Small Town Romance

Richard Thompson: Small Town Romance [1984]

This album is subtitled "Live/Solo in New York, 1982," with recordings being made both before and after the "Shoot Out the Lights" tour with Linda. At its root is a revelation of just precisely who Richard Thompson is. Although recorded before Hand of Kindness, its appearance a year later signaled to anyone who was paying close enough attention the essence of Thompson as a true minstrel, in the real, centuries-old sense of the term. If Hand of Kindness established Thompson’s persona as a rock solo artist on his own terms, Small Town Romance caught the very essence of the artist behind the "rock star."

I suppose that this is just an unnecessarily elaborate way of saying that Richard Thompson is (among other things) a folksinger/songwriter, but that doesn’t quite get the whole picture across. Thompson’s only real prototype here is Dylan, who of course began his career as a folk balladeer and acoustic performer. Thompson, on the other hand, started as an electric guitar wizard in a late-’60s underground rock band - but the approaches of both performers parallel one another in the sense that one aspect of the personal serves both as an underpinning and a counterpoint to the other.

Most of the songs on Small Town Romance are Thompson originals, and one of the shocks of listening to the album is the realization of just how broad and deep his catalog of songs was, even at this date. The selections span the years from Fairport Convention Days through the eight years of his partnership with Linda, as well as several new (or at least newly performed) songs. Confronted with such an enormous wealth of extraordinary material (especially remembering what is not included - there are no songs from Shoot Out the Lights or Hand of Kindness), there is the concomitant shock of realization of just what a wealth of material this artist has created.
(A similar experience can be had from listening to Neil Young’s 1975 collection, Decade, where similarly, part of the joy of listening is the sense of awe at the realization of just how much this individual has accomplished in what might seem the relatively short span of a career.)

But there is more to the experience of Small Town Romance than this. For here, the songs are taken from their original context and played as simple, direct objects in themselves - stripped down, bare and revelatory.

In a sense, to call these songs "stripped down," however, is a bit misleading in itself. Although accompanied only by Thompson’s acoustic guitar, his complex, but unobtrusive arrangements and seeming effortless, endless virtuosity makes just about any other comparably configured performer absolutely pale by comparison. What Shoot Out the Lights and Hand of Kindness did to formally stamp Thompson as an electric guitar "hero," Small Town Romance does for the acoustic. In brief, it is almost too obvious to state that Richard Thompson is, quite simply, one of the greatest (and most complete) guitarists in pop/rock music history - or in any genre, for that matter.

The amazing thing, however, is that even amidst so much complex, contrapuntal and freewheeling plectral and finger-picking wizardry, one’s attention is always driven directly to heart of the song itself. This is where Richard Thompson shows that he understands precisely what he is doing, and in what a great, long tradition he is participating in and perpetuating.
Thompson continues performing alone, in this format, to this day, alternating solo tours with electric ones, and it becomes quite apparent that the latter, the so-called "rock" bands (as well as his albums) are merely extensions of the former, folk model. The rock band (or rock album) is, in essence, merely a modern form of something quite old and universal. This should come as no great revelation, as anyone familiar with Bob Dylan (or Neil Young) should know, but it is in Richard Thompson’s unique sensibility to and consciousness of, this tradition that makes him stand apart.

The root of all of Thompson’s music is basically folk music - specifically, British folk music. This was the great breakthrough discovery of the band of his youth, Fairport Convention. The fact that Thompson can acknowledge and absorb this enormous wealth of tradition, without becoming mired in conservatism - indeed, to use the past as a starting point for exploration of the modern experience in all its terms and forms, is the basic description of the project to which Richard Thompson has devoted his life.

In working in the mould first defined by Dylan, Thompson has few peers. And since his British starting point is so distinct from the American textures of Dylan (as well as the Canadian Neil Young), his music sounds like no one else’s. It is simultaneously personal and idiosyncratic, while at the same time, culturally timeless, almost eternal.

To hear Thompson playing and singing by himself is, once again, a true revelation. If this were all he did, he would still be one of the greatest artists living. What is truly amazing is that we did not hear Thompson performing in this manner until a good fifteen years into his career. This is, indeed, the true, raw essence of what he does.

"Time To Ring Some Changes" - This is a fabulous way to begin the album. For whether it refers, however obliquely - this is in the ear of the listener, of course - to his breakup with Linda or not, it is certainly fitting as a declaration of independence for an artist as possible. Whenever, or in whatever context the song was written, it is most apropos for an artist who is (quite literally, in this case) beginning a solo career.

The lyrics are a litany of dissatisfactions, followed by a chorus of affirmations (simply the repeated refrain of the title) to take control of one’s life and set things in their proper new direction:

This old house is a-tumbling down,
The walls are gone, but the roof is sound.
The landlord’s deaf, he can’t be found,
Time to ring some changes.

Of course, the lyrics can be read spiritually as well, in the sense of the songs on Pour Down Like Silver. The concluding lyric, "And everything you do leaves you empty inside," certainly conjures up the model of the dissatisfied pre-convert reaching his epiphany. But that is something that a great folk song can do - to leave open such possibilities without nailing them down as absolutes. As personal and specific as the complaints of the song are, they are broad enough to reach a kind of universalism that can communicate very directly with just about any sympathetic audience of any given time.

Thompson’s deep, rustic voice with his Northern (almost Scottish) inflections make it a perfect vehicle for this kind of communication. This instrument, which we have heard grow over the years into a powerful and authoritative voice (much like Dylan or perhaps a better comparison, Johnny Cash) cuts deeply into a listener’s consciousness with that unique penetration that only the greatest and most idiosyncratic of singers can possess. Thompson’s singing voice, oddly enough, moreover, like Hank Williams, Van Morrison or Neil Young, embodies that peculiar power of emotional expression for which the only proper English word we possess is "soul." This term, which of course is generally developed from and directed towards African-American artists, proves itself yet again to embody something more profoundly human than any ethnic designation can adequately encompass.

And while no listener is going to confuse Richard Thompson (or Hank Williams, for that matter) with James Brown, Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye or Aretha Franklin, it is the recognition that this quality is peculiar to a depth of meaning in the human voice, and not simply the affectations of a particular "style" or ethnic origin.

For like Dylan, Richard Thompson’s voice, while initially off-putting to many, has the ability to grab the attention of the smaller group of more sensitive listeners, and simply nail them the floor with its understated power and commanding ownership of its words and pitches.

Right from the beginning, the guitar is simply astonishing, as well. The absolute mastery and precision of the finger-picking technique, with its amazing melody contained in the context of continuing rhythmic devices make it seem virtually a small army of tightly arranged guitars seems to defy human possibility, yet it is incredibly absent of self consciousness or flash - it simply is what it is.

Thompson’s guitar figures, like his songs themselves, are usually rooted in traditional British music and carry the dancing flourishes of popular jigs, reels, marches and minuets that have hummed about the British Isles for hundreds of years. It would take an entire book in itself - and penned by a much more competent guitarist/musician than myself - to begin to detail the remarkable constructions of his arrangements and solos, so I will touch on them but briefly in my discussions of the songs. (Be aware that there is always an "Oh, my God!"" statement implicitly present whenever Thompson plays anything.)

"Time to Ring Some Changes’" uniting musical device is a bouncing, pipe-like figure within the contexts of the chords of its march-like structure. The effect is ultimately that of man stamping victoriously down the road, ready to take his own future in hand with a sense of joyful determination.

This is a wonderful, uplifting way to begin this very personal album, and the small but enthusiastic crowd at New York’s Bottom Line nightclub respond with appropriate astonishment and appreciation.

Video - Richard Thompson performs "Time to Ring Some Changes"
http://youtube.com/watch?v=BXDdpduNJU8

"Beat the Retreat" - Of course, we have encountered this song in unadorned acoustic form before - actually, the original is already pretty stark - and Thompson again seems to effortlessly achieve the impossible task of drawing one’s attention and emotion in to an almost-static world of minimality in this, his most unaffected spiritual plea. Actually, he adds a few guitar flourishes here and there, as well as a guitar solo, which suggests a newfound sense of freedom and confidence.

One simply cannot help but reflecting on the ironies of Thompson descanting upon loyalty after sundering the tie with his wife, and in this close context, the song’s message is not diluted, but rather deepened with a sense of bare, naked honesty. The effect is one of sadness and regret, but also acceptance of the inevitability of the facts of life.

Thompson changes the lyric in one very important place. Rather than singing, "There was no sense in my leaving," he replaces the line with "There was no joy in my leaving." And indeed one senses a true lack of joy - perhaps even despair - in this older, wiser man’s recognition that perhaps some thing do make sense, even if they go against the height of our ideals.

Here, Thompson beats the retreat, not back to Linda - indeed, not only just back to his God - but, in essence, back to himself, his truest self. And no, that is not always a joyous trip, but it is often necessary. Heard here, in this context, it is not only moving, but very revelatory and painfully cathartic.

"Woman or a Man" - This is a silly little country-type ditty concerning sexual indeterminacy. Thompson’s less-grandiose version of "Lola" finds the object of his affection so compelling that he invites her home, regardless of gender. He/she beats and robs him, and after running away, the singer is still infatuated. It’s a cute little novelty number, I suppose, with some very nice guitar picking.

"A Heart Needs a Home" - Thompson warily takes full possession of one of his greatest songs. Like all the vocals that we normally associate with Linda, we miss her beautifully plaintive, interpretive voice, and with Richard’s as replacement we cannot avoid that lingering sense of irony and loss. That said, however, Thompson’s solo rendition is convincingly poignant and heartbreakingly honest. His heart may still need a home, but he now knows that home is somewhere else, and the tentative, aching nature of the singing suggests that he quite possibly might not know where that home is. It is a beautiful, more open interpretation, and not a little scary.

"For Shame of Doing Wrong" - I have always heard this Linda song as a kind of sequel to "A Heart Needs a Home," probably because of the prominent use of the term "fool." In the first song, the singer is "never going to be a fool," by remaining faithful to his/her lover. In the second, the singer has lapsed and laments, "I wish I was a fool for you again."

Thompson appears brave for taking on these songs, and they are particularly strong, placed back to back here. Whatever guilt Thompson assigns himself, he’s not going to back away from it. These are hard songs to hear, and they must have been hard to play, particularly in public, back in 1982, with all the wounds fresh and his credibility on the line.

Thompson keeps his focus and hues close to the song’s center, letting the audience judge and draw their own conclusions. It sounds like a painful right of passage, but it’s much to his credit that he did not hang these songs away, and his emotional commitment to their essence shows.
If we remember that these songs were originally written about God, perhaps we can understand more clearly how dearly Thompson needs to sing them in order to keep faith. If he sings them, as it seems, with a sense of self accusation, it must have a cathartic effect. At least it seems to come off that way.

This is pretty heady meat, and topped with a lovely, devotional guitar solo to boot.

"Genesis Hall" - If anyone had, or could forgotten the lush, sad beauty of this Fairport Convention masterpiece, they will be eloquently reminded of it here. It is rather staggering to recall that Thompson wrote this song at 21 - if he had composed it at the time of this recording, or even today, it would be considered a crowning jewel of his maturity. This was an old man inside a young man, indeed. And here an older and sadly wiser man takes it up and pours his soul into it. This is worth the price of the album all by itself.

Video - Richard Thompson performs "Genesis Hall"
http://youtube.com/watch?v=wa569wY1HzE

"Honky Tonk Blues" - Side one ends with this Hank Williams classic, to which Thompson remains faithful, both in style and spirit, whilst adding a masterful, dizzying, ragtime-like arrangement on 12-string guitar that is technically dazzling, while not detracting from the simplicity of the song’s text. Richard can’t sing like old Hank, but he doesn’t try, letting his own voice, complete with accent, ride the rails of Williams melody.

It’s lovely to hear Thompson’s American country influences come to the fore, and his tremendous grasp and control of this music is very informative as to just how deep his roots run and provides all the more evidence of why he is so strong a writer/performer. This is a very exciting ride indeed.

Video - Richard Thompson Performs "Honky Tonk Blues"

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Hep7FNNWyqo

"Small Town Romance" - Side two begins with the title song for the album, a morose ballad about the difficulty of being in love in a small community where everyone knows one another. I do not know the date of the song’s composition, but I suspect that it was a recent addition to Thompson’s repertoire, given the prominence of the title.

The small-town populace has too much intimate knowledge of an individual to give love its natural scope of expression:

They knew you when you were weaning.
They knew you when you were grown.
They think they know all about you.
They never will leave you alone.

Jealousies from your elder’s love frustrations will intrude upon you, trying to force you apart. The only conclusion for the lovers is to "get away."

Oh, small town romance,
They’d still break you if they could.
They’d always say "I told you so,
She never was no good."

"See, she never loved him anyway.
See, she never loved him anyway.
See, she never loved him anyway."
Oh, you can’t have love in a small town.

The temptation is there to interpret the song biographically, with Thompson’s private life in scrutiny before the public. Then it strikes one that quite possibly that is precisely what he is singing about. If you are a public figure, then the the whole world is a "small town." And it is people like you who are looking into his personal business in order to read his artwork.

This realization makes the critical interpreter wish to step back and allow his subject some room. But still, as the song makes an eloquent defense, the fact remains that the artist must live in public and must accept the public consequences of his personal decisions. It is a great irony that a song like "Small Town Romance" invites such personal scrutiny, but there you have it.
If you are an artist of integrity, such as Richard Thompson, a large part of the bond with your audience is based on trust. You have to accept this side of the equation. But on the other side, it reminds us all of even the artist’s right to privacy, and that our privilege to dig deeply into his works has its limitations, if only in common decency.

In short, just chalk up another great song for RT.

"I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight" - Well, here is one "Linda" song that Thompson throws himself into with great gusto and sheer abandon. He truly possesses this song as truly and powerfully as she ever did, and his singing is strongly confident, filled with little slides and punctuations. A brilliantly busy guitar arrangement more than adequately takes the place of a rock band. Another great song is here truly sustained, while at the same time transformed. Briefly, it is breathtaking.

Video - Richard Thompson performs "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight"

http://youtube.com/watch?v=uUIpCqxRh_M

"Down Where the Drunkards Roll" - "Bright Light"’s dour sequel gets its solo airing here, and it actually functions better in this context. Richard’s voice is more gloomily appropriate for this number, and the sparseness of the single guitar sustains the mood better than the original. Thompson adds sparklingly inventive and delicate runs throughout, in between each verse to lend a lyrical poignancy to this sick, sad observation. Yes, it’s another classic.

"Love Is Bad for Business" - Here’s another new(?) song that sits easily with "Small Town Romance." (I can easily imagine them as two sides of a single that never sold a copy.) More sprightly and uplifting in tone - and in a major key - "Love" is a delightful little confection that ironically condemns love as impractical. It starts with a boss’s complaint to a female worker:

What time of day is this? Oh, you really look a mess!
Clean down the tables and help out on the door.
It’s just no good to me if you’re in ecstasy,
Running all night with that boyfriend of yours.

Love is bad for business . . .
Empties the tills, and it don’t pay the bills,
It’ll do you no good.

The song sounds simply like the complaint of a curmudgeon until one begins to reflect on the real incompatibility of "love" - or any sort of transcendent, spiritual pursuit, with the banal demands of everyday economic life.

For, unfortunately, everything the song asserts is absolutely true. Humans are divided creatures, requiring even the most sensitive among us to spend a major portion of our waking lives attending to simple maintenance. In the context of what we know to be Thompson’s spiritual and aesthetic predispositions, the insertion of the drab fact of necessity into what is essentially the great self-emergence of human potential is always getting drowned in the necessities of drudgery.

It’s not a fun fact, and when Thompson’s character demands, "You better wipe that Mona Lisa smile right off your face," we can hear it resonate in all of the demands that wrap around us every day.

A perfect rejoinder would be Ray Davies’ sublime couplet:

"All life we work, but work is a bore.
If life’s for living, what’s living for?

"The Great Valerio" - Here, Thompson reminds us of just how great a songwriter he is, performing one of his most brilliant, intense compositions. Once again, he must displace Linda, and of course the dismissal of her hauntingly powerful voice makes that impossible. "The Great Valerio" is one of her singular triumphs, and one of the greatest vocal performances on record.
Thompson takes on the song with less majesty and delivers less awe, but his sad, dark retelling lends a different kind of spookiness to it. He sounds humbled at his own words, and the extraordinary power of the melody and imagery shine through.

The uniqueness of this performance lies in Thompson’s apparent suffering as a victim of his own premonitions. Here again, we cannot help but inserting the poignancy of biographical detail to his pitiful vision:

We falter at the sight,
We stumble in the mire.
Fools who think they see the light,
Prepare to balance on the wire.
But we learn to watch together
And feed on what we see above,
‘Til our hearts turn like the seasons,
And we are acrobats of love.

The song, indeed, is now fully self descriptive, as life has validated the instincts of the artist.
Thompson’s solo guitar arrangement is virtually identical to the original, with a few flourishes aside, and its stark appearance here reminds us just how perfectly constructed both playing and song actually are. Of exceptional note is the haunting, pulsating coda, in which he plays that dangling, insecure melody between the cautious but relentless, time-ticking finger of his thumb and third finger.

This is absolute mastery at work. Find me something comparable - I’ll say you can’t.

"Don’t Let a Thief Steal Into Your Heart" - This song originally appeared on First Light, and I have not heard it, and can therefore make no comparisons. The song itself seems to me to be straddled unevenly between the two worlds of Pour Down Like Silver and Shoot Out the Lights - while the former pledges loyalty, while asking forgiveness "for the restless thief I’ve been," the latter is coming unglued. This is somewhere in the middle, perhaps a rumbling premonition of the great failures to come. Consequently, it it carries less strength than both ends of its extremes.

Who is Thompson addressing here?

Don’t let a thief steal into your heart,
Or you might wind up broken hearted.
Don’t let a whisper tear you apart,
Or you’ll be right back where you started.

Though sung in second person, it is obviously a warning to himself. The repeated, three-chord minor structure seems designed to beat the idea into his own head. (Though it must be admitted that the elegant and crisp guitar arrangement makes it one of the best on the album.)

Thompson’s great commitment is to God, of course, but this commitment spills over into all aspects of life. Commitment is a difficult and very tenuous affair, as Thompson well knows. He sings with the full knowledge of both the devout devotee and the fallen apostate, and he manages to convey the still-present fear that dwells in even the most securely convicted.
The last verse is one of Thompson’s most hauntingly poignant, relevant for himself, as well as everyone listening:

Everyone is in love with money,
Strange news, ‘cause they say love is blind.
How many times did you meet somebody
Who said they had some real peace of mind?

It’s a very good question. Ideals are much more elusive than we tend to credit them. Do your own mental reckoning, and it’s easy to understand the universality of Thompson’s vision - and it’s just as easy to see why not that many people would want to hear it.

"Never Again" - This is perhaps Thompson’s saddest, most despairing song - which is saying quite a lot, indeed. Here is one instance where Thompson’s appropriation of Linda’s vocal works to the song’s benefit, as the weariness of Richard’s voice seems to wear the song better. His hushed, fatal delivery of the lines are simply bone chilling:

Old man, how you tarry, old man how you weep.
The trinkets you carry and the garlands you keep.
For the salt tears of lovers and the whispers of friends
Come never, oh never, oh never again.

There is no respite from despair or hope of delivery here. In the album’s original configuration, this was the final song on the record, and its finality feels a little too much, even for a Richard Thompson album.

BONUS CUTS
Thank god for compact discs. The tree additional tracks added to the original 14-song set serve not only as a magnificent encore to a wonderful concert - (the album is actually two shows, collected and combined) - but some of the most wonderful material on the album.

"How Many Times Do You Have to Fall?" - This song features some of the finest finger picking on the album from Thompson, in an open-tuned D. Its folk-like character functions well in turning the mood back to something approaching optimism:

You broke my heart so many times
I can’t count the pieces.
Every time you push me down,
It seems my strength increases.
How many times do you have to cry
While people stand there gawking?
How many times do you have to fall
Before you end up walking?

I don’t know when Thompson wrote this tune, and it appears nowhere else (save on a collection of rarities), but the schematic, though frustrating, is hopeful. The subject is ostensibly a continuingly failing relationship, but of course its meaning can be stretched to any human endeavor.

Thompson stays resolute through to the end:

Oh, won’t you give me one more chance,
I couldn’t do no worse.
Empty out my heart for you
Before it has to burst.
I’m too hungry not to win,
But you’re the game I’m stalking.
How many times do you have to fall
Before you end up walking?

The answer here is not "blowing in the wind," but rather within ourselves. This may not be one of Thompson’s most profound songs, but it does display a resoluteness that is quite welcome after the nihilistic depths of "Never Again," and enjoins us all to keep on trying despite the odds.

"Roll Over Vaughn Williams (instrumental)" - Possibly the most virtuostic display on the album, this is a completely instrumental solo exploration of the guitar line from the magnificent opening song on Henry the Human Fly. Of course, without the lyrics - basically without the song - it necessarily lacks the savage intent an purpose of that jaw dropper, Thompson makes some new jaws drop here with the sustained pulsations of his unique bagpipe-like picking style. Who could have known such a kind of playing of the instrument was even possible? This is absolutely a delicious feast for those who savor Thompson’s idiosyncratic Celtic playing. Amazing.

"Meet on the Ledge" - What a revelation to hear a mature (34-year-old) Richard Thompson singing his first truly great song from his early twenties! Time and circumstance have only deepened the resonances of this Fairport Convention classic. After all the roads this man has travelled, it is extraordinary to listen to these ghostly words and heartbreaking melody and to view them, like so many Thompson songs, as premonitions. I suppose that it is his finely-honed sensitivity to the universally tragic character of life that makes songs such as this so seemingly clairvoyant.

This song was written before the van crash, before the marriage and breakup with Linda. But in truth it could have been written before anything actually imaginable. This is what James Joyce called "The grave and constant in human suffering, and its secret cause." Whether its transcendent vision of ultimate reconciliation is a kind of wishful thinking, or rather, it is the statement of an acceptance of fact, whatever hard truth that might entail, it is a brave, unblinking declaration of assent to reality.

The song is a kind of blessing, both to the singer and his audience, and it completely redeems the harshness of the original ending of "Never Again." With "Meet on the Ledge," we are reminded again of the acute sensitivity that drives the restless subconscious of this most honest and restless of songwriters. It is a great gift, both to him, and to us, that "finding better words," as well as better music can be a pathway to both the healing and acceptance of life.

This is where the album should close, and here it does. Thompson’s earlier joke about the "waiting helicopter" comes to remind us here of the sad and lonely troubadour stomping slowly back to the waiting car or bus, guitar case in hand, and makes us grateful for all such singers, from Hank Williams on down, who can show us the better and the worse parts of ourselves through their own personal ordeals.


In short, Small Town Romance is part and parcel of Richard Thompson’s re-invention, his re-emergence as an artist completely on his own. Not many people (Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Willie Nelson), can command an audience over an hour’s time with simply a guitar in hand, let alone be profound. If Small Town Romance is a lonely sound, it is also a healing sound, part of a great transition to the reclamation of self.

When these sets were recorded, in 1982, Thompson had not yet recorded Hand of Kindness, and his personal artistic career was rather up in the air. There is a something quite poignant about an artist, especially one who continually dwells on the margin of popular success, just stepping out and being himself, with no trappings whatsoever. The results of these shows, and subsequently, this album, is part of the great personal process of transition to what Thompson would become, essentially, to this day.

The fact that the vast majority of these songs were originally recorded in a group context between the years of 1968 and 1978 demonstrates the already deep roots of a tremendous body of work by the time Thompson took over his own personal career, and would create so many great songs over the next twenty-five years is testament to his endlessly restless creative character.

By the time this album was released, in 1984, Thompson had more or less established himself as a viable solo act, and indeed had developed into a very powerful icon in what admittedly is a small, but extraordinarily devoted critical and cultural following. His ultimate mastery of his craft, his seemingly endless creative resources, and what would prove an almost unmatched level of quality over the next couple of decades would help fuel his mythic status as "the greatest artist you’ve never heard."

Not many people bought Small Town Romance on its release, but those who did - and still do - are hard-core committed fans, people committed to something they sense is larger in themselves, as personified by Thompson. The fact that the album was allowed to go out of print for so long - with Thompson’s assent, no less - only to have it finally returned to the catalog by fan demand is a testament to the power of such direct artistry and at least a margin of the culture’s desire and love for simple, powerful and honest exchanges that no mass-manufactured pop icon can deliver. Like very few artists can, Richard Thompson delivers the real artifact, straight from his gut and his unbelievably magic fingers.