boring rhythm, darkness-infused vocal that is occasionally used to add dramatic stress (or rather fail to). This is symptomatic of why folk fell out of fashion, obliterated by more energetic and inspiring performances in other fields. Seven and a half minutes of dreary droning, its enough to drive me to drink. Thankfully I picked up some Hoegaarden in my monthly shop on the way home, so that isn't all bad!

With the Watersons I am on more familiar ground, but ground I tread warily. I both recognise their role in preserving British folk traditions and indirectly helping forge the revival and find myself not really liking their work a lot of the time. I have more than a couple of albums by, or inspired by them though so Waterson is a name that will appear again on these pages.

Honestly, what kind of name is Keith Christmas? One associated with blandness and very stereotypical delivery that completely conjures the beardy weirdy freak image of 70s folk, detached from the real world rather than rooted in it, even when spinning tales of the fantastic. If you can't tell, I don't much like Timeless and Strange - the title is the least boring thing about it, and even that is awful. Timeless this isn't; Forgettable and Bland would be a more apt name. Musically, Stargazer is similarly uninspiring. Vocally it is the most interesting thing thus far on the disc and pleasant enough to override my initial detachment with the arrangement. There are echoes of Mitchell, or perhaps some other luminary I cannot place here too in the first half of the track. Alas the second half is completely devoid of interest as the vocal dies out and is replaced by some chanting that is background to the still uninspired tune. I got my hopes up for a second there; lesson learned.

Oh dear, how totally... I have no words. Decameron's effort is a commentary on the music industry, a meta-song. It is also awful; it may be lyrically amusing in its effect but again it just smacks of blandness, lack of craft and turn up bash out musicianship.

Oh now, that's interesting. I am pretty sure I have heard these lyrics before in a different context, because I don't recognise When I Was On Horseback as performed here, or as a title. Steeleye Span, though... the name is very familiar. Memories of my dad's record collection - he's a big Fairport fan too; took my brother and I to Cropredy, along with some Greek guests, almost 20 years back now; a better experience than you might think based on my notes here! Anyhow, I don't think much of this piece, but I found the familiarity of some of the lyrics interesting. Not too surprised though, folk songs are like that - the same song recorded with very different tunes and variable lyrics that overlap but don't mimic.

Nearing the end now, not much more to endure. I fist typed "enjoy" then, but that certainly wouldn't be accurate. I am more relaxed now than when I begun, so the exercise has not been in vain. It is one more album chalked off, and a bad, long one at that. The next disc has to be more promising, right? This ends up, predictably I guess, with Fairport Convention. I should be scathing as they are the epitome of the bland folk rock I despise... but, well. I think there is a mitigation: this whole genre was to some degree others copying them after their success. That said, I don't much like the song, the long lead out in particular. I end with this disc all but wiped out, only Boadicea and Streets of London kept. Onwards to better things I hope.

At Llangennith - Charlotte Greig

Track list:

1. At Llangennith
2. Willie O'Winsbury
3. That man
4. Free fall
5. Perfect wave
6. Walk on
7. The snows
8. Gotta get you home
9. Over the water
10. Leave it blue

Running time: 54 minutes
Released: 2001

Ah, an old favourite. Comfortable in the way only familiarity can be. This was a real punt in the dark when I bought it. It is a record for a winter's night, snug and warming. A real gem. It is so much a favourite that when I dragged it into "now playing" to see the running time when creating the header of this post immediately after finishing Astronomy for Dogs it tempted me in about 4 notes to run on and do the whole listen immediately.

A cooler head prevailed, and I then found out that Charlotte Greig passed away earlier this year from cancer. Now it is time to tell you why I love this so much and will forever be grateful for one of her creations.

From the gentle opening you get an immediate feel for this disc. Tendrils of soft sound wrap around you like a blanket, offering you cocoa in the bargain. The title track, which opens the disc, is a simple guitar melody, layered a little bit to make a deeper palette and a soft vocal. It is like sitting out on a starry night, looking up into the blackness above and wondering. It is no surprise that it struck the 20(some) year old me, prone to contemplation as I was (am). The main refrain is a strangely compelling one, and even though the song meanders a little towards the end of its run I still find it incredibly compelling.

Next up is a folk classic, which has just a perfect backing here - acoustic hook, haunting soundscape behind it - and is sung with a warmth that transfers fully to the listener. I lose myself if the natural roll of the delivery and the simple repetition of the structure - though it is crafted better than that, little touches abound that break up what could otherwise become monotonous so that each verse is accompanied by subtly different sounds.

In truth, these are the two stand out tracks, but they imprint the album in my mind so hard that everything that follows basks in their glow, then and still. That Man drops the guitar in favour of some keys to lead it and for once this does not work so well - the keyboard is a little too tinny - but the song itself is a simple little tune: rise, fall, rise, fall. A nice lilt that reinforces the sleepy idea of the blanket and hot chocolate. Free Fall brings back the strings and with it the easy, calm invitation that characterises the album as a whole. There is nothing overly complex here, fairly simple melodies, uncomplicated composition and musicianship... just somehow coming together in some kind of magic. In any tune of nearly 9 minutes length you would expect the odd dip, and they are here, for sure. I am more like to overlook the foibles of a record like this though, where the general tone and ambience are so inviting and welcome, like seeing an old friend.

I have a number of other albums by Charlotte Greig, they will turn up here eventually. None of them has ever caught me quite like this one though. Right album, right time of my life or something. I am sure that if I was hearing this for the first time now I would glaze over and miss the charm. It is not a modern album in any sense, and that is welcome. I get a very strong sense of it countering the immediacy of everyday modern life with deliberately slow pace and simple pleasantries. I enjoy it in that spirit, a rejection of fast pace and instant gratification.

Walk On brings back the keys as the primary tune-carrier and here it works better. A melancholic air stirs in me when I hear this tune - it is not a particularly nice narrative, but it is beautifully delivered. In a wise move there is a momentary silence after it ends before The Snows begins. This is a version of The Snow it Melts the Soonest - another folk staple, and one I like a lot. My favourite version (as I had cause to mention before) is by James Yorkston, but the song itself is a strong one, and this version is sufficiently different that it does not fall into the same problem that some others do of direct comparison. The playing here occasionally offers the impression of flickering firelight which keeps the winters night theme going nicely.  We then have a song that I really should not like, but do. Its a love song of a certain type that honestly I think only works in the context of the album as a whole - playing into the long dark night, the need for warmth and, well, companionship. You get the picture.

Over the Water is probably the weakest song on the album. For me it is a mood killer. The change of sound - to a harsher, twangier performance - is not a welcome one. The warmth is still there in the vocal - the style of delivery there is pretty consistent throughout and one of the strongest points of this record - but the music is more distant and less engaging as a result of the shift. The edge to the notes (I think from a dulcimer) is off-putting like nothing else on At Llangennith. Thankfully it is a one-song blip, and the easy roll and gentle strumming of Leave it Blue is a nice way to end the album. Just enough musical interest to keep your attention and the vocal - slightly more floaty than earlier tracks - as fitting as ever.

When I first bought this album I was surprised and enchanted. Coming back to it now I am reassured and contented. I was saddened last night, after I found out about Charlotte Greig's passing, and that was entirely down to my love for this work. Amongst the many things she created - she was a writer, too - I was only familiar with her music and really only with this record; At Llangennith's simple beauty is a worthy monument though.