tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47605649939575869122024-03-13T12:03:33.807-07:00Richard Thompson RetrospectivePete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-9595977308625915162008-04-09T12:38:00.000-07:002008-04-09T12:48:38.812-07:00Missing PiecesThe following three releases are no longer in print, and none should probably be considered "canonical," though one would definitely love to at least hear them. Both FFKT albums would certainly be welcome releases, and <em>Sweet Talker</em> must definitely be heard before any definitive assessment can be made of its relative indispensability.<br /><br /><strong>French Frith Kaiser Thompson: <em>Invisible Means</em> [1990] -</strong> This is the second (and to date, final) album from this eclectic-rock supergroup. As with <em>Live, Love, Larf & Loaf</em>, the adventurous listener would simply die to have this come back into print.<br /><br /><strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Doom & Gloom II (Over My Dead Body)</em> [1991] -</strong> Thompson’s<br />second cassette-only installation for his fan club featured primarily live recordings, along with a few demos, both with bands, as well as on acoustic guitar. Most of the material was recently recorded, though some stretches back to Richard and Linda days, and even Fairport Convention. Don’t expect this to re-appear on Amazon any time soon.<br /><br /><strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Sweet Talker</em> (Soundtrack) [1991] -</strong> "<em>Sweet Talker</em> is a soundtrack album by Richard Thompson released in 1991. Thompson had worked with composer Peter Filleul on various other soundtrack projects, notably the TV shows "The Life And Loves Of A She-Devil" and "The Marksman". In 1990 film producer Taylor Hackford made the movie <em>Sweet Talker</em> which starred and was written by Bryan Brown. Hackford invited Thompson to submit some ideas for a soundtrack and then asked him to work with Filleul to produce a full sound track for the film. The project was a difficult one, with work having to be revisited as Hackford edited and re-edited the film. At its conclusion Thompson swore that he would never do another soundtrack. The film was not a success. Thompson’s score did little to enhance his reputation, although the instrumental "Persuasion" was subsequently re-written with lyrics by Tim Finn and has featured in Thompson’s live shows over the years. "<br /><strong><em>- From Wikipedia.com</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />Obviously, Thompson would later change his mind about doing soundtracks, but one would certainly love to hear this curious gap in his back catalogue. Most of the pieces are instrumentals, but there are some vocal songs as well. The CD was released on Capitol, so perhaps there is a chance that it will be re-released at some point.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-12928562235340384512008-03-20T12:44:00.000-07:002008-03-20T16:38:50.216-07:00Amnesia<strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Amnesia</em> [October 1988]</strong><br /><br />Richard Thompson’s first major release in two years seems appropriately titled now, as it is all but forgotten - and indeed, went quite unnoticed at the time. I remember discussion and sarcastic statements on the lines of "Oh, another great Richard Thompson album (Yawn)" regarding its reception by the public and the press. (Even I have to admit that I postponed buying it for more than a year after its release for no particular reason that I recall.) It seems that even Thompson’s hard-core fan base was taking him a bit for granted around this time, which is more the pity, as the album is a crucial one in the development of his latter-day catalogue.<br /><br /><em>Amnesia</em>’s lack of commercial and emotion impact is particularly ironic, considering that this was his first release on the powerful American Capitol label (historic American home of the Beatles and the Beach Boys - not to mention Frank Sinatra), and someone with the label who was actually a fan had gotten the permission and funds to attempt to push and promote Richard Thompson into the big time. Thompson would remain with Capitol up through <em>Mock Tudor</em> in 1999, and try as they might, they never seemed to be able expand his audience past his core constituency - though that grew as new listeners came of age to hear his music. But radio play and charting positions never materialized.<br /><br />One can speculate about this failure to reach a broader audience at great length (and we will) without reaching any sort of definitive conclusion. The albums made for Capitol were mostly top-notch - some indeed among the very best of Thompson’s career - but nothing like a mass breakthrough ever remotely occurred. It could be that Richard Thompson’s music is simply too idiosyncratic for the general public, combined with the fact that there is no natural programming niche to which his recordings would naturally appeal - except for some college stations and public broadcasting.<br /><br />The greater truth probably is that success in the music industry has become a lottery to such a degree that it’s just as likely that Thompson - at some point, with some song - might have hit it huge, as not. With a major label pushing him, he definitely had a greater chance and more of a public profile, but accidents must still happen. There was no critical and commercial "revelation" as comparable with Thompson contemporary and friend Bonnie Raitt, when she hit her long-delayed, multi-platinum "breakthroughs" with <em>The Nick of Time</em> and <em>Luck of the Draw</em> around the turn of the same decade.<br /><br />Be that whatever it will, was or will become, we still have <em>Amnesia </em>to listen to and treasure - and I urge Thompson fans everywhere to pick up on this marvelous disc, as it is one of his strongest latter-day outings (not counting the two masterpieces, <em>Rumour and Sigh</em> and <em>Mock Tudor</em>, which are absolutely essential.) <em>Amnesia</em> is especially important for Thompson’s subsequent development, as we can observe a real progression from the transitional nature of <em>Daring Adventures</em> to a greater confidence and power in songwriting and story telling throughout this wonderful disc.<br /><br />The artwork for the album (primarily purchased on Compact Disc, as it was by now becoming the absolute dominant format for music consumption), was interesting, compelling, humorous and thought provoking. A well-groomed man stands shaving, observing his reflection in the mirror. Meanwhile, to the right of his reflection appears the reflection of either yet another mirror - or perhaps a window - in which Thompson appears, dressed as a court jester, juggling colored balls.<br /><br />The image is very suggestive (and funny) on many levels. The obvious suggestion to first come to my mind is the idea that we project a false image of ourselves, forgetting that behind all of our facades is a fool, struggling just to keep balance as we move through the world behind our masks. Thompson chooses to embody himself as just that fool, a potent symbol of his self-perceived role as an artist - the honest jester, the naked self that seeks to strip away all pretensions and reveal to himself (and to us) what we really are. He is the voice and vision of uncomfortable self awareness that we push to the back of our consciousness. If we have "amnesia" about our true selves, he is the self-appointed clown who is going to remind us of ourselves.<br /><br />The fool as the revealer of truth has a great tradition in history, particularly in Shakespeare, whose fools - as in <em>King Lear</em> - have a license to tell the truth that nobody particularly wants to acknowledge. And of course that truth is that it is <em>we</em> who are the true fools.<br /><br />Thinking of this image as emblematic of Thompson’s art and his relationship to his audience, perhaps, upon reflection, it is not surprising that this invaluable artist has never made it to the top of the pop heap. Who really wants their frivolities and frailties revealed, anyway? Moreover, who really wants to identify with a fool or jester in a marketplace dominated by such terribly committed posturing will o’the wisps available everywhere - in music, TV, movies, comics, etc - to adopt as your own in order to boost one’s one projected ego?<br /><br />The photo on the back cover reveals Thompson as the true man in the mirror, bare chested, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He stares blankly at his own visage, seemingly oblivious to the colored balls that he is still juggling, perhaps perpetually and unconsciously. Another graphic appears both within the booklet, as well as imprinted on the CD itself: the side view of a drawing of a man whose brain has been divided in a map of the bizarre old pseudo-science of phrenology. Plastered over each identical brain is a large bold question mark, suggesting the absence of any reliable penetration into the psyche. The individual, even as seen by professional analysis is elusive and unreliable. Man’s mind is a cypher, and we will conveniently forget anything that we find the least bit discomforting.<br /><br />We will look at how the concept of "amnesia", in this sense, applies to the themes developed in the ten songs on the collection. I must state my opinion right from the start that the songs contained on <em>Amnesia</em> are some of the finest of Thompson’s career, and a true advance from the transitional writing on <em>Daring Adventures</em>, pushing further away from the self-portraiture that dominated <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> and its immediate successors, and returning, with new strengths and insights, to the types of observational songs initiated on <em>Henry the Human Fly</em> and <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em>.<br /><br />Producer Mitchell Froom is back on board again, providing Thompson’s songs with lush and exotic textures, without ever drowning them in a murky soup. And yes, that magnificent electric guitar returns, as insistent as ever. A photo in the booklet both pays homage and parodies the extraordinary power of this instrument in Thompson’s hands, as it depicts him about to deliver a mighty power chord to a hand-fretted chainsaw. A more apt metaphor for this remarkable player, combined with his ironic sensibility simply cannot be conceived.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Turning of the Tide" -</em></strong> This is a simple, beautiful, and simply disarming song and a perfect way to lead off the album. It begins with a slow fade-in on a repeated one-chord 4/4 riff on guitar, bass and drums. It pauses momentarily, as we hear Thompson (off mic) count down the beginning. Finally, at full volume and momentum, we are drawn welcomingly in to the album, and Thompson soon begins his simple, authoritative, mournful singing:<br /><br />How many boys, one night stands,<br />How many lips, how many hands<br />Have held you<br />Like I’m holding you tonight?<br /><br />Too many nights staying up late,<br />Too much paint,<br />No, you can’t hide<br />From the turning of the tide.<br /><br />The tone of the song is less accusatory than tender, more understanding and sad than scolding. The feel of the song is as much country and western as it is British folk rock, attesting once again to the variety and depth of Thompson’s influences.<br /><br />A spare organ joins in as Thompson sings the lovely, melancholy bridge:<br /><br />Did they run their fingers up and down your shabby dress?<br />Did they find some tender moment there in your caress?<br /><br />The next verse and refrain ends with a cautionary note:<br /><br />The boys all say, "You look so fine,"<br />But don’t come back a second time.<br />Oh, you can’t hide from the turning of the tide.<br /><br />The "turning of the tide" I take to mean not only the fickle sexual usury of the girl in question, but of the ultimate "turning," the returning tide of age. At some point, this lovely young lady will reach a critical age where her female seductiveness will lose its allure - and then what will she be left with?<br /><br />There are times at which I feel Richard Thompson - like Elvis Costello - to be uncomfortable with sexuality. Rarely is the subject presented in a positive light. But this is no moral lecture here - it is a gentle reminder of what is absent in the way of actual human content. The fact is that if this girl goes on this way, she will be left all alone and emotionally destitute - all her self-fulfilling sexual raptures will be left behind and do her no good.<br /><br />Here is a good example of the concept of "amnesia" - an idea that resonates so well not only with the songs on this album, but in Richard Thompson songs in general. Thompson paints a situation in which the decisive or resultant thought of the action is absent - only to bring it fully to the forefront of the song. All that matters to the girl is presumably the moment - and she is (at least momentarily) oblivious to the inevitable movement of life’s changing with "the turning of the tide."<br /><br />But that’s hardly the only irony of the song. The singer conveniently forgets that he is there in exactly the same situation as the girl herself. What good is there to deliver a lecture, even a gentle one, if you are to leave yourself out of the equation? Here we have a situation analogous to the cover photo, where the protagonist stares into the mirror not seeing his own reflection. The listener’s recognition of the singer’s own state of "amnesia" gives him or her a much deeper layer of recognition - and one that can, if seen properly, can deliver a shock of self reflection. Thompson’s second-person delivery points obliquely back to the first person, then shoots beyond to a third person directly involving the listener. The end effect is that no one escapes this "turning of the tide."<br /><br />Thompson enters with a stirring, yet restrained chord lead on his guitar that rings with clarion sadness and empathy, with slides that re-emphasize the country nature of the tune. The sound is so clean, so precise, that it delivers a deceptive sense of self confidence and assurance in the moral perspective of the artist, oblivious as he is to his own complicity.<br /><br />The vocals resume with some touches of tacky imagery that seem to set the singer above the situation he describes:<br /><br />Poor little sailor boy, never set eyes on a woman before.<br />Did he tell you that he’d love you, darling, forever more?<br /><br />Pretty little shoes, cheap perfume,<br />Creaking bed in a hotel room,<br />Oh, you can’t hide from the turning of the tide.<br /><br />Why is the little sailor boy "poor," an object of pity? Here the narrator seems to accuse the young lady of corrupting youth. What exactly is he doing with her - the tone and context of the narration seems to suggest an older man (Thompson was 39 when he sang this song) offering condescending advice to a younger woman while still taking advantage of her. Does he tell her he’ll love her forever more? Not bloody well likely. He’s paying for his cheap thrill with a sententiousness that seems to him to buy him the right to a kind of superiority. He is woefully mistaken.<br /><br />At the end, he is the one in the creaking hotel room bed. What explanations can he give for himself, either morally or humanistically? The thought never occurs to him. And this is the true sadness of the song. We see the spot in our neighbor’s eye, but not the log in our own.<br /><br />Thompson’s following guitar solo, a luscious elaboration of the lines that he laid out in his first one add dimensions upon dimensions, both musically and meaningfully. He does not need to show off to demonstrate his wizardry. This is simple music at its most unassumingly profound.<br /><br />Thompson repeats the first bridge and its accompanying concluding verse, before soaring away confidently, beautifully to the song’s end, ostensibly oblivious to all the ironies that he has laid forth. As "Turning of the Tide" comes to its solemn conclusion, the more perceptive among us sit in astonishment that just such quiet genius can not only exist, but slide ever under the radar.<br />With this deceptively simple opening song, Richard Thompson re-introduces us to the beautiful, understated majesty of his singular vision, and off we are into "Just another great Richard Thompson album" indeed!<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performing "Turning of the Tide," solo, acoustic</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=RKzf64vA2FI">http://youtube.com/watch?v=RKzf64vA2FI</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Gypsy Love Songs" -</em></strong> A huge, threatening guitar riff in a minor key and hanging tremolo, set to the incessant pounding of jungle drums and a ghost-infected Hammond organ chord bursts out of the silence to wipe away all the sentimental gloss of the opening song. It comes as a distinct shock to the nervous system, as "heavy" doesn’t get much "heavier" than this. But with Thompson, as electrically assaultive as it is, this opening is completely, persuasively threatening - but we can’t help but ask if it’s all a joke.<br /><br />One of the great idiosyncrasies of Richard Thompson on electric guitar is the fact that he can deftly, effortlessly out bluster the baddest of punk or heavy metal bands. His sense of irony, however, is disorienting. Is he really putting us through a genuine nightmare of the soul (i.e., "Shoot Out the Lights"), or is he being parodic? Interestingly (and thankfully) songs like "Gypsy Love Songs" sound just as powerful and compelling either way you look at them.<br /><br />This is a strange narrative indeed. "Gypsy Love Songs" does not seem to have a clear linear story or direct meaning. The images are cobbled together from suggestions of exotic and threatening phenomena, along with playing with cliche’s and puns. The total portrait is indeed of a bad relationship - so bad that it conjures up visions of the supernatural in its most threatening aspect. Whatever actually happened with this woman has sucked the narrator into a vortex of hallucinatory images and uncontrolled paranoia.<br /><br />Thompson’s voice, so tender on "Turning of the Tide," now enters ferociously, sounding like the mad, punch-drunk survivor of an apocalypse:<br /><br />Tropical night, malaria moon.<br />Dying stars of the silver screen.<br />Oh, she danced that famous gypsy dance<br />With a hole in her tambourine.<br /><br />The vision of a night with a "malaria moon" collides with "stars" that are not of the night but of "the silver screen" - that is false, or from a mixed order of reality. Things are mixed and blurred together in the singer’s consciousness. The source of his desperate confusion is a "gypsy dance," a nighttime enchantment that emanates from a woman of such power that it casts a spell over the poor protagonist. The gypsy’s song is simply a metaphor here for an irresistible female power - a sorceress’ song that turns men to swine.<br /><br />The singer expresses his inexperience, and therefore his vulnerability:<br /><br />I was young enough and dumb enough.<br />I swallowed down my Mickey Finn.<br />She’s hijacked a few hearts all right -<br />I went into a tail spin.<br /><br />The chorus consists of a desperate plea set in a descending scale, finally resting on the tonic root, before repeating:<br /><br />Don’t sing me, don’t sing me,<br />Don’t sing me no more gypsy love songs.<br /><br />A single line is added at the end:<br /><br />Don’t stir it up again.<br /><br />The "gypsy love songs" are the exotic allures of women to which the narrator is helpless. To "stir" suggests both mixing up an enchanted brew as well as creating psychic and emotional havoc in the singer’s mind and heart.<br /><br />At this point, it’s a fair question to ask whether we can (or should) take this song seriously. Personally, I love "Gypsy Love Songs," and enjoy the sheer overbearing intensity of its sound and imagery. Thompson the performer pulls out all the stops on this one, particularly on the magnificently multi-tonal attack of his amazing guitar solos. But when it comes down to it, "Gypsy Love Songs" comes off like a sarcastic track that is essentially played for fun. Thompson has always been able to find humor in horror - isn’t that what he is doing here?. This isn’t a real trip into the heart of darkness, is it? It’s no "Shoot Out the Lights," in other words?<br /><br />But the sheer magnification of all the doom and dread in such an apparently silly context curiously provides its own unique kind of cathartic power. We will see Thompson performing such exercises of excess more and more as his career expands, and in many ways - are such songs meant as replacements for the truly terrifying epiphanies of "Calvary Cross" or "Wall of Death?" Is Thompson merely parodying his own excesses here. Well, if he is, the remarkable fact is that he is able to pull such tricks off with such apparent power that he actually sounds scarifying.<br /><br />One of the chief keys to this success, is of course his guitar playing. Thompson’s playing is of such intensity and wicked control that it can speak much louder than either his lyrics or his voice - and while it is capable of incredible sarcasm, its sheer meaning and intent can transcend virtually any context. He is a player of such expressionistic emotional abstraction that he has few peers - Robert Fripp and Neil Young come to mind - and the power of his plectrum will convince you of the truth of a hidden anxiety buried even beneath such an apparent confection as this.<br /><br />Then suddenly, unexpectedly, appears a vocal bridge that seems more in earnest, a puzzling compilation of observations, joined by accordion somehow spills itself out:<br /><br />Oh stillborn love, passionate dreams, pitiful greed<br />And the silver tongues of the tinker girls<br />Who throw the book of life at you<br />But they don’t know how to read.<br /><br />This feels different. These are difficult lines to decipher, but they undeniably evoke a very real sense of self deception that underlies all the mock horror of the song and gives it a new momentum and implication of power. It is as if sarcasm is the only mode offered to adequately express the real and horribly empty, banal truths underlying a rant such as this.<br /><br />Stillborn love.<br />Passionate dreams.<br />Pitiful greed.<br /><br />These are constants in the human condition. And as long as they are present, life is going to offer a frightening bag of tricks, especially in affairs of the heart.<br /><br />The other constant is a challenge from the opposite sex - a challenge that not only the male is not equipped to deal with, but one in which the female is not schooled in her role or purpose either. What can be expected in such a situation?<br /><br />The result, for the purposes of this song, is distortion - a kind of self delusion that can blame innate human inadequacies on something as quasi-mythical as "gypsy love songs." The singer can not and will not take responsibility for his own condition, so he projects all of his anxieties and fears onto an imagined, enchanted, female-driven line of superstition that is only a slightly bloated version of the way people actually think.<br /><br />What we have is another case of "amnesia" here - the sufferer’s faults are inherent in himself and in the human condition. Perhaps facing up to this problem would be an adult way of dealing with the complexities of human relationships. The song, however, stubbornly returns to its litany of grotesqueries. It plays itself out savagely, ultimately committed to its own self deception and dooming its performer to an inescapable private hell.<br /><br />Therein lies the song’s ultimate power and horror - it is an unrelieved, driving force of self mockery that ultimately remains ignorant of the source of its own anguish. The suffering and the desperation that we hear are real - and we know that they cannot ever be relieved because their source is ever self hidden from the singer.<br /><br />As the song finally fades away on the nervous pulse of the never-resting guitar, remaining trapped in the same chord forever, we feel the savage electricity that the player has to bear for all eternity.<br /><br />Ultimately, when looked at closely, "Gypsy Love Songs" is as much as a genuine horror ride as the songs on <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em>. Thompson’s genius here resides in his developing way of getting deeper into such frightening territory through a more circumspect, roundabout way which is actually more universal - and one in which he does not have to continually directly confront demons in his own personal life. This is supreme skill - and art at an ever-ascending level of power.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Reckless Kind" -</em></strong> This mid-tempo rock ballad settles into an easy groove that drives cooly throughout. The song is addressed to a departing lover whom the singer had befriended, not knowing she is what he calls "the reckless kind." The theme of faithlessness resurfaces, and while there are no great revelations here, there is a fabulous melody, and infectious beat and shimmering, radio-friendly production values. This is what I mean when I talk about the lottery of the charts - there’s no reason on earth why this lovely, heartfelt song could not have been Thompson’s big crossover hit. (It was releasesd as a single.)<br /><br />Not to imply that Richard Thompson is being deliberately commercial here - this is simply a straightforward side of the songwriter that is effectively genuine without being too outlandish or extreme for radio air play. I don’t know if anyone at Capitol pushed this (or any of these songs) or not, but nobody bit. It’s a pity, I suppose. Still, fans can enjoy this kind of outing - I think that it’s an improvement on some of the similar-sounding fare on <em>Daring Adventures</em>.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Jerusalem on the Jukebox" -</em></strong> This is a hard-edged, angrily sung song that seems directed at televangelism, a phenomenon that was reaching its peak of cultural influence in the America of the 1980s. The attack appears to be the obvious kind, much in the same way that Frank Zappa and other artists went after the same target during the decade. A subtle difference for the informed listener is that this broadside comes directly from a deeply religious man - although, admittedly not a Christian.<br /><br />But there is a difference in tone that is at least part of subtext of the song, which is the devaluation of true spiritual experience by greedy show-biz phonies. If such frauds offend a skeptical rationalist such as Zappa, they can be equally, if not more outrageous to the sincere (and humble) pious man.<br /><br />"Jerusalem" is packed solid with images that collide and roll over one another, much in the style of electric-period Bob Dylan. Of course we know that Dylan was an enormous influence on Thompson, but we really have never seen him emulate any of his stylistics directly. Perhaps the similarity is unintentional, as both writers are speaking in the outraged imagery of prophecy, which is appropriate to a song of this type.<br /><br />Personally, I find the song only marginally successful - perhaps it is simply too cluttered in its imagery and a bit too strident for it to be effective with me. Others may find it absolutely liberating. It is, if nothing else, another interesting stab by Thompson at a different kind of songwriting, pushing his experimental and changing project yet forward.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Jerusalem on the Jukebox" (I)</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=CICnO5ompZw">http://youtube.com/watch?v=CICnO5ompZw</a><br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Jerusalem on the Jukebox (II)</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=oW8sSM9r2yI">http://youtube.com/watch?v=oW8sSM9r2yI</a><br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performing "Jerusalem on the Jukebox," solo, acoustic</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=uR6SYtADXbQ">http://youtube.com/watch?v=uR6SYtADXbQ</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"I Still Dream" -</em></strong> <em>This </em>is the song. This is the one that should have turned Richard Thompson into an international phenomenon. Of course, I say that about so many of his songs, but how could something this absolutely sublime escape an audience? Of all of Thompson’s "lost-love" songs, "I Still Dream" is absolutely the most painfully gorgeous of them all. The word "standard" seems to settle all around it - there is absolutely no sane reason why this is not one of the best-known songs in the world. Of course to Richard Thompson fans, it is a standard - a classic along the lines of the Beatles’ "Something," the Rolling Stones’ "Angie," or any number of lesser-talented money-pocket noodlers as Phil Collins or Sting. It’s that damned lottery again. Or just maybe, Richard Thompson just goes a little too deep to really command mass success.<br /><br />Oh well, the hell with it. Let us simply be satisfied with one of the most beautiful songs of all time and praise Allah that there <em>is</em> a Richard Thompson, and those lucky few of us have been fortunate enough to experience such transcendent depth of musical experience.<br /><br />Of course, as I have argued, Thompson has written quite more than his share of "standards" - great songs that shimmer with a universal beauty: "A Heart Needs a Home," "The Dimming of the Day," "When the Spell Is Broken," just to name a few. A difference here seems to come from whatever source of inspiration gave birth to this masterpiece. Of the songs listed above, Thompson’s muse was shaped out of a beatific vision of God or from the rumblings of his own personal life. "I Still Dream" seems rather, to emerge simply from the desire of a songwriter to write a song.<br /><br />True, the premise is predicated on lost love and sad regrets - but the lyrics don’t seem to resonate as much on the personal as the universal level here. Though the mention of "ten years" might clue us into thinking the song is about Linda, it is unlikely that Thompson is suffering from that sundering, now six years down the road and happily remarried. More likely is it that he here takes certain biographical details merely as starting points for reflection. For in the end, "I Still Dream" is not a song about a particular relationship, but of a deep cosmic yearning for something that is not truly articulable. The fact that Thompson has found some perfect words to express this most crushing of human emotions is nothing less than miraculous.<br /><br />The framing device for the song is brilliantly conceived, flawlessly executed and heartbreaking in its subtle beauty. A mournful cornet plays a solemn melody, with simple counterpoint provided by a baritone horn, over the slow, steady pounding of a bass drum. After the first phrase, a couple of more brass instruments are added, filling out the sound pallet, but remaining lonely and dirge-like in tone. It is the sound of a Salvation Army band marching by.<br /><br />Thompson has used brass like this before, but never to such full effect. The image of a lonely image shuffling down a cold, deserted boulevard is too tangible to miss, and too simple and beautiful to sound feigned. In a masterpiece of conception and production, a quiet snare drum roll leads directly into the modern electric instrumentation of the song itself, and miraculously there is no jarring effect. The same state of mind - or state of the soul, if you will - has just effortlessly morphed into another form, absolutely seamlessly. The result is as deft and effective an establishment of mood as I have ever heard in a recording.<br /><br />As soon as Thompson’s tortured voice enters, we are already aware of hearing the song being sung from the darkest night of the soul:<br /><br />It was cruel of you to stand and my door and take my hand.<br />Like a drowning man I clung to my defenses.<br /><br />The words "cruel," "drowning man," and "clung" stab sharply - even painfully - out at the listener and insistently assert themselves as direct evidence of pain. What is being described is presented completely from an interior of the most immediate inner torture, and one cannot help but feel it.<br /><br />We don’t know whom the speaker is addressing - or exactly what the circumstances are being described. But it is impossible to miss the interior meaning being conveyed. It is something the singer has to hide to the person he addresses, and all the residual emotion spills out for us to not only hear, but feel.<br /><br />And ten years is a time, but your looks, love, it’s a crime,<br />And I lost my tongue in the tangle of my senses.<br /><br />Once again, we are unsure exactly what is being expressed, but the experience is leaving the singer in a shattered state of inarticulateness.<br /><br />And I never was to know that I’d come to miss you so,<br />But time winds down, and I turned my back long ago.<br /><br />The singer is recounting an encounter with an ex-lover, and he is rediscovering - or perhaps discovering for the first time - some sort of epiphany of meaning. And whatever realization it is, it is emotionally devastating for him.<br /><br />As the last phrase of the verse slowly comes to rest, the song pauses, as if it momentarily has nowhere else to go. Like the figure conjured by the Salvation Army band, the song has wandered aimlessly and seemingly has reached a barrier.<br /><br />Suddenly, in one of the most magical transitions in the history of popular song, a breakthrough is made, and the forceful, earnest chorus begins its chanting in all its haunting, perplexing glory:<br /><br />But I still dream - oh, darling I still dream.<br />Oh, I still dream - oh, lord knows I still dream.<br /><br />It is impossible to communicate the intensity of this simple declaration. For one thing, one has to hear the amazing, lush beauty of the melody, the sense of withheld tension, and the absolute conviction that Thompson packs into every word (and non-word) of this soul-unburdening release.<br /><br />The key to the song’s power is indeed the simplicity of it, along with its concomitant ambiguity. What is it that the singer still dreams about? Is it his ex lover? It sounds much too broad for that. Is it the belief in a perfect relationship of harmonious love? Yes, but it feels like it’s more. At its very heart of heart, "I Still Dream" is the unleashing of an affirmation of everything that gives beauty and meaning to life - even defiantly, in the face of its most tangible absence.<br /><br />This is indeed a depth that knows no bottom. The subject of the song is the absence of the subject itself. We can never get to the absolute root of it - any more than we can ever get to the absolute root of our own deepest heart yearnings. It is something nameless, something infinite, something for which we ultimately crave but can never reach - yet we can never be whole without it. All we can do is to assert it - even if we are finally only asserting our need for it.<br /><br />Dreaming here is more than simply an act of the imagination - it is the assertion of faith. It is the insistence that we will continue to live our lives, investing them fully with every sense of meaning that we can conjure, even though we have no realistic expectation that such rapture will ever reveal itself to us in waking life. In short, the chorus is a chant - an invocation of, and and affirmation of the divine. It is a deep, heartfelt "yes" spoken in a void of disappointed and fragmented realities.<br /><br />Astoundingly, Richard Thompson seems to have written a perfect song of faith when and where we least expected it, exceeding even his own prayerful hymns from <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em>. For there is nothing more profound than to assert a life of commitment to something that is self-described and self-defined as absolutely absent. For at the very center of the song, there is a missing subject. We cannot say that "I Still Dream" is about love, is about God - or is about anything in particular. Whatever circumstances caused the song to be written, whatever reflections the actions described in the opening verses imply, they are completely transcended by the complete and total affirmation of the chorus.<br /><br />This is "amnesia" at its total peak. When the subject of a song is nothing but a giant question mark, something incomplete, because absent or totally forgotten from our minds, we reach across an abyss to affirm whatever that unknowable source is. By dreaming, we commit ourselves to something whose name we cannot even recall.<br /><br />The continuing lyrics of the second verse are even more abstract and rush away from any solid meaning that we wish to pin down to them. Extraordinary verbal imagery stands powerfully enigmatic, meaning something extraordinarily personal, yet fleeting even to the self:<br /><br />On the killing floor I stand with a stun gun in my hand,<br />Like a cowboy shooting bad men on the range.<br />And nothing satisfies, and the soul inside me dies,<br />As I duck the punch and never risk the change.<br /><br />Defensive, fear-ridden, the singer avoids direct contact with whatever it is that challenges him at his most deepest level. This is an extraordinary confession, and one can’t help but thinking that this is an honest confession on Thompson’s part, something heartfelt and ultimately something that he has to come face to face with.<br /><br />At the age of 39, he is perceptive enough to realize that simple assertions and rich intentions are not enough. It is a difficult temptation to sweep the youthful drive for permanent transcendence under the rug of hard-won facts. But in whatever context this encounter has triggered the rediscovery of the absence of that perfection, he turns and faces it here:<br /><br />And now you look at me with that same old used-to-be,<br />But time winds down, and I turned my back long ago.<br /><br />He cannot rest here, though. The all-embracing, all-powerful assertion of the chorus returns and swallows up the imperfections and failures of time and space in one giant tidal wave of feeling and faith. "But I still dream." At least, he seems to be saying, if he can still do that, there is - and will always be - hope, and a reason to live.<br /><br />One of Thompson’s quietest and most searching guitar solos follows, ending in a flurry of slides that lead him inextricably back to the salvation of that rich, glowing chorus. He repeats it one extra time for ecstatic emphasis, after which the volume drops, and simply and inevitably, the cornet returns with its mournful tune, almost imperceptibly, all the other instruments drop out, leaving the marching band playing sadly alone, left to hover on an unresolved chord.<br /><br />Yes, this song is very special, even for Richard Thompson. The ability to dive within oneself, prodded by whatever event or idea that set the composition of this song in motion - and even if it does has something to do about Linda, that is completely beside the point now - and to pull up something like this is the undeniable sign of a truly great and fully mature artist.<br /><br /><em>Amnesia</em> contains only ten songs, and it is the last of Thompson’s albums to be structured in an LP format. "I Still Dream" effectively ends side one, leaving the listener in a silence of wonder and astonishment.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Don’t Tempt Me" - </em></strong>This unexpected, extraordinary rave up kicks off one of Richard Thompson’s finest sides in the history of the long-playing record - which is rapidly coming to an end in this point in history. Whatever we have gained in sound quality, storage capacity and the strength/endurance capacity of the CD medium, we have surely lost something of the psychological impact of the binary programming inherent in the LP. This is not a complaint, but merely a marker - a reminder, for those old enough to remember - that records had two sides that determined a strict demarcation between a de facto Act I and Act II.<br /><br />Although <em>Amnesia</em> was primarily purchased in the CD format upon release in 1988, it was the last Thompson album explicitly designed for the LP format. There is a great emotional distancing effect as one listens to the beautiful, elegiac "I Still Dream," let time run out to nothing, flip the record over, only to be hit with something like this. There is a strict demarcation and contrast in the intervening physical pause that cannot be duplicated on the continuous compact disc format.<br /><br />As mentioned above, "Don’t Tempt Me" shoots out of the speakers like an electric shock - a late-eighties wave of hard-core supersonics - a stunning blend of hard rock, rap and contemporary prog rock blended into an insane rant. Super-compressed drums are soon joined by the intimitable sound of Tony Levin’s Chapman Stick - an eight-stringed, touch sensitive electronic bass instrument that gave crucial definition to the sound of both the 1980s incarnation of King Crimson, as well as the sonorous textures of that decade’s Peter Gabriel albums.<br /><br />As a matter of fact, having Levin, the bald-headed virtuoso appearing on the album - especially as prominently as he is featured here - is a kind of statement in itself. Not only do Mitchell Froom and Thompson place this music squarely in the sound of some of the most sophisticated rock of the decade, but by implication, automatically include Richard Thompson as part of the perception of where he (and his audience) essentially lie within the context of the music scene as a whole.<br /><br />I have no idea if this had anything to do with an attempted aesthetic marketing strategy or not. It really doesn’t matter in the end, however - Levin’s playing, and Froom’s production in general, do nothing more or less than to amp up a phenomenally charged Thompson performance, making it even more exciting (and funny) than it would have been otherwise.<br /><br />I also used the term "rap," before, and unbelievably, that is precisely what "Don’t Tempt Me" is - albeit inflected with the synthetic ambience of bagpipes and Thompson’s outraged north-England accent.<br /><br />"Dont Tempt Me" is not merely an aggressive rock piece, it is absolutely bananas, everything over the top. The strangest and most appealing thing about the recording and performance is that no matter how far out musicians and producer take this thing - which is quite a ways indeed - it seems to transcend its ridiculousness enough to sound absolutely serious and even frighteningly real.<br /><br />Thompson’s insane idiot character begins his diatribe at the very peak of sexual jealousy, sustains it for the duration of the song, and even manages to push it past parody, into something that strains incredulously, yet somehow, never manages to break.<br /><br />His shouted lyrics are simultaneously inane and ultimately convincing:<br /><br />That gorilla you’re dancing with<br />May not have too long to live.<br />He’s putting his hands in the wrong places,<br />Time to rearrange his face.<br />He’s gonna dance with me instead,<br />And I’m gonna tap dance on his head!<br /><br />The synthetic pipes beat the refrain of a Scottish martial march as the chorus explodes into its threatening bluster:<br /><br />Don’t tempt me - Don’t tempt me - Don’t tempt me -<br />I’m halfway out of my seat!<br /><br />The fact that all this mad raving ends with a bluster that is clearly a bluff is, of course, hilarious. Thompson does not relent one iota, however, and keeps up his rant with wonderful, paranoic wordplay:<br /><br />He’s got the looks, he’s got the lolly,<br />Driving me clean off my trolly.<br />Doing the jitterbug, doing the jive,<br />Doing the shimmy, snakes alive.<br />That’s not a dance, that’s S-E-X,<br />Ban that couple Certificate X.<br /><br />Don’t tempt me . . .<br /><br />The vision of the outraged boyfriend sitting helplessly in a bar chair, watching his girl in the throes of dirty dancing while exploding inside is ridiculously comic. Even more funny, is as we listen, we imagine that he is probably not actually saying a word - that all this bluster is going on silently, completely in his mind.<br /><br />The mock-ominous bridge, with its driving tribal drums and a wordless deep-bass male chant that sounds like a cross between a group of mad monks and the Witch's guards in <em>The Wizard of Oz</em>, not only make things more ridiculous, but paradoxically more serious, more desperate. Thompson’s clipped shouts:<br /><br />Oh, I’m a patient man!<br />But it’s out of hand!<br />If there’s one thing I can’t stand . . .<br /><br />lead his threats to ever new heights on the next verse. Levin’s solitary bass keeps the momentum testosterone laden:<br /><br />Get your mitts off my gal,<br />Or you’ll end up as mincemeat, pal.<br />I’ve got friends, mean sons,<br />They’ve got knives, chains, guns,<br />Gas grenades, knuckle dusters,<br />Lazy Susans, blockbusters.<br /><br />We’ve escalated from a fit of jealousy to a mad fantasy of revenge beyond proportions - the larger the threats, the more we sense the impotence of the threatened male as he shrinks simultaneously in our estimation. His mental summoning of an entire army and advanced weaponry (what is a Lazy Susan, anyway?) goes beyond the ludicrous to the possibly insane.<br /><br />After an audacious shout that straddles the line between savage attack and horrific surrender, Thompson launches into a particularly savage guitar solo with tiny clusters of notes and little rocket slides, musically threatening, though still ultimately impotent. Levin gives a brief, masculine flourish, then Froom follows up on the second half of the solo with wheedling, whining pipe music - flags fluttering on an empty field.<br /><br />In the third verse, the singer gives himself the lie:<br /><br />I’m sitting here as calm as I can<br />While you polish the floor with another man.<br />I’m not mad, I’m a cuddly toy,<br />Just keep me away from laughing boy.<br />You say he’s a relative - some hope!<br />If he’s your uncle, I’m the Pope!<br /><br />Don’t tempt me . . .<br />I’m halfway out of my seat!<br /><br />Despite all his threats, he is going to do nothing - not even confront the couple. The portrait of helpless, pathetic jealous vulnerability is complete.<br /><br />Thompson’s return to his savage guitar sets off a series of descending runs that repeat continually, going nowhere. This is all blustering fury, and as the music fades to silence we realize that this little scene will not only come to nothing, but will remain under the singer’s skin, ever a hidden, festering boil.<br /><br />Of course, "Don’t Tempt Me" is a joke. The big question is, if the entire song, the entire conceit, is so comic, why the hell does it sound so god-damned threatening? There is the unmistakable sound of real rage in "Don’t Tempt Me," and an ominous, palpable threat that seems just as real as the very real threat of "Shoot Out the Lights." Is it simply that Thompson is just so exceedingly good at sounding threatening? Something tells me there is more to it than that.<br /><br />Perhaps the real horror of "Don’t Tempt Me" is the very serious undertone of the ridiculous surface. What is terrifying is the degree of savagery and fear that can be conjured up in the human spirit, even when a will to act is not present or is thwarted by intimidation, both social and personal.<br /><br />In the end, "Don’t Tempt Me’ is more a horrific nightmare than a joke - and by the tone of Thompson’s voice, he knows this. By setting up this pathetic situation in his mind, he is forced (and likewise forces us) to confront not only our very valid sense of vulnerability in sexuality, but our utter helplessness to do anything about it.<br /><br />That is the secret of the song - its subject is not what it reports but our observation of the reporter. Here we find another case of "amnesia" - the singer is so obsessed with jealousy of his girlfriend that he misses the larger picture and the greater threat to his own ego - his utter powerlessness.<br /><br />This is why the song works so well on several levels. Thompson himself is one step removed from the singer and his perspective. What is ultimately scarifying in the performance of "Don’t Tempt Me" is Thompson’s genuine horror at his own inadequacy to face down the real threats of life where they are most sincerely important and incapable of defense.<br /><br />Do not make the mistake of dismissing this song as a laugher - "Don’t Tempt Me" is one of the most searing of Richard Thompson’s paranoid ironies, perfectly realized by a master of the form. Paradoxically, the deeper he reaches into his own hidden anxieties, the more powerful and disturbing he becomes as a songwriter. "Don’t Tempt Me" is another bold new step to extend and deepen Richard Thompson’s very unique art and to keep moving ahead in surprisingly new and varied ways.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Dont Tempt Me" (with animation)</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=eJ6vR6Kj2hI">http://youtube.com/watch?v=eJ6vR6Kj2hI</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Yankee Go Home" -</em></strong> Oh, my God, I love this song!<br /><br />I must confess that on first hearing this album, I was confused by what seemed to be an extreme - and from my perspective, perversely distorted - hate rant against the presence of American armed forces in Britain during World War II. Well, of course I was confused - I am an American.<br /><br />I grew up with the sure knowledge of my father’s and his generation’s patriotic bravery at saving the U.K. - to enormous casualties and loss - along with the rest of Western Europe, from the most horrific and formidable evil military machine in history. I was taught the Invasion of Normandy in school, I had watched all the movies. There has never been any question in my mind about the absolute determining necessity of the entrance of the United States into the war, in order to defeat the onslaught of the Nazi forces. Nor do I doubt that now. The heritage that I have is that America came over and saved Britain’s - and Europe’s - collective ass.<br /><br />Given this unshakeable perspective of history, I found it very difficult to assimilate the utter hatred and disdain of the British populace for American presence in possibly the single most important moment in modern history. Of course I knew that there had been cultural conflicts between us and the Brits, and rightly I knew that our boys had somewhat of a reputation for being "lady-killers" overseas - but hey, boys will be boys. And considering what they were asked to do - which was essentially to die - one could not only not blame the soldiers their overseas picadilloes, but - at least to some degree - recognized that they bloody well deserved them, and that the British should (and were) nothing but grateful for our tremendous sacrifice on their part.<br />No wonder this song seemed skewed to me:<br /><br />Oh, G.I. Joe, put your gun away,<br />The sun is setting on another day.<br />Why don’t you leave us alone?<br />Yankee, go home!<br /><br />They’re burning effigies out in the street.<br />Man the lifeboats, sound the retreat.<br />Pentagon’s on the phone,<br />Yankee go home!<br /><br />My first reaction was to interpret the song as a kind of satirical send up of the rantings of a crank. Yes, there must have been some conflict between the Brits and the Americans. Yes, I’d heard the stories of silk-stocking seductions. And yes, I’d heard the popular phrase, "Yankee Go Home," but had never given it much thought. Surely there wasn’t this degree of animosity among the Anglican people during our assistance of their "finest hour."<br /><br />But two things bothered me. First, what was the point of the song? Secondly, why did it feel so relentlessly heartfelt? Thompson had returned to the past, once again, and brought up to light the very real cultural resentment that festered throughout Britain at the time that thousands of American servicemen were being handed the keys to their kingdom.<br /><br />There was a reason "Yankee Go Home" was spray-painted across London. There is no telling the depth of the anger, frustration and resentment that ordinary English folk must have felt during what must have felt to many of them like a foreign "occupation" by their chief ally.<br /><br />Still, what was Richard Thompson’s true perspective here? He knew his history. When he has the narrator sing, "We’ll handle this on our own," I knew he must have realized that the British army was incapable of that - or the Americans wouldn’t have been over there in the first place.<br />Still, the song is so consistently vituperous, the anger so real and palpable, that it could not just be a satire. First of all, there is too much truth in the telling - the complaints seem not only fully justified in the face of a wounded civilization, but the likelihood of a general disgust in the British population seemed all the more likely and real the more I thought about it.<br /><br />"Yankee Go Home" was a real attitude of the time - not the only attitude, but a strong one, and one shared by many across the proud ancient country of Britain. Was Thompson actually siding with this sense of animosity?<br /><br />Let us point out that Richard Thompson traditionally writes songs from a very condensed point of view - and that view is not necessarily his own, or at least not wholly alone. It is certainly possible for a British citizen to both appreciate the sacrifice of American forces, and at the same time seethe at their very barbarian presence in their state. I think Thompson probably has a rational admixture of views about this subject - but that rational center is not the place that the song he chose to write originated. Instead, it radiates from what is, seen isolated and of itself, a perfectly definable and defensible point of view. It is an extreme view, to be sure - but Thompson writes extreme songs. Why should we expect less here?<br /><br />What is the singer (and the nation’s) main complaint against American troops?<br /><br />Thompson spells it out here as clearly as he spelled it out in "Don’t Tempt Me": S-E-X. As a matter of fact, "Yankee Go Home" has quite a great deal in common with the previous song. They both speak from a sense of impotent rage and jealousy over usurpation over which they have no real control. Both can be seen as over-reactions - based upon completely understandable reactions in the face of their respective situations.<br /><br />The real question I find myself asking now is, "Why do I find this song so fulfilling and liberating?" After all, it’s directed at <em>me</em>. There is a contagion to "Yankee Go Home," a self-liberating joy of shouting along - and the song, angry as it is, definitely has a happy, sing-along feel. Well . . . I guess there’s some part of me that really hates Americans, too.<br /><br />It’s not so much that America is not or should not be appreciated - I certainly doubt that even the would-be singers of this hymn would not concede respect and appreciation for this country’s contribution to the war effort, and to varying degrees, in keeping the peace in Europe for over a half century. I think the song is more about American arrogance than anything else. There is always sensed a presumption upon the part of both the American people and the government that they are special - and deserve uncritical thanks and special treatment. Moreover, the American’s notoriously garish provinciality assumes superiority without adequate justification - along with an ignorant lack of respect for long-established native traditions.<br /><br />Today, the world looks trepidatiously at this great international power carelessly imposing its own sense of values upon a wary ancient civilization. American cultural hegemony threatens the self-identification of more than one nationality with our all-levelling blend of bland consumer culture.<br /><br />I relate to this song somewhat in a way that I relate to the Clash’s "I’m So Bored With the U.S.A." Well, speaking as an American, I’m bored with the U.S.A., too. There is a repetitious sameness in American culture, coupled with a sense of entitlement that truly is boorish to any sensitive human being. I suppose the bottom line is that I sympathize with the fed-up Brits in the song, and it feels good to sing along, admittedly fed up with the rank stupidity of my own people.<br /><br />This does not mean that I love my country less - or certainly not their country more. In essence, I long for a medium in which humans can connect on a superior, more respectful level than nationalistic or cultural lines will allow. In a sense, I feel like "Yankee Go Home" is a boundary-erasing anthem, and it’s something that everyone should learn from.<br /><br />Moving back to Thompson’s text itself, we can fully understand the complaints. As I said before, many of them are sexual in nature:<br /><br />Oh, you turned my sister into a whore<br />With a pair of silk stockings from the PX store . . .<br /><br />My girlfriend still won’t talk to me<br />Since she met a sailor from the land of the free.<br />I’m tired of being alone,<br />Yankee go home!<br /><br />Resentment runs rampage - and I must re-iterate that it does reveal quite a deal of innate insecurity. Are British men really more considerate of their women than the visiting Americans? Would they truly have better luck with them if the Yanks weren’t "Overpaid, over-sexed, and over here," as the song asserts, which must have been an oft-repeated mantra of complaint during the war years?<br /><br />The cultural arguments are weaker, but they are still there: "Coca-Cola makes my teeth go bad" is about as strong as it gets. There’s something quite powerful about the line that concludes, "The Hun’s at the gates of Rome / Yankee go home!" We think about the "Hun" and immediately think about the German military powers - but here the term is transformed into a portrait of the ugly, boorish American carelessly stomping on all treasured European culture, as well as all cultivated sense of propriety.<br /><br />Of course the song is too extreme and one sided - and that’s precisely what makes it so great. The "amnesia" at work in "Yankee Go Home" is both the convenient dismissal of the dependency of England on American power for survival, as well as the lapse of self criticism (and honesty) in the face of a threatening rival.<br /><br />We almost sense more of a hatred for Britain’s ally than for the mutual foe - the guys who they should really be worried about. But somehow that’s just fine in this conflicted, hilarious bombardment that drips layer upon layer of irony. Perhaps the real truth that is always the unbidden truth about oneself that its the greatest release is what finally makes this song so liberating and powerful - and still confusing.<br /><br />Listening to the song once again, I sense more and more a carefully crafted nasty arrogance on the part of the singer, which is reflected in the self-righteous tone of the defiant fiddle solos. But then again, who is to say what the absolute interpretation is here - when truths are mixed with half truths that ignore individual culpability, they sit uneasily on the head of a pin?<br /><br />Once again, I just love this song. It’s one of the most perverse things Thompson has ever written - which is saying quite a lot, indeed.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Can’t Win" -</em></strong> Here, Amnesia climaxes with simply one of the greatest songs of Richard Thompson’s career. In a sense, "Can’t Win" flows quite naturally out of "Don’t Tempt Me" and - perhaps more importantly - "Yankee Go Home." Because it is here that Thompson turns his attention directly toward the national (British?) disease of placing a restrictive mind frame on a person, beginning with childhood. The song’s sense of petty suburban jealousy is reminiscent of the portrait painted in "Small Town Romance," where every nicely kept home houses an enemy that is bound and determined not to let you have it better than they do.<br /><br />This is one of Thompson’s most direct and powerful songs - and one where he sounds genuinely angry and disgusted. Is the song at least partly autobiographical? Certainly, we must assume that if Thompson himself was not persecuted in his youth by nay-sayers, he must have lived in their general shadow or aura, along with all his mates - otherwise this song would never had been written. "Can’t Win" is angry, convincing and vital - and in the course of the performance, Thompson has a chance to throw back everything in the face of anyone who ever gave him a discouraging word.<br /><br />The song’s structure is extraordinary - it starts out softly and balladic, working its way through uncertainty, finally arriving in a hard fatalistic dirge that ultimately transforms into a raging fury. It is perhaps Thompson’s most self-energizing, cathartic works, and within all the hell of its imagery, it contains the seeds of self healing - both for the singer and the listener.<br /><br />It’s probably best to let the lyrics speak for themselves here - but it is the gorgeous melody and the astonishing soundscape (not to mention the savage vocal) that escalates throughout that truly sells the song and makes it more a direct experience than simply an idea.<br /><br />It begins softly and simply enough:<br /><br />I started to cry, they put gin in my cup.<br />I started to crawl, and they swaddled me up.<br />I got up and run, they said, "Easy son,<br />Play up, play the game."<br /><br />They told me to think and forget what I heard.<br />They told me to lie, and they questioned my word.<br />They told me to fail, better sink than sail,<br />"Just play the game."<br /><br />The images come together so naturally, so concisely that it seems like thinking like this comes second nature to the writer. He is painting a portrait, not only of his own soul-crushing youth, but of an entire community - even a culture - where keeping in one’s place, "playing the game," is what keeps the society in a safe, harmonic balance.<br /><br />In a transition section, Thompson goes into a series of unresolved jazz chords, as the creeping bass line takes over the uncertain support of the song as he howls helplessly over the top. The tension, the push of the imagery begins to turn Biblical, thus stamping its inevitability on the head of the young singer:<br /><br />"Oh, towers will tumble, and locusts will visit the land.<br />Oh, a curse on your house and your children and the fruit of your hand."<br /><br />From the soft, opening acoustic phrases of the song, we have now built up incrementally to the harsh, drum-driven electric drive that presses its harsh inevitability, complete with background chorus:<br /><br />They say, "You can’t win. You can’t win.<br />You sweat blood. You give in.<br />You can’t win. You can’t win.<br />Turn the cheek. Take it on the chin."<br /><br />The power builds as the words start flowing more freely, Thompson getting angrier and angrier on top of their driving, building momentum:<br /><br />"Don’t you dare do this. Don’t you dare do that.<br />We shoot down dreams. We stiletto in the back.<br />The nerve of some people, the nerve of some people,<br />The nerve of some people, I don’t know who you think you are,<br />Who you think you are!"<br /><br />As the song crescendos here, we return to the beginning of the second verse. This time around, however, the pounding drum and the electronic sounds remain (though muffled) to join the acoustic playing, and Thompson’s vocal retains the angry edge that he picked up from the chorus. The dynamics are brought down from the chorus, though, as we feel the inevitable rise back up. Here, he goes directly at the parents' culpability as well:<br /><br />What kind of mother would hamstring her sons?<br />Throw sand in their eyes and put ice on their tongues?<br />Ah, better to leave than to stay here and grieve<br />And play the game.<br /><br />Don’t waken the dead as you sleepwalk around.<br />If you’ve got a dream, brother, hush not a sound.<br />Just stand there and rust, die if you must, but play the game.<br /><br />Here, as the transitional section returns, Thompson hones in on the heart of his target:<br /><br />Oh, if we can’t have it, why should a wretch like you?<br />Oh, it was drilled in our heads, now we drill it into your head too.<br /><br />Every urgency of discouragement is rooted in self loathing and the fatal need to keep one’s own jealousy placated. It is a killing environment, and when the chorus returns in its inexorable march, the communal chanting is more insistent than ever. Finally, as the final line is repeated, it is resurrected, presumably to eternity:<br /><br />The nerve of some people, the nerve of some people,<br />The nerve of some people, the nerve of some people,<br />The nerve of some people, the nerve of some people,<br />The nerve of some people, the nerve of some people . . .<br /><br />The unyielding pressure of this repetition of thought and experience gets ever more forceful. Ironically, the harder it pushes, the more enraged the singer becomes, until his chant is a Prometheon-like defiant mock of their own words.<br /><br />Suddenly, Thompson unleashes his electric guitar as the ultimate "fuck you" riposte to this litany, firing volleys like fire bombs. His revenge is ultimate, as he mockingly locks into repeated passages, only to burst out of them again with a sneering defiance that fulfills the promise of every rock and roll sneer since Elvis Presley.<br /><br />"Can’t Win" is another of Richard Thompson’s great "hidden classics": unheard, virtually unknown, but nearly on a par with the Who’s "Won’t Get Fooled Again" as the very backbone of the realization of self through rock music.<br /><br />"Can’t Win" is a staggering masterpiece. Any fear of decline in Richard Thompson is now totally gone. Here, as the 1980s close, with the ‘60s long gone, and the last energetic waves of punk crashing slowly to the shore, he, Neil Young and Lou Reed are still fearlessly out there, pushing way past everybody in the never-ending demand for autonomy and freedom.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Waltzing’s for Dreamers" -</em></strong> Once again, as on <em>Daring Adventures</em>, the penultimate song on the album is a surprisingly soft acoustic number, Thompson accompanied only by a fiddle and the gorgeous, sonorous double bass of future collaborator Danny Thompson (no relation). "Waltzing’s for Dreamers" is a waltz (surprise!), but more importantly, it is an absolutely beautiful, simple ballad of loneliness. In a sense, the song is about itself, as the waltz of the song becomes a surrogate for love, or really, any meaningful relationship or experience.<br /><br />This is one of those special songs that only Richard Thompson can seem to write - its simplicity completely surpasses any accusation of corniness - the singer is such a song is obviously a self-confessed square - to go straight on to transcendent pathos. Like Hank Williams, Thompson has a way with words that seem to go straight into the heart of loneliness:<br /><br />Oh, play me a blue song and fade down the light,<br />I’m as sad as a proud man can be sad tonight.<br />Just let me dream on, just let me sway,<br />While the sweet violins and the saxophone play.<br />And Miss, you don’t know me, but can’t we pretend<br />That we care for each other ‘till the band reach the end?<br /><br />The chorus immediately fulfills the song as yet another classic - a great standard that almost no one knows, nor will ever hear:<br /><br />One step’s for aching,<br />And two steps for breaking,<br />Waltzing’s for dreamers and losers in love.<br /><br />One step for sighing,<br />And two steps for crying,<br />Waltzing’s for dreamers and losers in love.<br /><br />This has become a <em>de rigeur</em> experience for Richard Thompson fans - such songs become so imbedded in the heart, brain and nervous system, that we forget that not everyone else in the world knows them. In a way, such a perfect ode to loneliness is a description of Thompson’s music itself. Music never heard is almost like a love never expressed - or at least appreciated.<br /><br />For those who may have forgotten, Thompson adds a marvelously lush acoustic guitar solo of such grace and facility that it’s almost a shock to recall what a truly great folk musician he is.<br />"Waltzing’s for Dreamers" is set and sung as an English ballad, but with a slight change of pronunciation, this could be an honest-to-goodness country & western classic. Hell, it could be a gondolier’s song - it could probably be anything. The universality of it is part of its sheer perfection.<br /><br />Lost love, unheard music, unseen lives - with "Waltzing’s for Dreamers," we reach the very heart of "amnesia."<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Waltzing's for Dreamers"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=9GJS806WzfI">http://youtube.com/watch?v=9GJS806WzfI</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Pharaoh" -</em></strong> The album reaches its ultimate closure with this quiet, exotic, jaw-dropping meditation. The songs of <em>Amnesia </em>have had many sources, both social and emotional, but they have all (save "Jerusalem on the Jukebox") have been of a personal nature. "Pharaoh" shocks us by taking a political/economic metaphor and pushing it just enough that it transcends its theme and ends up incorporating all of our actions and thoughts in a finely wrapped package of sad epiphany.<br /><br />This is a song for the ages - as true and inexorable as life and death itself. It is that rare song that makes us suddenly aware of the invisible bonds that shape all of our destinies and link us all together, both in time and place, inextricably together.<br /><br />"Pharaoh" uses understatement and simplicity to conjure up world-shaking cognition. The song is slow and stately, the instrumentation lightly exotic with electronics, the melody composed in an Eastern mode that not only fits its theme, but allows it to flow effortlessly, unyieldingly, like the Nile itself.<br /><br />Thompson’s vocal is the key that ties the whole thing together: his voice has the passion of the Biblical prophet, but combined with the weary resignation of the modern man:<br /><br />Pharaoh he sits in his tower of steel,<br />The dogs of money all at his heel.<br />Magicians cry, "Oh truth! Oh real!"<br />We’re all working for the Pharaoh.<br /><br />The portrait is painted very quickly and succinctly. The "tower of steel" is a corporate head office, money rules everyone’s lives, and reality is defined by the desires and needs of those at the top, making the rules. But it’s not simply that the modern CEO is a Pharaoh-like figure - this world situation is a constant, and it affects us all at every level:<br /><br />A thousand eyes, a thousand ears,<br />He feeds us all, he feeds our fears,<br />Don’t stir in your sleep tonight, my dears,<br />We’re all working for the Pharaoh.<br /><br />The truth of life for the majority of mankind is labor - a daily grind for subsistence in a world not of our shaping, but always for powers beyond our control:<br /><br />I dig a ditch, I shape a stone,<br />Another battlement for his throne.<br />Another day on earth is flown.<br />We’re all working for the Pharaoh.<br /><br />The great tragedy of mankind is summed up succinctly in the one line, "Another day on earth is flown." How much more simple and elegantly can this be put? The only rival for it I can think of is Ray Davies’ magnificent couplet in "Oklahoma U.S.A.": "All life we work but work is a bore, / If life’s for living, what’s living for?" The precious gift of life is, generation after generation, squandered on pointless, ego-degrading labor. It is Thompson’s call to point out just who is responsible for this situation.<br /><br />"Pharaoh" is not simply an anti-capitalist diatribe - this is a universal truth that power controls and determines exactly what life on earth will be like, whatever form it takes. It can be anywhere and anytime: "Call it England, you can call it Spain." Thompson’s ultimate reference to the Biblical correlation in the chorus gives the situation its proper tone of eternality:<br /><br />And it’s Egypt land, Egypt land,<br />We’re all living in Egypt land.<br />Tell me brother, don’t you understand?<br />We’re all working for the Pharaoh.<br /><br />"Egypt Land" is not simply Egypt - it is the eternal state of alienated oppression. More explicitly, Thompson calls on divine deliverance: "Moses, free my people again."<br /><br />Pharaoh he sits in his tower of steel,<br />Around his feet the princes kneel.<br />Far beneath, we shoulder the wheel,<br />We’re all working for the Pharaoh.<br /><br />The song reaches its conclusion with no prospect of release - because there is none in this life.<br />If you can listen to this song without feeling profoundly disturbed and not be moved to a universal pathos for all of mankind, you simply are not hearing it. It’s your voice that Richard Thompson is pleading to: "Tell me brother, don’t you understand?"<br /><br />Not to recognize this absolute truth is probably the most universally fatal example of "amnesia" we can identify. And it is here that the album ends.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performing "Pharaoh," solo acoustic</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=gPNlzLQnN84">http://youtube.com/watch?v=gPNlzLQnN84</a><br /><br />I have been referring to the concept of "amnesia" throughout the discussion of the album, but I do not mean to seriously advocate that this is a "concept album" in the general sense of the term. I merely find the title appropriate when thought about and applied, not only to these songs, but to Richard Thompson’s songs in general. The title and the cover art conjure up an essential something that is missing or forgotten - it’s almost as if songs are written around a blank cipher. There’s something not there that should be the actual content of the song. It is is this "amnesia," this lack of recognition in one’s self that give Thompson’s songs their peculiar sense of ironic tragedy - and this is something that goes back at least to <em>Henry the Human Fly</em>.<br /><br /><em>Amnesia</em> is a beautiful album - the sound is lush and seductive, without being overwhelming. More importantly, Thompson has re-mastered the style of songwriting from an external perspective, or from a portrait. I find this album to be the aesthetic and emotional equal of <em>Hand of Kindness</em> and <em>Across a Crowded Room</em>, but without the burden of having to emote from the gut in order to reach that special place where a song connects deeply and immediately with a listener.<br /><br />This is a new kind of album for Thompson - and with all of the good and truly great songs collected here, it is, in a sense, just the beginning of another stage of a journey that will soon flower with some of the most amazing work of his now-long, yet still-winding journey.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-69550269114593145772008-03-20T12:30:00.000-07:002008-03-20T12:42:01.503-07:00Experiments in Past and Future TenseThe four Richard Thompson-related releases that fell into the marketplace before his next "canonical album," <em>Amnesia</em> (1988) help flesh out a story both of the past and the present. First came two Fairport Convention retrospectives, each of which provided already confirmed fans with exciting, never-heard-before performances.<br /><br /><strong>Fairport Convention: <em>House Full: Live at the L.A. Troubadour</em> [June 1986]<br /></strong>This "new" release was recorded live by the <em>Full House</em> lineup of Fairport on September 4-6, 1970. The original release contained eight selections, including some material that had previously appeared on a previous Live at the <em>L.A. Troubadour</em> album in 1977 (long since deleted). (The 2001 re-release of this disc featured two more cuts from the earlier album).<br /><br />What is amazing in these post-Sandy Denny recordings is the extraordinary sense of high-wire energy and capacious abandon of these highly skilled musicians. Stateside fans of the group’s records, while possibly disappointed by the absence of the band’s female singer must have been equally shocked and exhilarated by the charismatic lunatic drive of this band performing this strange old music with such mad intensity. The response from the Troubadour crowd certainly bears this out.<br /><br />Both Fairport and Richard Thompson fans are highly recommended to check out this exciting document - this thrust into the past, both upon its release as well as today. There is nothing else in Fairport Convention’s catalog that indicates quite the intensity with which this amazing group performed live.<br /><img alt="Italic" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.italic.gif" border="0" /><br />The list of band personnel is a virtual testament to the "Who’s Who" of British folk rock, making this particular configuration a virtual supergroup: Richard Thompson, Dave Swarbrick, Simon Nicol, Dave Pegg, and Dave Mattocks. What follows is a brief recapitulation of what the album contains:<br /><br /><strong><em>"Sir Patrick Spens" -</em></strong> This Middle English sailing ballad (which appeared on <em>Full House</em>) was printed in my college <em>Anthology of English Poetry</em> textbook, but it didn’t rock like this. Thompson and Swarbrick trade swarming fists of flying notes, as the rhythm section pounds relentlessly and contrapuntally. The same sense of nihilistic fatalism from the written text fortunately remains the same.<br /><strong><em>"Banks of the Sweet Primroses" -</em></strong> This traditional ballad of a gentleman’s encounter with an unknown woman who accuses him of abandoning her at the alter is set at a medium slow tempo. The sound is reminiscent of the Byrds - if they were English, that is. (Remixed; original version first appeared on <em>Live at the Troubadour</em>.)<br /><strong><em>"The Lark in the Morning Medley" -</em></strong> Also known as "Toss the Feathers." This amazing suite of a lightning-fast jig and a crashing electric waltz is very familiar to me, but I can’t quite say where I know it from. Swarbrick is amazing, and Thompson thrills with the doubling of his blinding runs. Mattocks splashes great fills everywhere. Amazing to think that no one had done amplified Celtic music like this before - it’s absolutely stunning. (Originally appeared on <em>Live at the Troubadour</em>.)<br /><strong><em>"Sloth" -</em></strong> Swarbrick and Thompson’s amazing epic gets its well-deserved live workout here. A strange, seductive blend of traditional folk, psychedelia, nascent progressive rock and the savage droning of the Velvet Underground are all present in all the windings of this little-heard classic. (Thompson also adds some lead guitar that would fry Neil Young’s hair.) Those were the days - but if you couldn’t be there, you can still listen to this. (Different performance from the one appearing on <em>Live at the Troubadour</em>.)<br /><strong><em>"Staines Morris" -</em></strong> This is a traditional Morris Dance number, a ritualized British group step dance tradition that goes back at least to the 15th century. Swarbick and Thompson join in on lyrics that celebrate the coming of May, and Thompson adds a lovely touch by playing dulcimer. The entire effect is equally historical and strangely abstract.<br /><strong><em>"Matty Groves" -</em></strong> Taken at a faster tempo than on <em>Liege & Lief</em>, this incomparable song takes on a more brutal, mad sense of hurried fatality, especially with Thompson bluntly singing the lead rather than Denny. The closing section is even more spectacular than the record version, sound being whipped around in angry circles. Intense stuff. (Originally appeared on <em>Live at the Troubadour</em>.)<br /><strong><em>"Jenny’s Chickens/The Mason’s Apron" -</em></strong> These two fiddle reels are played at a breakneck tempo with flashing, syncopated drums pushing them ever harder. Thompson takes over for Swarbick on a solo that makes his fingers blur. Amazing how hard the band could push this stuff - they were the first, and I’ve never heard anyone doe it better. (Originally appeared on <em>Live at the Troubadour</em>.)<br /><strong><em>"Battle of the Somme" -</em></strong> This is an old Scottish ballad - complete with lyrics on Thompson’s web site - but done instrumentally here. It sounds more like the backing for a vocal track, as it slides along languidly. The repetition begins to sound more and more abstract, once again reminiscent of the Velvet Underground (if not The Magic Band.)<br /><strong><em>"Bonnie Kate/Sir B. McKenzies" -</em></strong> Another reel and a jig that Swarbick pushes to the limit of his speed and ornamentation. Few bands have ever sounded rougher and rowdier in backup support. (Bonus cut on the 1986 re-release.)<br /><strong><em>"Yellow Bird" -</em></strong> This silly, parodic version of the popular calypso pop song from the early 1960s is actually quite lovely until the vocals enter. It’s a deft reminder that Fairport Convention was a band that could (and sometimes would) play anything.<br /><br />Taken as a whole, <em>House Full</em> is a tremendous document of one of the world’s most ground-breaking and undervalued rock bands, performing at their instrumental peak. The sound is good for the day (though inferior to their studio albums, of course), and quite worth the investment for any Fairport lover. What perhaps is most exciting (and yet frustrating) is the incredible revelation that such adaptation of an older form of music to a new world was done so well and so excitingly - yet is still unknown by most of the pop population. Fairport takes their native mythic heritage and transmutes it to the present day, mythologizing their very selves along the way. It would be interesting to know if they had more influence in Britain and what their status is - outside of their still-living, raving cult, of course.<br /><br /><strong>Fairport Convention: <em>Heyday: BBC Radio Sessions (BBC 1968-69)</em> [1987]<br /></strong><em>Heyday</em>, the second release of the period, is possibly an even richer collection for fans of the early band, as it collects a large number of performances over Fairport’s most important era, recorded for BBC radio.<br /><br />Both albums are enjoyable and interesting in their own right, but I find it difficult to classify either of them as definitively "canonical" for either Fairport Convention or Richard Thompson collectors. This does not at all mean that they are not worth owning, as my brief reviews demonstrate.<br /><br />More pertinent in the development of Richard Thompson’s music in the mid/late 1980s were the appearance of two more-or-less "experimental" releases that allowed the musician to take some fruitful deviations from his chief solo project. The first appeared in 1987, with the formation of the group French Frith Kaiser Thompson. To quote from <em>Wikipedia</em>:<br /><br />"Experimental United States musicians, guitarist Henry Kaiser and drummer John French (‘Drumbo’ from Captain Beefheart’s Magic Band), began collaborating in 1987. They invited English musicians, Fred Frith (experimental guitarist from Henry Cow) and Richard Thompson (folk-rock guitarist from Fairport Convention) to join them to make an album."<br /><br /><strong>French Frith Kaiser Thompson - <em>Live, Love, Larf & Loaf</em> [1987]<br /></strong>It goes without saying that I would love to have this CD in my collection - or at least to hear it. I have tried in vain to order it, but it no longer appears to be in print. The band released a second album, <em>Invisible Means</em>, in 1990, which is also deleted. Necessarily, I will have to withhold any commentary until such time as a copy comes into my possession. (I have one cut from this album - "Bird in God’s Garden"/"Lost and Found,": which is available on the 1993 box set collection, <em>Watching the Dark</em> - which I will set aside until I cover that collection.)<br /><br />The second Thompson-related release from 1987 is the first of what will be several soundtrack recordings:<br /><br /><strong>Robert Thompson & Peter Filluel: <em>The Marksman (Music From the BBC TV Series)</em> [1987]<br /></strong>I have never heard any of this album, and it remains out of print. At this time, I cannot make any comment or assessment of this or any of Thompson’s soundtrack work, nor can I make a determination whether such recordings such be regarded as canonical or not.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-82424808674339853022008-02-11T12:22:00.000-08:002008-02-11T13:30:42.249-08:00Daring Adventures<strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Daring Adventures</em> [June 1986]</strong><br /><br />I feel I have to add a personal parenthetical note about each of Richard Thompson’s solo albums (from <em>Hand of Kindness</em> on), to the effect that at the time of each one’s release, it was a regular part of my daily life and experience. Each one has its own rich set of associations with where I was and what I was doing at the time. All of these albums (along with many others, of course) were quite important to me, and each bears its own particular feel that is attached to memory.<br /><br />That being said, I have to admit, that new releases tend to supplant old ones in my attention zone, and there are many of these discs that I have not listened to for quite some time now. I "discovered" Richard Thompson with <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em>, which has maintained a kind of permanent standard in my listening habits ever since. While, in the course of this project, I was listening freshly to the Fairport Convention albums, as well as the 1970s Richard & Linda Thompson releases that were new to me, there was inevitably an exciting sense of revelation - of new discoveries deferred.<br /><br />In the case of the post-<em>SOTL</em> recordings, however, I am experiencing a "re-discovery," and it is proving to be revelatory in a different kind of way. With vantage from both sides of the time spectrum, the music plays itself differently for me. Many things I have forgotten - much of the others are now heard in a fresh context. There have already been many surprises for me, and no doubt I will encounter some puzzlements as well.<br /><br />This was certainly the case with my fresh listening of <em>Daring Adventures</em> from 1986. I remember loving this album, along with its feel at the time, but after the first time through - on this voyage - I was disappointed. The album simply did not seem to hold up for me in any way or degree of intensity with the albums that came before it, particularly in comparison to its predecessor, <em>Across a Crowded Room</em>.<br /><br />Wanting to be as fair as possible to the material, I decided to allow some time to pass before returning to it, so that I would not rush into any harshly formed judgements. I’m glad that I did, for <em>Daring Adventures</em> took some warming up to in the wake of what I had been listening to, along with my anxious expectations.<br /><br />On first listening, I found most of the album dull and uninspired. Now, after longer and closer examination, I am more comfortable with it, though I do find it to be a kind of "transitional" album in Thompson’s career, and its imperfections are natural reflections of the necessary re-alignment and refinement of Thompson’s style and songwriting.<br /><br />This is only natural, after all. Perhaps the most important singular important thing about <em>Daring Adventures</em> is, after all, that it is pointedly <em>not</em> <em>Hand of Kindness</em> or <em>Across a Crowded Room</em>. That is to say, Thompson seemed determined to stop making sequels to <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> and to get on with his life and career. One can only maintain a reaction to a life crisis for so long without becoming pathologically obsessed and repetitiously boring.<br /><br />That’s not to say that <em>Daring Adventures</em> does not carry any morose overtones about love - it certainly does. But in this case, those songs ("<em>Missy How You Let Me Down</em>," "<em>Long Dead Love</em>," "<em>Lover’s Lane</em>," and "<em>Nearly in Love</em>") seemed to be formed more distantly, in a more abstract, less personal way. These songs are more about craftsmanship rather than the release of personal angst, which truly is, it must be admitted, a more difficult thing to pull off effectively.<br /><br />This is not to imply that these songs are any less "real" than Thompson’s previous songs - they do indeed carry the content of his character and perspective with tremendous conviction and honesty. It simply means that as a writer, Thompson was now having to return to writing from a more imaginative, less immediately personal perspective. And at this point, I have to say, that sometimes the work suffers - it labors in the transition.<br /><br />On the other hand, Thompson here introduces (or should we say "re-introduces") newly narrative-type songs that will become more and more commonplace for him - and that these songs are by far the most interesting and successful on the album. Indeed, the album ends with one of Thompson’s unquestionably great accomplishments - "Al Boylly’s in Heaven," an imaginative narrative in an experimental form that stands easily alongside any of his work in wit, pathos, and finally, in emotional catharsis. Indeed, <em>Daring Adventures</em> is so dominated by the power of this song that in my mind, I almost see them as equivalents. And if the rest of the album does no match up to the power of this masterpiece, that is not really a great fault.<br /><br />For these songs are daring adventures after all - they are each a personal excursion by Richard Thompson into attempting to stretch and grow - to pull away from the baggage of his past, while at the same time attempting to achieve something like the power of discovery that marks the uniqueness of his artistry. The album is indeed a self-challenge, and one that will soon begin to pay off huge dividends on subsequent releases.<br /><br />So my criticism is tempered by this realization, and I can enjoy this album for what it is, rather than damning it with faint praise for what it is not. And with "Al Bowlly’s in Heaven," we already have the first full fruits of the labor in hand. Yes, the song is that good, and it - along with a few other delightful "adventures" - are reason enough for any Thompson fan to deem the album critical to his canon, and well worth possessing.<br /><br /><em>Daring Adventures</em> would be Thompson’s second (and final) release on Polydor, and more importantly, his first in a series of collaborations with studio whiz-kid producer Mitchell Froom. At this point, Froom was most notable for his work with the lush recordings of the Australian pop group Crowded House, and beginning with Thompson, Suzanne Vega and the L.A. roots band Los Lobos, would soon begin crafting unique sonic soundscapes that some fans felt were foreign to Thompson’s style. I believe the collaboration holds up very well on these works, however. Froom is interested in establishing certain textures that match up well to the environment of a song, and not overwhelming them. From my listening perspective, Froom’s keyboard-rich, lush sonic pallet enervates and keeps current Thompson’s songs, while providing them with the necessary punch to retain the immediacy that his performance deserves.<br /><br />No doubt that there will always be small factions of disagreement among Thompson’s followers about whether Froom was a good match for Thompson, but after surveying the results of their work together over five albums - including some of the finest work of Thompson’s career - I belive the point is now moot.<br /><br />Richard Thompson albums are about the songs, not the sound. And on all of these albums, there are very many wonderful songs indeed. And yes, they sound good. What more could any listener reasonably ask for? Accept the daring along with the adventures, and you will not be disappointed.<br /><br /><strong><em>"A Bone Through Her Nose" -</em></strong> <em>Daring Adventures</em> begins more than promisingly with this hilariously savage broadside. This is Richard Thompson at his hardest rocking, his snidest and perhaps most affectionately best. Moreover, "A Bone Through Her Nose" represents a shift both in sound and subject matter that makes it sound like a genuine advance - in direction, if not quality - from his most recent recordings.<br /><br />Taking a cue from the outraged confusion of "Little Blue Number," this song is a singularly charged diatribe of the follies of a young lady’s forms and fashions in the context of the increasingly ridiculous parade of societal fads. In the face of the post-modern malaise that demands extremes of expression, but without any intelligible social context - a situation that still lingers among many youth today. "A Bone Through Her Nose" is a wonderfully precise portrait of the hopeless attempts of the young to escape the oblivion of conformity in a commodified world that has already pre-empted the very concept of "cool."<br /><br />How Thompson succeeds without falling into old-fogeyism is through the sheer power of his state-of-the-art electronic attack, combined with his witty words and the ferocity of his singing, which maintains a purely natural, careful edge between exaggerated outrage and "in-the-know" humor.<br /><br />The song kicks the album immediately into high gear with the playing of a sarcastic little riff on electric keyboards that is reminiscent both of a taunt and a satire on a vaguely Oriental sense of exoticism. Stated right at the beginning, then returning to answer every phrase in the verse, It’s particularly nasty and fun - inspired snottiness.<br /><br />Thompson and Froom give plenty of time and space to settle into the tough-hearted groove of guitar, bass and drums before the lyrics kick in. This is, indeed, one of the keys to the song’s effectiveness - by establishing itself right at the outset as the equal to any of the hardest and most skilfully crafted rock music, "A Bone Through Her Nose" seizes its authority to judge its subjects by effectively out-pacing them. This 35-year-old folk-rocker is not going to blanch at being culturally outmoded, and he out-mock-rocks his younger contemporaries effortlessly, stealing their sonic thunder with a greater wallop than they could hope to muster. In short, the song is a middle-aged-man’s coup - a tour de force of maniacal post-punk power that shrivels its contemporaries’ pretensions.<br /><br />There is also authority in Thompson’s vocal delivery that matches his sense of outraged sarcasm. At the beginning of the story, our heroine is in a free-fall state of fashion grace, and adjustments must be made:<br /><br />Oh, the drones on the corner don’t look her in the eye when she comes out to play.<br />And three times now at the Club Chi-Chi, they’ve turned her away.<br />Last week she was the belle of the ball, but another week passes.<br />It’s time to cast off crutches, scars and pebble glasses.<br /><br />A buzzsaw guitar changes the chords that begin the refrain that leads into the chorus:<br /><br />She’s got everything a girl might need,<br />She’s a tribal animal, yes indeed . . .<br /><br /><em>Tribalism</em> is the key word here. Archeologically speaking, it is a most helpful definition that puts the young girl’s fashion dilemma into perspective. With just a change of outfits, one can change social sets, and thus adhere, belong. But it if it is nothing more than that, of course it is a hollow adherence to an aggregate group in which individuality, ironically, is subsumed in the colors of the "tribe." Through such a metaphor, modern, or even "post-modern" quandaries can be seen as thoroughly primitive as any kind of human behavior can be.<br /><br />The chorus brings the defining edge of this fashion-mongering, homo sapien adaption mechanism to its logical conclusion. Try as she might, she has not quite reached the fullness of primitivist behavior, because, as Thompson slyly observes:<br /><br />But she hasn’t got a bone through her nose, through her nose,<br />Hasn’t got a bone through her nose . . .<br /><br />Indeed, that’s all that is missing to make the atavistic transference complete. Thompson repeats the chorus like a primal chant, driven by the relentlessness of savage drumbeats that pound in point like the height of ritual jungle ceremony. Setting a marvelous counterpoint to this is the sophisticatedly unexpected downward modulations of the chorus’ melody and harmony. The song hits its target quick, hard and sticks.<br /><br />The second verse catches up to our young lady and her current fashion habits:<br /><br />Oh, she gets her suits from a personal friend, Coco the Clown.<br />She’s got dustman’s jacket, inside out, it’s a party gown.<br />If it’s bouffons, she’s got bouffons, if it’s tit she got tat.<br />She’s got hoochie-coochie Gucci (whoo!) and a pom-pom hat.<br /><br />Thompson’s verbal wordplay is thrillingly funny, matching Chuck Berry and Bob Dylan in wit and invention, but with his own personal flair.<br /><br />Thompson thwaks his Stratocaster mercilessly in a hardcore rhythmic holding pattern before breaking out into a run of staccatto lines that dance on the edge of the beat, like flames around cannibal’s boiling pot. Froom’s pseudo-exotic synthesizer picks up the lines of an imaginary melody that leads back to the third, and final verse:<br /><br />Well, her ma writes cook books, she wrote one once, and it sold one or two.<br />Her pa’s in the city, he’s so witty, he calls it "the zoo."<br />Her boyfriend plays in Scrutti Polutti, Aunt Sally’s brown bread.<br />In a few more years she can marry some fool and knock it on the head.<br /><br />The mocking reference in the third line refers to Scritti Politti, a British post-punk band that had moved to a synth-based kind of power pop which had proved a sensation the year before with their top-selling album, <em>Cupid & Psyche 85</em>. Thompson "pollutes" their name, perhaps in the same manner as the band had "polluted" its radical vision for a more commercial, manneristic style. Not knowing quite what Thompson thought of their music, the inclusion of this reference point still helps to tie down the milieu to which our heroine is tied.<br /><br />However, the problem is not tied to this historical cultural moment, given the girl’s vacuous family background. And the concluding line attests to a future in which her vapidities will be perpetuated even further down the generational line.<br /><br />Thompson repeats the chorus again, finally giving out his chant and picking up a taunting, sliding guitar line, which gradually gives way in the fade to the sound of human voices childishly intoning, "Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah . . ." The song thus ends in utter disdain.<br /><br />So we come finally to the question of the point of this manic little diatribe. Aside from the obvious critical attacks, we know Richard Thompson to be a sensitive individual (though certainly a sarcastic one), and one is loathe to simply leave the interpretation at that. Of course, at its core, "A Bone Through Her Nose" has a negative subject matter, which is indeed the absence of a fully developed human personality, complete with the intellectual and emotional grounds for confident self carriage.<br /><br />This is nothing new in Thompson’s writing repertoire, but "A Bone Through Her Nose" is certainly a stylistic breakthrough, and one that more than adequately demonstrates his tremendous power to remain alertly relevant - indeed, within the context of the contemporary music scene, he appears here, as later, to be a "cutting edge" performer, and a worthy companion to such younger College Radio staples as R.E.M., Talking Heads, the Smiths and his quirky American counterpart, Tom Waits.<br /><br />This seems to be an odd key to Thompson’s cultural position as a cult icon. Absorbed in "adventurous" popular music from the very beginning of his career, his unique modern vision, tied as it is to the conservative perspective of the folk singer, lends him a strange combination: the traditionalist modernist. The ever-living crank, "Henry the Human Fly" is buzzing about in a new setting, and it is in a place that is just as absurd as it always was - indeed, will always be.<br /><br />"A Bone Through Her Nose" is as exciting and catching beginning to an album of the period as could be imagined. (Note: I saw Thompson and his band perform this curio live in September 2007, and it had lost none of its good-natured savageness, sounding surprisingly relevant and fresh.)<br /><br /><strong><em>"Valerie" -</em></strong> The mood established, Thompson sustains it - even attempts to pump it up - with this fast-rocking crazed portrait of a girlfriend who is making the singer crazy himself. "Valerie" is the true successor to "Little Blue Number," in its "Too Much Monkey Business" virtuosity of insanities. In tempo and tone, the song more resembles "Tear Stained Letter" in its Jambalaya footstomping fun, but it fails to live up to (or even attempt) to reach that brilliant song’s ability to turn horror into a joke - and vice versa.<br /><br />"Valerie"’s litany of challenges to her lover/author can either be seen as funny or tedious, depending upon one’s disposition. I tend to enjoy it, and it features a particularly hilarious, nervous-breakdown guitar solo towards the end. The lyrics are clever, but they’re really not worth repeating here - there is wit, but no real savagery of insight, especially compared with "Bone Through Her Nose."<br /><br />This is not particularly a criticism. "Valerie" is a good-time, silly rave-up that can be especially enjoyed in a live performance. But it’s not pushing Thompson into any new direction. Instead, he begins to sound like he’s repeating himself here - and other places on this album. We can see that at this point, the artist is attempting to shake the personal debris away from his work, and needing a subject matter, begins turning to portraiture - or in this case, caricature.<br /><br />The Richard Thompson of <em>Henry the Human F</em>ly and <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> never seemed to suffer from lack of inspiration through observation. Dwelling too long in the shadows of his own emotional ecstasies and nightmares, the transition back to more objective songwriting seems a little elusive here. But it will not remain that way for long.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "Valerie" (solo, acoustic)</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=EGhHbJo7PCE">http://youtube.com/watch?v=EGhHbJo7PCE</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Missie How You Let Me Down"</em></strong> - Next comes what by now is seeming an obligatory "bad love song." This man seems out of pain and out of guilt by now - one never asks if this Celtic-tinged lament is addressed to Linda or not. It’s clearly a formula song. Once again, this is not to be too critical. "Missie How You Let Me Down," is a perfectly realized dirge of sadness and regret, and it sounds beautiful. There is a peculiar soulfulness to the number that makes it an especially enjoyable listen, and Thompson puts the lyrics across with professional conviction.<br /><br />I find it difficult to castigate or dismiss songs like this, as coming from anyone else, I should probably find them rapturous. Indeed, I think if I had never heard Richard Thompson before and listened to this album, I would instantly fall in love with this and many other songs. Sometimes it’s difficult when you have set so high a standard. (Just ask Bob Dylan.)<br /><br /><strong><em>"Dead Man’s Handle"</em></strong> - I do not own a copy or am familiar with <em>First Light</em> or <em>Sunnyvista</em>, both of which have less than sterling reputations. So for me, I have to say (with that qualification) that this is Thompson’s least-inspired, dullest song so far - a real dud.<br />Using train metaphors again (e.g., "Fire in the Engine Room"), "Dead Man’s Handle" is a cautionary tale that completely fails to engage the emotions in any way whatsoever. The worst thing about the song, however, is that its structure and feel are practically a carbon copy of "Wall of Death," arguably Thompson’s greatest single achievement. This is certainly an argument that inspiration far outweighs technical proficiency in either folk or rock music (or many other arts for that matter.) "Dead Man’s Handle" is quite professionally constructed, but there is no spark of life. It’s just a dead fish of a song.<br /><br />Once again, you cannot accuse Thompson of not trying here. You can feel commitment is real - the magic just isn’t coming. Not yet, not here.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Long Dead Love" -</em></strong> My first impression was that this was another confection of love-loss, and if Thompson wanted to shake the overtones of his marriage break up, he should avoid these. (Let’s just say that it’s not exactly "Love in a Faithless Country.") But listening through it again, the song seems curiously designed. Just who is being addressed here, and what is the situation being described?<br /><br />Somebody’s walking, oh somebody’s walking<br />There on the grave of our love.<br />And somebody’s kicking the dust and the ashes away.<br />Why don’t they just let it die<br />And fade and grow cold again?<br />Better our footsteps divide<br />And our memory grow cold again.<br /><br />Oh, long dead love,<br />Long dead love.<br />How much dirt must you shovel on what’s already dead?<br />Don’t send flowers to remember, send thorns instead.<br />And who’s that polishing the tombstone over our head?<br /><br />Who is doing the polishing, indeed? There’s something about "Long Dead Love" that shows that it’s closer to Thompson’s nervous system than you might at first think. If one thinks of the song as a complaint, then is it to a media that will not let his failed marriage drop? Or is the song - somewhat obliquely - directed to Thompson himself?<br /><br />It seems easy to read the song as a self-complaint. Clearly, Thompson is wearied of writing about his failed marriage - whether intentionally or not - but he’s having trouble stopping.<br /><br />This reflects a real artists’ dilemma - for three amazing albums, Richard Thompson has emptied out his guts in ways that few artists can without seeming cloying or self important. Thompson has always taken the personal to the universal and made every ounce of his guilt, fear, loss and disgust the property of every listening human being’s nervous system. It is quite clear by now that he is not only tired of following this pathway, but that those emotions have cooled in him that gave those songs their impetus and force to begin with.<br /><br />Real passion seems to rise out of "Long Dead Love," but it is the passion of frustration with oneself. His vocal reaches a truly violent pitch as he spits out the words, "You know that grave-robbing is a sin and this is a crying disgrace!" before launching into a powerful guitar solo that simply drips with invective and (self?) loathing.<br /><br />Slow guitar arpeggios reminiscent of the Beatles’ malevolent sound on "I Want You (She’s So Heavy)" drive the song through chord changes that resolve in a still bridge, surrounded by a funereal organ:<br /><br />Deep in the night, the cruel intention comes stealing.<br />Deep in the night, I can’t close my eyes for this feeling.<br /><br />"Long Dead Love" may not be a great song, but its emotion is both genuine and compelling, even if it does remain on such a solipsistic ledge. The passion that is conveyed is the effort one hears - especially in the guitar solo - to break out of this prison of self entrapment.<br /><br />A "transitional" song in the most literal sense of the word, "Long Dead Love" adds much-needed passion to an album that so far has been either coy or emotionally redundant.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Lover’s Lane" - </em></strong>Sonically, melodically and vocally, this is by far the most powerful piece on the album since the opening "Bone Through Her Nose." The LP era still overlapped the digital at this point, and this song brought a haunting conclusion to side one. It still feels that way, even on CD.<br /><br />The song is almost static, a chant resting on Thompson’s frantic guitar picking, and none of its melodies resolve to a conclusion. Mitchell Froom’s production is especially striking here, as he provides Thompson a synthetic wash, accompanied with an uncertain-sounding stand-up jazz bass that gives "Lover’s Lane" a complimentary sheen that does not overwhelm the simplicity of the song.<br /><br />We return here again to the subject of dead love, but somehow there seems more of a purpose here. If Thompson is going to write about failed love, he’s found an effective way to do it here, with a ghostly simplicity and an emotional emptiness that matches his subject matter:<br /><br />False hand in false hand,<br />Down Lover’s Lane, we walked, we two.<br />Love sold for fool’s gold,<br />Down Lover’s Lane, we walked we two.<br /><br />A striking chord change leads to a chorus that simply drips with disgust:<br /><br />On your back I’ll climb,<br />Or you climb on mine.<br />Deception is the rule<br />On Lover’s Lane.<br /><br />The scorn is distributed evenly and not a word or phrase is wasted. As though sick of writing these songs, Thompson pushes the edge of his disdain to a fine-pricked point and leaves it there.<br />The second verse is filled with empty sentiment:<br /><br />Fine friend, fine friend,<br />I held such dreams in my caress.<br />Fine airs, fine airs,<br />The best of manners and address.<br /><br />Thompson repeats the venom-filled chorus, then allows the shimmering sounds to wander off into silence. The effect is not the wistfulness of "Ghosts in the Wind," but something much nastier - it is vindictive indictment - self indictment, love indictment. "Lover’s Lane" is effective, perhaps because it is so extreme, untempered by any relief or latitude for understanding. It’s a nihilistic little jab, and the execution of it is so perfectly extreme that it is more than welcome.<br />If you are going to sing about what you are sick of singing about, perhaps it’s best to thrust as much disdain for your subject matter as possible. On "Lover’s Lane," Thompson does just that, and it works - breathlessly.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Nearly in Love" -</em></strong> What would be side two of the LP opens with this half-sarcastic romp, in which the singer celebrates a new relationship with what can be seen as a sensibly won (yet somewhat sad) attitude of caution. It’s funny and snide at the same time, while being intelligently believable - a unique hallmark of Richard Thompson’s songwriting:<br /><br />You’re the one I’ve wanted so long.<br />But then again I might be wrong.<br />Now you look just right in the pale moonlight<br />But let me turn the headlights on.<br /><br />‘Cause I’m nearly in love, nearly in love.<br />I’m almost aware of walking on air,<br />Yes, I’m nearly in love.<br /><br />This "not-quite" anthem is joyously played and the sarcasm is subdued inside ebullient mid-tempo rock that could remind a listener of <em>Born in the U.S.A.-</em>era Bruce Springsteen - albeit with a slight Celtic tinge reminiscent of Big Country’s eponymous single.<br /><br />One can’t help but smile listening to this declaration of hesitancy - it is, after all, a mature response that most people in their mid-thirties could appreciate. But the darker undercurrent is the suggestion that for those of us (like Thompson) who have been burned by the fire of their own passions, is that this is the best we can hope for.<br /><br />"Nearly in Love" is a lively, witty and self-mocking song that kicks in nicely to help re-establish the album’s momentum and which will gradually drive it home to its momentous conclusion.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Nearly in Love"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=l5cklUcNZxI">http://youtube.com/watch?v=l5cklUcNZxI</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Jennie" -</em></strong> This song begins with one of Thompson’s greatest lines: "Oh, trouble becomes you, it cuts you down to my size." Unfortunately, "Jennie" does not lyrically remain at that level (though it reaches toward that height again with, "How many days of his life can a man regret?") This is essentially another lost-love song, quite similar to "Oh Missy How You Let Me Down," but this example seems to work better.<br /><br />I truly hate to damn Richard Thompson with faint praise, and "Jennie" is truly a lovely, heartfelt song. It simply does not match up to the incredible standards that Thompson has set for himself.<br />That will not prevent me from enjoying the song - either on CD or on stage, as it is truly soulful and emotionally effective. Thompson plays a particularly evocative guitar solo here, full of slides and mournful bagpipe motifs, in what seems a near-perfect distillation of Celtic rumination and Eric Clapton-style blues. Mitchell Froom encloses the song with soulful organ chords, dulcimer chirps, and a glowing synthetic chord drone that seems to open up into another universe.<br /><br />Despite its undeniable loveliness, "Jennie" is yet another song that makes one feel that Thompson is grappling to relearn to write songs again. There is an artfulness to it that keeps it distant from Thompson’s own soul, and finally, therefore, ours. This is a recurring problem here on Daring Adventures, and one that Thompson will confront directly before it is all over.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Baby Talk" -</em></strong> This is another joke song, an upbeat country/Cajun foot-stomper that relates a lover’s complaint with his girlfriend’s proclivity to babble like an infant. I am reminded of the canoe seen in Horse Feathers when Groucho Marx remarks to a similar coquettish ploy with, "If wittle girl doesn’t stop talking like that, big bad man is going to kick all her teeth wight down her thwoat." I actually had a friend whose wife had this proclivity so annoyingly that he sat her down and played this song for her to try to get his point across to her.<br /><br />Yes, it’s a fun little song - and it could even be hilarious in another context, but here, it’s just another weak attempt on an unsteadily weak album. I struggle to drag more meaning out of the relative immaturity of the singer’s partner. While such implications definitely lie there undeveloped, it doesn’t seem worthwhile to attempt to drag them out here and place them in any larger context that would give "Baby Talk" more resonance. Perhaps it’s better to just enjoy it for what it seems to be on the surface, or maybe even just skip over it.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Cash Down Never Never" -</em></strong> This song is basically another confection, but it’s one that I’m quite fond of. The narrative addresses the endless cycle of credit and indebtedness of the modern family, especially in an uncertain economy. The lyrics flow glibly and ominously, landing right on target:<br /><br />Young love, I wish you well,<br />Shotgun and wedding bells.<br />Semi-semi and the damp is peeling,<br />Hole in the roof wets the baby’s head.<br /><br />Back streets, real scum about.<br />Need a car, a little run-about.<br />Some down and a fistful later,<br />Sign on the line like the nice man said.<br /><br />Once again, the verbose humor of Chuck Berry is invoked (along with the nervous rhythm of the driving guitar), but here it is employed in an indictment of the savage necessities of pathetically living life in the modern age. (Presumably, this song re-visits some of the same territory as <em>Sunnyvista</em>, but we would like to have a copy of that album to actually scrutinize.)<br /><br />This song works more broadly than most of the others on <em>Daring Adventures</em>, possibly because, ironically, it is set at a certain distance from the singer. In singing about other people in other circumstances, what he inevitably reveals about himself is his own alienation from modern culture. And given that we know that Richard Thompson as a universal creature, a traditionalist caught in the madness of machinery (either emotional or economic), the song works.<br /><br />As in "A Bone Through Her Nose," Thompson is re-discovering the power of narration in second or third person. This is something he has done quite successfully since <em>Henry the Human Fly</em>, but in the powerful emotional wake of his Sufi conversion, up to his messy divorce and aftermath, his strength has come from the sheer intensity of his first-person experience. Rediscovering this method of narration is a technique that serves him well here, and it will pay off hugely in many songs to come.<br /><br />Thompson and Froom really let the effects fly here, making "Cash Down" sound like an ominous horror movie soundtrack, complete with threatening theramin and <em>Exorcist</em>-like tubular bells. Once again, this is not a great song, but it is a treat to listen to.<br /><br /><strong><em>"How Will I Ever Be Simple Again" - </em></strong>For those of us who might have wondered whatever happened to Richard Thompson the folksinger, he suddenly, unexpectedly re-appears here, acoustically unadorned, save for an unobtrusive upright bass.<br /><br />The effect is shattering. In the midst of all the clattering of <em>Daring Adventures</em>, Thompson suddenly reaches deep into his old kit bag of English balladry to pull out this breathtakingly, eye-welling simple tale. Ironically, this unexpected simple song takes on all of the dilemmas that Thompson the artist has been struggling with throughout the album and immediately exorcises the demons that howl about him simply by honestly confronting them.<br /><br />In one of Thompson’s simplest, plainest melodies, he tells a first-person narrative of a soldier encountering a young woman during wartime:<br /><br />Oh, she danced in the street with the guns all around her,<br />All torn like a rag doll, barefoot in the rain.<br />And she sang like a child, "toora-day, toora-daddy,"<br />Oh how will I ever be simple again?<br /><br />With exquisite precision and economy, Thompson presents his - and perhaps all of our - dilemmas in an exquisitely metaphorical form. The image of the war-weary, hard-souled soldier observing this startling image of childhood joy is completely disarming - both to him and the listener.<br /><br />"How Will I Ever Be Simple Again" is a masterpiece of self discovery, and in a sense, of self-recovery. In the distance between the eyes of the soldier and the view of the innocent girl dancing lies the measurement between Thompson (and ourselves) as cynical survivors of life and the idealistic purity with which we all began our journeys.<br /><br />On another level, this is Thompson the artist, asking of himself how to be an artist once more. All throughout <em>Daring Adventures</em>, we have observed him struggling with the art of effective, emotional songwriting - something so natural to him that he seems born to do nothing else - without retreading his own shattered nervous system and psyche. Like a miracle, he happens upon this exquisite little tale, and all of the pieces fall right back into place. He asks himself precisely the right question, and in asking it, is graced with his answer.<br /><br />The image that the soldier encounters is told with such dexterity and simplicity that it is completely disarming. The observations do not need any commentary, and are first received with a kind of wondering shock:<br /><br />She sat by the banks of a dirty grey river<br />And tried for a fish with a worm on a pin.<br />There was nothing but fever and ghosts in the water.<br />Oh, how will I ever be simple again?<br /><br />The sense of wonder with which he views his remarkable image is truly transformative. The song carries the same poetic resonance of the marvelous scenes in film-maker Jean Renoir’s great humanist masterpiece, <em>Grand Illusion</em>, which could have indeed provided inspiration for this song - even if it did not. In such simple, yet boundlessly powerful images, the soldier/singer’s psyche is transformed and he is re-humanized:<br /><br />In her poor burned-out house, I sat at her table.<br />The smell of her hair was like corn fields in May.<br />And I wanted to weep, and my eyes ached from trying,<br />Oh, how will I ever be simple again?<br /><br />Thompson follows with one of his most sweepingly beautiful acoustic guitar solos, notes perfectly placed and delicately balanced, no gratuitously showy technique, but simply, perfectly arched phrases of beauty.<br /><br />He concludes the song with a plea:<br /><br />So graceful she moved through the dust and the ruin,<br />And happy she was in her dances and games.<br />Oh, teach me to see through your innocent eyes, love.<br />Oh, how will I ever be simple again?<br /><br />Once again, and finally, the singer answers his own question, perhaps without even realizing it. His witnessing and acknowledgement of innocence automatically endows it upon his own weary soul. By the end of the song he is truly free.<br /><br />I can only surmise that this amazing song - certainly one of Thompson’s greatest - probably came unexpectedly, perhaps from the back of his consciousness. Its naturalness is astonishing, and one can feel the pathos of the song singing the singer back to a place from which he can finally begin afresh. There is no question in the listener’s mind that this song is about himself, on the deepest of levels - and no less doubt that its discovery and performance are blissfully curative.<br /><br />It could certainly not have been planned that Richard Thompson would discover in mid-album a song that would be a pivotal moment for both his art and his life. But nevertheless, coming so unexpectedly at the penultimate moment for <em>Daring Adventures</em>, "How Will I Ever Be Simple Again" seems to magically turn all the neurotic struggling of the preceding songs around and to lay the groundwork for the rest of his career, which would begin immediately with the triumphant closing song of the album.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Al Bowlly’s in Heaven" - </em></strong>I would probably risk going too far if I were to call this Richard Thompson’s masterpiece. There are simply too many remarkable songs from what is by now obvious to be one of the greatest songwriters of the 20th and 21st centuries. But "Al Bowlly" is special indeed. The song not only ranks alongside his very greatest work, which is certainly saying quite a bit, but it also marks an incredible turning point in Thompson’s perspective, approach to songwriting, and his maturity. I do not think it is going too far to say that "Al Bowlly’s in Heaven" definitively lays down a method and approach that would serve Richard Thompson as a continuing, potent and important artist for the next 20+ years.<br /><br />Of course, I don’t even know which song was conceived first - but in its sequence on the album, "How Will I Ever Be Simple Again" serves to psychologically pave the way for this amazing piece. I mentioned the process of "re-discovery" when talking about the prior song, and that same re-discovery is at the very essence of what Thompson accomplishes here.<br /><br />The question that has emerged throughout <em>Daring Adventures</em> is how is the artist to reconnect with his innermost spiritual self and communicate it so directly and powerfully, without relying on his own immediate personal ecstasies and crises in order to accomplish it.<br /><br />Thompson solves the dilemma by returning to narrative form. In creating a fictional character, as he had done with his early work, he could sketch a terrain that on the surface is quite foreign to him, but by placing it in first person, he could inject all the details straight into his own nervous system and lay out his heart for all to see.<br /><br />From this point on, we will have many portraits and many guises - some first person, some second - emerge powerfully, and growing in succession - from the pen of Richard Thompson. This is nothing so unique, actually - it is the very stuff that folk music is made of. But beginning here, with "Al Bowlly," Thompson recovers its very heart and soul and applies his own very unique flourishes to the most profound effect.<br /><br />Interestingly, "Al Bowlly" sounds nothing like a traditional folk song. Nor is there anything particularly "Anglican" about it, except for the narrative. Instead, this is set as an old jazz standard, reminiscent in sound and feel of "St. James Infirmary." The nostalgic feel of the song embodies its subject matter perfectly, providing an awe-inspiring blend of hipster celebration with melancholy loss. Its design is nothing short of perfect. No songwriter other than Richard Thompson - with the possible exception of Ray Davies - could pull off something this amorphously strange while making it sound so personal and desperately vital.<br /><br />The character inhabited by the singer is an injured war veteran - not from Viet Nam, but from an entirely different era from the rock age, World War II. The theme of the song is the sense of sacrifice and betrayal after giving everything one has to a reality that time slowly dissipates and vanishes, leaving the protagonist a wasted shell of a human being. "Al Bowlly’s in Heaven" is not an anti-war song, per se - it is more an anti-time song. It is the universal realization that the pathos of man is to outlive his relevancy and meaning to an ever-changing world.<br /><br />The song begins in a minor key, with acoustic guitar chords, and an ominous start-and-stop shuffle. An upright bass enters, resting on one note. Thompson’s vocal emerges, off-centered, on a blue note, with a voice that sounds both commanding and defeated:<br /><br />Well, we were heroes then. and the girls were all pretty.<br />And a uniform was a lucky charm, bought you the keys to the city.<br />We used to dance the whole night through<br />While Al Bowlly sang "The Very Thought of You."<br />Now Bowlly’s in heaven,<br />And I’m in limbo now.<br /><br />For American listeners, particularly those under the age of 50, the name of Al Bowlly is unlikely to strike any recognition, let alone resonance. Bowlly was a British singer of the 1920s and ‘30s, an extraordinarily popular and influential "crooner" in a similar style to Bing Crosby. His popularity, in fact, was so great that he has been called "the first pop star," displacing the bandleader as the main name attraction at performances. Bowlly was popular in America, but enormous in Britain, where he sold millions of records - 1937’s "The Very Thought of You" was one of his biggest hits.<br /><br />I have always found it a very interesting phenomena that the musical stylings of the "rock era" have survived and thrived as long as they have, rock and roll artists of the 1950s and ‘60s finding favor with succeeding generations. On the other hand, most of the pre-War popular music and its influences has simply seemed to vanish in popular consciousness. If the singer of "Al Bowlly’s in Heaven" was 20 years old in 1940, when Bowlly was headlining a new band in London, where his audience consisted of young men in uniform, then in 1986 (the date of this album’s release), he would be a mere 46 years old. However, the culture in which he flourished would have been so dead by then that it would seem - to anyone who knew of it - to be anachronistically ancient.<br /><br />This is part of the singer’s dilemma. The entire world had undergone such a powerful and complete cultural and political revolution, that someone like the narrator would find himself an absolute stranger in contemporary society. For some perspective, consider that here, in 2008, we are listening to an album from 1986, thus making it 22 years old. To us, <em>Daring Adventures</em> sounds remarkably contemporary - so much so that it could easily be a current release. That there has been such a cultural continuity in this long period of time is absolutely amazing. Perhaps more puzzling is the fact that the music and styles from 26 years preceding <em>Daring Adventures</em> were so distant as to seem to belong to another world entirely.<br /><br />This is the crux of the dislocation in which the singer finds himself in "Al Bowlly’s in Heaven." This is, to a large degree, part of the "limbo" in which he finds himself.<br /><br />Al Bowlly, on the other hand, is in heaven - that is, he (along with his vast cultural influence) is quite dead. Bowlly was killed in his London flat in 1941 during a campaign of the German Blitzkrieg. He is quite literally, as well as figuratively, gone from the scene.<br /><br />The description of the scene in the first verse sets the picture very clearly for its context - the aging veteran is recalling his youthful heyday, and if he is exaggerating its glories ("We were heroes then, and the girls were all pretty."), it is probably not by much. At any rate, this is certainly the way the picture lives in the man’s memory.<br /><br />The second verse goes on to detail is story more closely:<br /><br />Well, I gave my youth to king and country.<br />But what’s my country done for me, but sentenced me to misery?<br />I traded my helmet and my parachute<br />For a pair of crutches and a demob suit.<br />Al Bowlly’s in heaven, and I’m in limbo now.<br /><br />Injured, perhaps crippled during the war, the singer was returned back to his society with barely a thank you, and apparently no financial or psychological assistance. The "demob suit" was a standard issue, cheap, double-breasted suit-coat that each British soldier received during his "demobilization" after the war. The singer’s implication, is of course, that this is all the assistance given to him in his re-transition back into society.<br /><br />The first bridge of the song, a beautiful, plaintive melody set in a relative major key, wistfully details the kind of life the singer has been living ever since:<br /><br />Hard times, hard, hard times,<br />Hostels and missions and dosser’s soup lines,<br />Can’t close me eyes on a bench or a bed<br />Without the sound of some battle raging in my head.<br /><br />Ill equipped, physically or psychologically, for re-entry into British commercial society, the singer has had to resort to a life of living off charity, and his post-war stress syndrome has never been dealt with and has never dissipated.<br /><br />As time passes, friends fall away or die, the environment becomes ever foreign, and the effort required to keep on surviving gets more and more demanding. The third verse tells it all:<br /><br />Old friends, you lose so many.<br />You get run around, all over town,<br />The wear and the tear, oh, it just drives you down.<br />St. Mungo’s with its dirty old sheets<br />Beats standing all day down on Scarborough Street.<br />Al Bowlly’s in heaven, and I’m in limbo now.<br /><br />The specificity of the English names and phrases in the song personalize it severely. It is in the details that help make the singer’s plight so convincingly moving. St. Mungo’s is London’s largest charitable organization for homeless people. "Dirty old sheets" is enough to tell the listener all he needs to know about the amenities such charity. Scarborough Street is a public works program, which involves primarily street sweeping and other menial tasks. The picture being painted is not pleasant, and the choices are narrowed down to one humiliating, dehumanizing situation to another. This is a cruel limbo indeed.<br /><br />Thompson follows with an acoustic guitar solo, backed by bass, brushed snare drum and vibes. For once, he has found an appropriate place to display his Django Reihardt-inflected jazz vocabulary to turn in a stunning performance that wordlessly epitomizes both the bluesy despair of the conditions being described, along with a brilliant flush of grandiose excitement that harkens back to the great days of Bowlly and the big bands. It’s one of Thompson’s most emotionally effective - as well as technically proficient solos - which is saying quite a lot. Through the seeming magic of the note choices of his runs, he manages to both decry and celebrate an entire lost culture, while at the same time evoking it.<br /><br />As the solo ends, the song moves into its second bridge, which plunges the singer deeper into hopelessness and despair:<br /><br />Can’t stay here, you’ve got to foot-slog,<br />Once in a blue moon you might find a job,<br />Sleep in the rain, you sleep in the snow,<br />When the beds are all taken you’ve got nowhere to go.<br /><br />Froom adds synthetic chords that mockingly - though subtly - remind the listener of the sound of the horns of the big bands. For the beginning of the last verse, however, all instrumentation drops out again except for the spare guitar, bass and brushes. Here we enter the center of the singer’s psyche - the memory of the brief time of youth where his life mattered, where he was fully integrated into a community - in fact was king of the world. Thompson’s voice dips into a sense of wondering revery:<br /><br />Well, I can see me now - I’m back there on the dance floor.<br />Oh, with a blonde on me arm, redhead to spare,<br />Spit on my shoes and shine in me hair . . .<br /><br />A simple drum flourish kicks the music up a notch, as vision unfolding in the singer’s mind takes full form, and he explodes into the unbridled delight of an ecstatic vision:<br /><br />And there’s Al Bowlly, he’s up on the stand,<br />Oh, that was a voice, and that was a band . . .<br /><br />The music pauses, then slows for the ultimate, sad conclusion, the bursting of the dream:<br /><br />Al Bowlly’s in heaven, and I’m in limbo now.<br /><br />Thompson sings this finality in a large, haunted, ghostly voice, and as the last chord resolves, the song, as well as the album, are finished.<br /><br />The moment is sublimely ironic and pitifully sad. We realize, along with the singer, that Al Bowlly is not merely dead, but exists only in an idealized memory or vision - a kind of "heaven" that is accessible to the singer only through his imagination.<br /><br />The song is much more than a kind of nostalgia - it is the tragedy of human diminution through the loss of time and place. If a human being has no cultural context in which he can function, he becomes an apparition in himself, an aimless ghost wandering around the waste-land limbo of his own soul.<br /><br />Thompson intuitively taps into the great theme of alienation, which is a universal, not limited to a specific time or place. And like the poor, entrapped "Deserter" of <em>Liege and Lief</em>, he is used by a political machinery that does not care a whit for the nature of his own right to humanity.<br /><br />Alienation, a theme present from the beginning of his work, begins to take hold here in an entirely new ironic dimension. "Al Bowlly’s in Heaven" is a very important song for Thompson’s development of association through character. In a sense, the song is the "flip side" to the album’s opener, "A Bone Through Her Nose," which traces the desperate attempts of a young woman to stay fashionably up to date. Definitions of self, if allowed to be determined by one’s country, time, phase or fad are a fruitless endeavor, destined to land the individual into a meaningless shell of existence.<br /><br />The real problem - for Richard Thompson, however - is the question of what is the alternative? If one remains true to one’s self, is the only recourse a trip back into the solipsistic world of emotional suffering? What is preferable - a limbo or a hell?<br /><br />In <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em>, the young Sufi convert sang about what it would be like to be "Walking Down the Streets of Paradise." An older, wiser man, is now still pondering just how to get there.<br /><br />This, in essence, is the problem that Richard Thompson has set up for himself, what he sees basically as the universal problem of mankind. In the song "Al Bowlly," he has, as I have said, "re-discovered" a songwriting technique of character creation, one that requires empathy and involvement on the part of the performer and listener. In his examination of his character’s anguish, Thompson discovers his own humanity through this other person’s experience. It is a technique that he will begin to return to, again and again, in many different guises and approaches - it is a kind of writing that allows the artist to enter from the outside, where he can find identity with another and thus discover the depth and wealth of all the emotional and spiritual yearning within himself.<br /><br />"Al Bowlly’s in Heaven," finally, ends Thompson’s own "daring adventures" and releases him from his own sense of limbo. What he discovers here is that he does not need to sing about himself in order to uncover the truths about himself. There is more than enough human material to pursue to awaken the universal longings of the infinity of the human within - and to transmit that that back to his audience.<br /><br />After all this time, Thompson’s adventures are, in a sense, just beginning.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson Band performing "Al Bowlly's in Heaven," 2007:</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=-Vgq6eryp4g">http://youtube.com/watch?v=-Vgq6eryp4g</a>Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-48553897788305459612008-01-15T12:34:00.000-08:002008-01-15T12:37:38.801-08:00"Second Stream" Recordings I<strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Doom and Gloom From the Tomb, Vol. 1</em> [1985]</strong><br /><br />There are those who could credibly argue that none of Richard Thompson’s recordings are meant for the mainstream market. it is, after all, a market that has never embraced him, and Thompson remains, to this day, something of the quintessential “cult” favorite. But even within a cult (or rather, a relatively small, yet extraordinarily loyal fan base), there lies a deeper core of hard-core devotees who yearn for more production from an artist than even a meagre market will bear.<br /><br />Richard Thompson realized this quandary as early as 1985, when he released this cassette-only collection solely to members of his fan club, by mail order. Little could anyone imagine that this type of direct marketing to the faithful few would eventually develop into an entirely second stream of releases that would become an ever-growing part of the Thompson catalog.<br /><em>Doom and Gloom From the Tomb </em>(what a wonderful title!) was indeed a collection for hard core enthusiasts, featuring demos, live recordings, and previously unreleased songs from Fairport Convention, Richard & Linda, as well as newer solo recordings. No doubt Thompson was correct in his estimation of his niche in the market, and a collection such as this would be an effective, yet affordable method to deliver the most of his music to the hungriest of his followers.<br />Issued on his own Flypaper label, created exclusively for this purpose, <em>Doom and Gloom</em> was never intended to have a long shelf (or rather postal) life. It was soon out of print, which it remains today. Thompson would issue a second volume in 1991, and by the end of the next decade would begin a steady stream of (mostly) live albums from his own Beeswing label - all available by mail order only.<br /><br />This concept would prove not only to be a reasonable business practice, but it makes for a much wider appreciation and assessment of Thompson’s music than would otherwise be possible.<br />The down side of this method, from a collector’s point of view, is that these recordings tend to go out of print after a few years, and it remains to see if many of them will ever be resurrected. Such recordings must be seen, therefore, as a separate, “second stream” of issues and cannot be considered part of the Richard Thompson canon proper.<br /><br />This does not mean that they are neither interesting or important for our purposes - I would certainly review and analyze <em>Doom and Gloom</em> if I had a copy in my possession. But since I don’t, we must pass by it without much more ado.<br /><br />When we begin to reach the mail-order titles that are currently available, we will make a decision as to how thoroughly to scrutinize them at that time.<br /><br />For those interested in the contents of this recording and other details, they are readily available for scrutiny at Thompson’s official web site, Beesweb at http://www.richardthompson-music.com.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-69855936769372565692008-01-14T15:26:00.000-08:002008-01-14T19:18:04.871-08:00Across a Crowded Room<strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> [April 1985]</strong><br /><strong><br /></strong>Even more so than his solo "debut," <em>Hand of Kindness</em>, this follow-up, full-throttle electric album defined what would be come to be known an understood as a "Richard Thompson album" during the 1980s and ‘90s. Speaking personally, I recall feeling at the time that <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> was a richer, more fully accomplished piece of work than its predecessor at that time. What sticks in my mind is mostly the unified and distinct sound and mood of the album.<br /></strong><br />Recorded in late 1984, and still produced by Joe Boyd (though issued under the Polygram label), <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> bore the stamp of the lush, high-treble production values of the MTV-era ‘80s. The album seems to have been recorded in a kind of ghostly echo chamber environment, and Thompson’s voice is loaded with reverb. It is a sound that is very similar to Bruce Springsteen’s epochal <em>Born in the U.S.A.</em>, released the previous summer, but its mood is much spookier - and much more idiosyncratically personal.<br /><br />Listening freshly to the album today, the tone and quality of the entire project seems much less consistent (and more transparent) than it did at the time. But if to conclude that this is finally inferior to Hand of Kindness, in retrospect, it in no ways devalues a fine collection of songs, a small fistful of genuine classics that rate with the best that Thompson has ever produced.<br />As a whole, however, I cannot say that the album stands up the standards that Thompson set before - or after. The fact that this does not diminish in any way the memory of the haunting power that it held over me in 1985 suggests that it could still have a similar effect on a newcomer to Thompson’s music. That is to say, <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> is still more vital, powerful and compelling listening than 99% of the albums by other artists from that time hence.<br /><br />One oddity about the album is that it was the first by Thompson to be released on compact disc. The LP configuration and the CD differed - both by running sequence and the inclusion of an additional song on the CD. It is the LP that I purchased at the time, and that I fell in love with - and it is the CD that I am listening to today. Could such subtle changes effect the impact of an album to such a degree that it substantially alters its overall impact to its detriment - in fact, making it, however slightly psychologically, into a very different statement? This is a question I will return to after discussing the songs as they stand on the CD version I possess today.<br /><br />Changes in tone coincide with changes in theme, and in this sense, <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> is somewhat retrogressive. If <em>Hand of Kindness</em> stands as a kind of contrite, yet self-affirmed declaration of independence for the artist, <em>Crowded Room</em> seems antithetically hushed, pushed back into a psychological mire of guilt and defensiveness. This, odd as it seems, however, is not a criticism. It is precisely that claustrophobic sense of inward paranoia that gives <em>Crowded Room</em> much of its power.<br /><br />In fact, it might not be going to far to say that this is the album one might expect to follow <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> - the ghost of Linda and the messy emotional fallout of the divorce seems to permeate it to the grooves. The accumulated, sprawling mess of unrelated objects depicted on the front cover seems to be an apt symbol for the disordered debris left in the chaotic wake of this personal cataclysm.<br /><br />The density of the sound of the album fits this theme well - and <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> indeed works best when it adheres to the thematic motifs suggested by its title and the artists’s history. As a matter of fact, <em>Crowded Room</em> seemingly begins its odyssey as a concept album, strictly regarding the aftermath of the breakup. One can understand why Thompson would not want to do an entire album of this nature, but it is true that whenever the songs veer away from this central sphere, the emotional center seems to be lost, and one has to wait until another great, thematically-related song comes around to re-center the record again.<br /><br />There is no question that there are some of Thompson’s most powerful and frightening works on here - and songs like "When the Spell Is Broken" and "She Twists the Knife Again" function on a much deeper level than any witty or poetic conceit could possibly take complete claim for. This is where Thompson seems to be digging under his skin, and whenever he does this, with all apparent honesty and horror, it is exactly what is communicated directly to the listener, as if via an intravenous tube. Whenever that appears to be happening, that is where <em>Crowded Room</em> is functioning at its best, and indeed, where it sounds like the masterpiece it quite could have been.<br /><br /><strong><em>"When the Spell Is Broken"</em></strong> - <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> kicks off breathlessly with this ominous, moody classic - one of Richard Thompson’s greatest songs and vocal performances. The effect, in fact of "When the Spell Is Broken" is so powerful as to completely dominate the entire sense of the album, so that expectations are not only phenomenally high for the rest of the disc, but in retrospect, whenever one thinks of <em>Crowded Room</em>, this is immediately the song with which they associate it.<br /><br />"When the Spell Is Broken" is actually a very simply constructed song. Based in a minor key with a threatening, steady mid-tempo drumbeat, it immediately drags the listener into a deep, heavy groove that is reminiscent of "I Heard it Through the Grapevine."<br /><br />It is, in fact, to a large degree, due to the song’s simplicity that Thompson is able to make such a deep, immediate emotional connection. The supreme artistry of the song is that there appears to be no artistry involved whatsoever, and the result is a hushed glimpse directly into the singer’s soul.<br /><br />And soul is a key word here - for all of Thompson’s vocals, and he is definitely a powerful (if Anglo-centrically eccentric) soul singer rest so deeply and effortlessly on his melody and lyrics that a very special kind of starkness comes breathing through which is utterly and hauntingly convincing. One cannot help but as though they were listening directly on a conduit to Thompson’s soul itself.<br /><br />"When the spell is broken - When the spell is broken -." Thompson intones the fragment twice before starting into the verse proper. The first chord change, delayed so long, adds a twisted poignancy to the singer’s lament:<br /><br />How you ever gonna keep her now?<br />You can’t cry if you don’t know how.<br />When the spell is broken.<br />When the spell is broken.<br />All the joy is gone from her face.<br />Welcome back to the human race.<br /><br />The sentences are clipped and direct, each one packing its own tight little punch, which joined together serve up quite a beating indeed. "Welcome back to the human race" is such a disarming line in itself, so revelatory in its compact puncture of love’s delusion of happiness - so final, in fact - that it is surprising to hear it used as a springboard to the development of the melody, which stretches out in long, rising arches, letting Thompson’s lonely voice hang, hurt and helpless, dangling in the air before falling gradually back down to the bottom, where it began.<br /><br />How long can the flame<br />Of love remain<br />When you curse and fight<br />And never see a light<br />Or hear light spoken?<br />When the spell is broken . . .<br /><br />A huge electric wave of an open-tuned minor guitar chord washes over the refrain, as two background voices (male and female) answer back, almost mockingly in harmonized monotone - "Can’t cry if you don’t know how . Can’t cry if you don’t know how. . ."<br /><br />This song is already a masterpiece. Nothing really needs to be added at this point, but merely extended. There is no climax. Or rather, perhaps the climax is reached right here, or even sooner: perhaps with the first line, or even the first chord of the song.<br /><br />Thompson has created something very, very personal here, yet something completely universal. Struggling to describe it, I might call it his own personal re-creation of the blues. "When the Spell Is Broken" has all the simplicity and emotional directness of the greatest blues songs, though it is really not structured so and sounds like the blues only through analogy.<br />There is something in the honest, committed mastery of the music that lends the song something of the great authority that the blues carries. With a great blues singer, like Robert Johnson, Sonny Boy Williamson, or B.B. King (not to mention Hank Williams) emotes so directly that nothing stands in the way of his bared soul and the listener’s ear, the effect can be an overwhelming experience. There is no strained artistry to admire, but something shimmering, pure and human that speaks directly to the soul. And here, on this song, Thompson most perfectly achieves this effect.<br /><br />For Richard Thompson, one can finally now affirm, is truly a great vocalist. After all his odd and tenuous starts with Fairport and on <em>Henry the Human Fly</em>, where we heard an unsteady but unique voice, through the ‘70s albums with Linda, where his rough but affecting vocals alternated so effectively with her perfectly honed instrument, here after singing in public for going on twenty years, Thompson has become a master of phrasing, of tone and breath control. Yet his greatest vocal triumph is that you believe every word he sings and that he feels each difficult, painful phrase, right down to his bare bones.<br /><br />It is this remarkable singing that is the key, fusing with the simple melody and tonal structure, along with the heartbreakingly lonely words that make "When the Spell Is Broken" such an overwhelming listening experience. With this song, Thompson has crafted his own personal version of "The Thrill Is Gone," a singular and humbling accomplishment, even within the context of his own wide and varied discography.<br /><br />"Can’t cry if you don’t know how" - this multi-repeated line seems to be the key to the entire predicament. Yes, we can fall back on biographical interpretation again (and we will), but one does not need to know of Thompson’s marriage self destructing to fully grasp the sense of the dilemma of love falling away. There is a long and great tradition of "losing love songs," particularly in country & western music, as well as the blues. But the dilemma is usually the departing of the loved one’s affection and the pain that it causes the lover. Here the situation is very different.<br /><br />What happens when two lovers - even two partners in marriage - both fall out of love together? Or what if you are the only one? This is a human experience that is all too common, too real - and yet so mundane that it is hardly ever given any voice of expression in song or lyric. The act of falling in love - especially mutually falling in love, is an experience taken as so divine that it always will inspire great odes of rapture. For falling in love, two people discovering the oneness shared in each other is one of the most powerful experiences human life offers. It is a transforming, transcendent, mythical experience that is so difficult to put into words that it is constantly being set to the ineffable qualities of music.<br /><br />But what happens when the inverse occurs? Is this loss of love a reverse-transcendent experience? Do we recede back from the beauty and joy which we have discovered back into the world of the mundane? And if so, is there a concomitant realization that what we experienced was false, just an illusion? How does the human psyche deal with the disillusion of fading love? Do we now disavow love, or do we simply recognize that it is a state which cannot be perpetually maintained, although it remains, secure in its transcendent realm, and is simply - even if temporarily - cut off from our accessibility?<br /><br />In short, "is love real?" And in the great mythic heart of the devoted Sufi, Richard Thompson, "is transcendence real?"<br /><br />The truth is that we do not live always in bliss - but that the potential loss of bliss is a constant state of the reality of being human. With heaven comes the possibility of hell, which is what makes all the stakes of life so vital. The problem is that not all of us are equipped to deal with it, and that mastering the great tragic sense of loss is part of developing human maturity.<br />This is the singer’s dilemma. He is unfamiliar with the grim realities of loss, and he is getting a hard lesson in how to deal with them. It is there in his very inability to cry that leaves him in a kind of state of suspended animation. All he has known is the bliss - and once that is gone, he feels nothing, surely a terrifying prospect.<br /><br />The song leaves no sense of hope - only a strange and discomforting stasis. Does this mean that "When the Spell Is Broken" is ultimately cynical, even nihilistic? I don’t believe that is Thompson’s perspective, although emotionally where the song resides is in a kind of spiritual limbo, if not a hell. No, no one is going to fight their way out of this song, through the context of the song. One must put on additional perspectives, grow a little more, before one is able to advance. But that is perhaps the function of other songs. This song is dedicated to that one, undeniable, and often unexpected truth of the great potential of loss. And this is the song that lays the groundwork or mood for all of <em>Across a Crowded Room</em>.<br /><br />The title of the album is taken, of course, from the lyrics of "Some Enchanted Evening," from the Broadway show <em>South Pacific</em>. The song deals with love at first sight: "You may see a stranger across a crowded room." The romantic epiphany of this event is celebrated, and within the context of both song and show, the result is eternal happiness: "Once you have found her, never let her go." In Thompson’s real-life nightmare becomes the haunted question, "How you ever gonna keep her now?" Indeed that is the question, as is its corollary, the unspoken "How you ever going to leave her now?"<br /><br />The grim realities simply build until they are undeniable:<br /><br />All your magic and your ways and schemes,<br />All your lies come and tear at your dreams,<br />When the spell is broken . . .<br /><br />Now you’re handing her that same old line,<br />It’s just straws in the wind this time.<br />When love has died,<br />There’s none starry eyed.<br />No kiss, no tears,<br />No farewell souvenirs,<br />Not even a token,<br />When the spell is broken . . .<br /><br />Thompson’s plaintive guitar solo emerges slowly out of this miasma and treads restlessly back and forth in its entrapment of non-modulation until it jumps up, double- time against the beat in a fruitless effort of high chords to break out of the grim cycle of entrapment.<br />One last verse remains, in which Thompson pleads with his listeners:<br /><br />Don’t swear your heart<br />At the very start.<br />Love letters you wrote<br />Are pushed back down your throat<br />And leave you choking,<br />When the spell is broken . . .<br /><br />Is caution truly the answer? Is that what is to be learned here? It is not a very convincing argument, and though the singer undoubtedly will be more wary, more cautious, the human heart will always be susceptible to new awakenings. And this of course means it will always be susceptible to new disappointments.<br /><br />The singer is in no position here to get a grasp of any perspective. The song files out slowly, steadily, leaving him isolated in his limbo of non-feeling. "Can’t cry if you don’t know how," he joins in the chant. In the universe of the song, he is ever stuck in the remorseless cycle of regret and incapacity as the litany slowly, fatalistically fades away, seemingly into a forever realm of non-escape, his controlled yet impassioned guitar an Anglo-Saxon counterpoint to B.B. King.<br />"Welcome to my world," Richard Thompson seems to say to his audience at the opening of his new album. "I’ll show you pain that you never even knew you had." Is it really any wonder that the record didn’t go platinum?<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "When the Spell Is Broken"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=PED03yVaLj0">http://youtube.com/watch?v=PED03yVaLj0</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"You Don’t Say" -</em></strong> This extraordinary song is the perfect follow-up to the opening, and places the singer in a present-day context after getting over "the spell." It is as cold, harsh and unblinking as anything Richard Thompson has ever done, which is saying quite a lot.<br /><br />This is a very nervy performance, and Thompson must have realized the effect it would have in re-focusing, re-directing attention back on himself and his breakup with Linda. Though he can disclaim biographical writing, songs like "When the Spell Is Broken," and especially "You Don’t Say" simply belie any disclaimers. That is not to say that there is not a universality to them - indeed, it is precisely in the reality and honesty of the representation of the personal that such songs find their grounding depth that can connect so powerfully with a sensitive listener.<br />The obvious oddness of this song is in the schematic of the singing of the verses, which is given over entirely to a female chorus. Thompson only sings on the refrains, the same ambiguous response, over and over.<br /><br />The song begins with a quick, anxious chirping of electric guitar which suggests a kind of pop-rock hyperactivity, or even paranoia. It seems desperate to communicate something, but the holding, the forestalling of any development gives it a quizzical urgency that is held in abeyance.<br />Finally, unexpectedly, the reverb-soaked female voices enter, scatting their words quickly, like gossips in the street or unwanted whispers in the brain:<br /><br />I saw your old flame<br />Walking down the street.<br />She’s back in town again,<br />She’s looking out for you.<br />She says you used her,<br />And you were indiscreet,<br />It really wounded her<br />When you bid adieu.<br /><br />Confronted with this sudden barrage of information, accusation, recrimination, what is left for the singer to reply?<br /><br />Do you mean she still cares?<br />Do you mean she still cares?<br />Do you mean she still cares?<br />Oh, you don’t say.<br /><br />I cannot think of a comparable instance in which perspective has been twisted around in a song quite like this. The effect is shocking, so matter-of-fact in its delivery that it is simply disarming.<br />Thompson wrote those self-accusing lyrics and submits them to himself. Anyone with any knowledge of the breakup with Linda can clearly hear these reproofs as accurately emanating, if not from her, then from Richard’s projected psyche of his ex-wife. He can’t deny the accusations, and when he is implicitly asked for a response, there is literally nothing he can say.<br /><br />Thompson sings the lines of his response without any sense of disdain - indeed, he seems genuinely touched, truly moved. He, however, has moved on with his life. What can he possibly say to meet this confrontation, either on the street or within himself? His feelings are gone, but his guilt remains. "Oh, you don’t say," simply stops the conversation in the air. It is not that he does not care, but that there is nothing he can say or do to possibly alter the reality of the circumstances.<br /><br />The turning of all this emotional invective into a simple point of conversational acknowledgement is not just an act of cold dismissal - although he must be aware that it certainly comes off that way. The simple truth is that he has nothing to say to this person that is now part of his past, and he can neither deny nor defend any of the accusations hurled at him.<br />Thompson is absolutely ruthless with himself here. There is no soft-soaping, no self-remorse, no relenting in the dialogue directed against him: He goes out of his way to show precisely who he’s writing about and that the situation is not misrepresented:<br /><br />She keeps half a ring,<br />She says you’ve kept the other,<br />She says you broke your word<br />When you pursue another.<br />She says, "You’re getting love<br />Mixed up with sympathy.<br />Young man, do your duty,<br />And come on back to me."<br /><br />Responding simply, as before, it is clear that Thompson seeks no pity and offers no excuses for his actions. Things are precisely the way they are, and there is simply no changing them.<br /><br />The question emerges as to why a writer would feel the urge to put up such blatant self-flagellation before the public? Guilt must be part of the answer. But Thompson’s casual, though sad, dismissal of his obligations to do anything risk painting himself as an utter heel. His motive must lie deeper, must lie beyond guilt, must penetrate to the very nature of his being. The song is no answer to his critics, much less his ex-wife. They seem to arise from a compulsion to be completely honest in the face of truth.<br /><br />This is really rather extraordinary, when you think about it. Do we come away thinking anything good about Richard Thompson after hearing this song? Is it really enough to say, "Well, at least he can admit he’s an asshole." We still don’t wish to admire or emulate assholes, do we?<br /><br />I think that the most positive thing being said in this song is precisely what is left unsaid. Richard Thompson does not have the arrogance to say, "Put yourself in my position - this could happen to you." But by placing us precisely in his position and hearing all of our faults thrown back in our face, we can begin to appreciate the common humanity and the sheer impossibility of dealing with just such a situation ourselves. Who among us hasn’t acted the bastard sometimes? Who hasn’t broken faith? Who indeed has not felt shame and regret, and yet has nothing left to do to amend it? What in the world can we say in response to our own shortcomings?<br />Sometimes there is simply nothing one can say - and that is precisely the point.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "You Don't Say"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=EKWdzeyf1-A">http://youtube.com/watch?v=EKWdzeyf1-A</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"I Ain’t Going to Drag My Feet No More" -</em></strong> This song moves the album one or two emotional steps further. Here, if we take the album as a universe in itself, rather than merely a collection of songs, the singer has moved on from his old broken romance and is ready to pursue a new relationship. "Drag My Feet" is a kind of pep talk to oneself, a pumping up resolution to go ahead and go after the girl, despite a litany of past excuses, all culminating essentially in shyness and fear of rejection.<br /><br />This is a marvelously (and rare) optimistic song for Thompson, and he plies it on with great gusto and good humor. It’s in a major key with a 4/4 tempo, that pumps "whack-whack-whack" on his guitar and on the drums - which feature a delightful hesitation/tempo switch on the first chord change of each verse. It’s like a kick start in the middle of a speech to keep up the courage, to man the pace, and the accompanying accordion and saxophones remind one of the sound of the band on <em>Hand of Kindness</em>.<br /><br />The verses extend to build in verbosity, resolution, and rapidity to open up into the chorus, in which female singers accompany the happy, almost gospel-like release that comes with self determination:<br /><br />Where I come from feeling is a crime.<br />I thought I could take you in my own good time.<br />Like a jumped-up fool, now down I climb,<br />And I ain’t gonna drag my feet no more,<br />I’m running to your side, going to beat down the door.<br />I ain’t going to drag my feet no more, no more.<br /><br />After two verses and choruses, there is a brief instrumental excursion into relative minor, with a sweetly contrasting romantic accordion lead, reminiscent of a burlesque of a Parisian love song, after which the singer returns to his self-rant, this time pushing the boundaries, pushing the meter, pushing his voice to an almost hilarious, but exhilarating pitch:<br /><br />I worked my hands ‘til I couldn’t spell your name,<br />I rolled and roared ‘til I couldn’t see your face,<br />I leaned on the jukebox ‘til I couldn’t hear your voice,<br />Put my head in the sand, but that won’t do it -<br />I swore I was above you, but that won’t do it -<br />And I tried and I tried, but that won’t do it -<br />And I ain’t going to drag my feet no more . . .<br /><br />The singer’s resistance is futile, so he is choosing acceptance and pursuit. He is opening up his heart and saying "yes" to love, "yes" to life. Thompson’s vocal is excitement itself, almost coming unhinged in a most endearing way. A fun, bouncy, and relatively simple guitar solo follows and plays along until the song fades.<br /><br />Once cannot help but feel that this is an honest, liberating song for Thompson, and I really don’t get any sense of irony here - which, as I have noted, is a rarity.<br /><br />This is a very jubilant, "up" and powerful song, and lots of fun to play and sing along with. The question still remains as to its place in what has become - and will return to be - a very bleak album.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "I Ain't Going to Drag My Feet No More"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=9p0zHht9rKw">http://youtube.com/watch?v=9p0zHht9rKw</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Shine On Love" -</em></strong> This song was not included on the original LP release of the album, and, perhaps consequently, it seems to always stick up out of place for me. This could be a trick of psychology, of course, for like "Living in Luxory" (which it somewhat resembles), there is a feeling of a B-side stuck on a CD to help flesh it out. However, while "Luxory" was tacked on to the end of <strong><em>Shoot Out the Lights</em></strong> as a pointless (and potentially anti-climactic) addendum, "Shine on Love" here appears as the fourth song in the running sequence. We must, therefore, step back a bit and think of it as a legitimate extension of the album.<br /><br />Thematically, the song works beautifully as a follow-up to "Drag My Feet" - essentially a logical progression in the sequence of the romantic evolution that the album seems to be following at this point. If "Drag My Feet" was a determination to pursue love after disappointment, "Shine on Love" is right there in the heart of a blissful relationship. Hence, the movement of the previous song has been successful, and it is celebrated here.<br /><br />The song begins with an accordion-led fanfare with an almost Elizabethan feel. As in "Devonshire," there is an abrupt key change as the vocal enters, though without that song’s devastating, undercutting effect. As a matter of fact, all of "Shine on Love" has a kind of formal, fanfare-like feel - which is a cue to me not to accept it at face value. Such annunciations in Thompson tend to hide something - an ironic fault that underlies the entire sentiment and structure. But I’m trying to be careful not to be too hasty in my analysis here.<br /><br />Right at the opening verse, there is a specific reference back to the line, "Where I come from, feeling is a crime," from the previous songs:<br /><br />When I was a boy<br />I was nobody’s joy,<br />I was guilty in love,<br />Guilt, guilt, guilty in love.<br />More fool me,<br />I could never see what I was guilty of.<br /><br />This guilt theme about love - which we encountered in "Small Town Romance" and will surface most prominently in the later magnum opus "Can’t Win," opens questions that can’t be satisfactorily answered. But what does clearly come through is the portrait of a young man whose environment frowned upon such expressions. One could speculate on the reserved British middle-class tradition of reticence and almost Vulcan-like rationality, but this seems to be more of a setting than a key to understanding Thompson’s emotional torments. Shyness (resulting in guilt) may be simply a part of one’s nature - and Richard Thompson was a notoriously shy boy and young man - and one’s cultural environment may reinforce this without necessarily being an evil culprit at the root of heartbreak. We will see this theme widen in Thompson’s work, however, culminating, finally in the epic suburban sprawl of <em>Mock Tudor</em> (1991).<br /><br />In this song, at any rate, the problem has ostensibly been overcome. The beginning of the second verse affirms this and leads immediately into the stately, yet celebratory chorus:<br /><br />Now you steered me right,<br />And I’m standing in the light,<br />So shine on love.<br />Shine, shine, shine on love.<br />Don’t slip away,<br />Darkened day.<br />Let it shine on love,<br />Shine, shine shine on love.<br /><br />As a male and female chorus joins in with Thompson, almost as at a church service, the sentiment is made to facile to be fully trusted. Cliched lyrics ("Like a hand in glove") make one suspicious as well.<br /><br />This is not to say that "Shine on Love" is not a pretty or even a pleasant little song. It really is a kind of tasty little confection. That’s just the problem, however - if it’s truly serious, the sentiment is so slight that it cannot truly be taken too seriously.<br /><br />A stately march-tempo accordion solo reinforces this notion, as the sound is reminiscent of a stately gallop of peasants going to the royal nuptial rather than a sincere outpouring of emotion. The song, while not obviously an ironist’s nasty little portrait, simply does not hold up with any sincerity.<br /><br />The question, of course is did Richard Thompson plan this progression of sentiment here for overall ironic effect in the structure of the album, or does "Shine on Love" sit here on what should be the Side One of <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> as a quirky little aberration? (Could it even be a failed love song?)<br /><br />Of course, we would not be asking this question were it not for the dichotomy of sequences between the two formats. So I think we should be cautious, at least for the moment, in making any final decisions concerning its overall relevance and meaning. Listening to the song in the context of the original LP, it may seem out of place and superfluous, taking us emotionally far afield and blurring the overall impact of the album. Any album beginning with "When the Spell Is Broken" produces a dark, spooky mood which cannot be dispelled by a "Shine on Love," and as we will see, succeeding songs will darken the vision even deeper.<br /><br />Planned or not, "Shine on Love" can only be seen as a kind of ironic counterpoint if it is to work in this context at all. Its dissonant, unresolved final chord only seem to reaffirm this point of view.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Ghosts in the Wind"</em></strong> - On the original LP, this was the final song on the album. I will discuss this change in format and attempt to assess its impact in my final summation of the album.<br />"Ghosts in the Wind" is one of the starkest, most hauntingly beautiful and lonely things that Richard Thompson has ever put on record - which is saying quite a lot.<br /><br />The song is very simple in structure, for the most part built around only two chords, with just a few changes at the refrain. Thompson’s finger-picked open acoustic guitar alone is enough to set a breathtakingly haunted mood. This would become, indeed, one of the singer’s most effective solo pieces, but the added instruments and production techniques both enhance the overall effect of the song and connect it marvelously with the sound of the album established on "When the Spell Is Broken."<br /><br />Thompson’s voice is soaked in reverb, and it carries the sound of a damaged soul, fully inhabiting the bleak melody and lyrics:<br /><br />Did you call my name?<br />Did you call my name in the night?<br />In the whispers and sighs,<br />In the whispers and sighs of the night?<br />Ah, ghosts in the wind . . .<br /><br />There is a spooky feel reminiscent of "Ghost Riders in the Sky," but more introspective, more elusive here. Thompson’s sliding electric guitar fills the blend, along with a deep, jazzy bass and the sporadic crashing of echo-drenched drums and cymbals that help reinforce the sense of stasis. Eventually is added a kind of hum that suggests some kind of electronic equivalent of a bagpipe drone over which the entire song seems to hover.<br /><br />The theme of loss and abandonment is amplified and expanded upon here in brief, subtle images:<br /><br />Now this old house moves,<br />This old house moves and moans.<br />The tongues of the night,<br />The tongues of the night stir my bones.<br /><br />The image of the empty house at night could well be the emptiness of the singer’s soul. The movements and sounds are his memories of a love lost, and these shadows grow until they are seemingly all that is left of the singer’s psyche. It is a dramatic moment when the long-delayed chord changes come about, and the singer departs to ask his single forlorn question:<br /><br />When will my sore heart ever mend?<br /><br />But this does not pull us out of the haunted shell of the song, but merely allows us to scrape the edge, as the return to solidity of the enclosing chords make clear.<br /><br />The song has a natural partnership to "When the Spell Is Broken," both thematically and tonally. Here the "spell" is the song itself. And rather than being an illusion of bliss, this spell is an all-encompassing void, the emptiness that remains long after a relationship has soured and ended.<br /><br />Thompson will return again and again to the image of an individual as a haunted being in songs such as "Uninhabited Man" and "The Ghost of You Walks." Here, there is something unnervingly real in the starkness image and palpable sound of loneliness and deathless loss. It is a sound and a feeling that is simply too stark, too real to describe adequately. Thompson sounds like a lonely ghost singing it, and it is one of those rare and tremendous performances that sounds as though the singer/player must be living it, inhabiting it. It is this utter lack of any sense feigning that goes to reinforce the notion that he must be singing about himself, from his very soul.<br /><br />I want to try to avoid moving back into autobiographical territory here. And indeed, we do not need to. "Ghosts in the Wind" is the result of great artistry as well as great personal sensitivity. Plus, the depth of feeling that comes across can easily (inevitably?) be placed in context with the terrain mapped out in rest of the album so far, especially the first two songs.<br /><br />Thompson begins a stark, yet jittery electric guitar solo that takes over where his voice left off. Playing inside and outside of the two chords he has set up, the simplicity and sadness of the piece produces a very personalized equivalent of the blues. This, indeed, could be B.B. King or Eric Clapton territory - not to mention Robert Johnson himself - but with little or no reference to the traditional pentatonic blues scale. The emotional resonance is the same, however.<br /><br />Thompson returns for the last verse:<br /><br />I’m empty and cold,<br />Empty and cold like a ruin.<br />The wind tears through me,<br />The wind tears through me like a ruin.<br /><br />The word "ruin" intensifies the meaning of the self as "house." As he repeats the refrain, the singer seems to disappear, vanishing like dust on the windy desert floor. The guitar returns and rides the song out, seemingly replacing whatever was human there with a strange, searching presence that continues until the entire piece fades away into silence.<br /><br />Thus, "Ghosts in the Wind" turns into a kind of vanishing act, as both singer and song gradually fade and disappear. Here we have one of Thompson’s most moving and terrifying feats to date, and his lonesome howl leaves a lasting echo in our consciousnesses long after he is gone.<br /><br />Can a person simply wither and die, disappear like a ghost, through the haunting of memory and time? This song not only suggests it, but manifestly demonstrates it and proves it to the listener.<br />"Ghosts in the Wind" is another unqualified great song by Richard Thompson, and as undying a testimony to his greatness as an artist as you are likely to find anywhere.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Fire in the Engine Room" -</em></strong> Side two of the LP opens with this breakneck rocker, a desperate runaway train of speed and paranoia. Driven by a reckless hard guitar riff, doubled by saxophones, this is an extended metaphor of jealousy.<br /><br />If one is attempting to follow <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> as a kind of narrative (ignoring "Ghosts in the Wind" for the moment), we could say that this is the beginning of the crisis point of the new relationship that was picked up on "I Ain’t Going to Drag My Feet No More" and "Shine on Love." The broken past of the old relationship of "When the Spell Is Broken" and "You Don’t Say" is here beginning to repeat itself. This interpretation of the album suggests problems as internal universals that play themselves out, over and over, throughout successive relationships, no matter who is involved.<br /><br />I am not here attempting to establish that this kind of schematic reading of the album is what Thompson intended, but it can easily be read that way. Perhaps in the end, it doesn’t really matter - the songs reflect back and forth on each other no matter what order you put them in, and the end result is a rather disturbing view of human relationships, no matter how you look at it.<br /><br />"Fire in the Engine Room" is one of those unique kind of Richard Thompson songs that seems to be injecting humor in the nightmare through a kind of musical and verbose overstatement. The song is, indeed, a kind of fun rush to listen to, with its breathless, compulsive opening:<br /><br />Well, Luke told Danny, Danny told Betsy,<br />Betsy told me, and I’m telling you,<br />You better stop doing the things you do,<br />There’s a fire in the engine room, fire in the engine room.<br /><br />The singer’s source of anxiety comes from a fourth-hand source, which of course suggests that it comes more from in himself than anywhere else. The mad images keep coming, along with the relentless propulsion of the song:<br /><br />She’s making eyes with the fool with the shovel,<br />That son of a grease-gun must be insane.<br />I hose it down and he fans the flames . . .<br /><br />The paranoid visions are beginning to take physical form born from the images of his own metaphor. This guy is losing it, and losing it fast. The singer sees himself as a marked man:<br /><br />It must be the head-hunting season,<br />And there’s room in the old trophy room.<br /><br />And:<br /><br />And you know how uncertainty can linger<br />With a rattlesnake wrapped around your finger,<br />One day it may wake up and sting you.<br />Here’s a toast to the bride and the groom.<br /><br />In this scenario, any relationship is doomed. The singer’s obsession is self-fulfilling - if his jealousy does not bring about infidelity, it is at least going to sow alienation and possibly reap an inevitable sundering.<br /><br />This leads us to a kind of conundrum about the relationship of the writer to the content of the song. Thompson is here being satirical, of course - he knows precisely what the singer’s problem is, but that does not dispel the question as to his own guilt in the attitude portrayed. This is, of course, something we cannot possibly ever know - unless Thompson were to inform us that he was being self-mocking here. This is a question that will become increasingly complex in analyzing Thompson’s work - when is he pointing a finger at himself, and when is he merely harpooning another?<br /><br />We get even less help from the performance - Thompson plays and sings with such passion and conviction that it is impossible to tell whether he means what he says or is simply parodying it. And of course, that’s one of the most exciting wonders of his best work. Thompson creates impossible situations - situations he knows are absurd - then thrusts himself into the center of them. Is he holding himself up for self crucifixion? Is his ultimate target himself?<br /><br />(A great comparison would be to a later jealousy song, "Don’t Tempt Me," which is even more ridiculously obsessive than this one. There, the jealous martyr - also presented in first person - is mocked beyond belief. But the insanity of the protagonist is so intense that it seems impossible not to be a self-indictment.)<br /><br />Whether serious, half-serious or not, "Fire in the Engine Room" is a roughneck, welcome addition to a collection of songs questioning the impossibility of relationships. It is beginning to become a very crowded room, indeed.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Fire in the Engine Room"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=zaacRvnPoV8">http://youtube.com/watch?v=zaacRvnPoV8</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Walking Through a Wasted Land" -</em></strong> Here Thompson takes the wasteland of the soul and enlarges the vision to a portrait of contemporary England. Though he does not mention Margaret Thatcher by name, it is recognizably the wrecked landscape of her reign to which he alludes. The song resonates with the kind of passion of economic decline that filled Bruce Springsteen’s <em>Born in the U.S.A.</em> album of the previous year:<br /><br />Sweat is the name of this town,<br />It’s an ugly old, dirty old disgrace<br />And now that the steel’s shut down,<br />It’s fear that puts the sweat in a man’s face.<br /><br />Instead of Springsteen’s empathy and sadness, however, Thompson’s vision is filled with bile and disgust. Probably, this is not an exclusively political song - it is a larger picture of a country that has lost its soul. "Where is the future we planned?" calls out this aging baby-boomer’s disappointment in any sense of youthful idealism he once maintained.<br /><br />The song itself is an angry stomper, a march ("Walk down!") through a country for which he probably has no more use or desire left. It contains one of his angriest, most stinging guitar solos yet, and the defiant accordion and blazing saxophones give a kind of triumphantly angry glory to his denunciation.<br /><br />The song may not be profound - it is not one of Thompson’s best. But it does help flesh out the theme of desolation that the album is painting to give it a larger, more universal nature, and the tough anger of the piece adds to the record’s sense of aggressive hard rock in its texture. It fits well here, and moves the album along quite nicely.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Little Blue Number" -</em></strong> Here we have what will become one of Thompson’s specialties - a blistering tale of astonishment over something so outrageous that lets him pull out all the verbal stops. If "Walking Through a Wasted Land" is Thompson’s disappointment with the old, "Little Blue Number" is his shock of the new. Like "A Bone Through Her Nose," that will kick off his next album, Thompson is sent into hilarious verbal spasms over a female’s appearance. Yes, partly, this reveals a conservative nature, but as such a brilliant innovator in a traditionalist’s garb, he seems to earn the right to get fed up.<br /><br />At any rate, the lyrics are so funny and exaggerated, the thrust of the song so wickedly fun-rocking, that you can’t help but love it. Basically, "Little Blue Number" is a workout in the tradition of Chuck Berry’s "Too Much Monkey Business," which was later transformed into Bob Dylan’s surreal take on modern culture in "Subterranean Homesick Blues." This is Thompson’s own private appropriation of the tradition, and whenever he applies this technique, it is always, uniquely and hilariously his. With his remarkable play with words and daft sound of astonishment, he comes off not like an old fogey, but rather like perhaps the last sensible man on earth:<br /><br />Where did you get that little blue number?<br />How do you make those rhinestones shine?<br />Do you go on the prowl while other folks slumber?<br />Did you steal those things right off of the line?<br />Hold, your horses, that’s something of mine!<br />That little blue number, little blue number . . .<br /><br />Thompson’s guitar solo bends like a country pedal steel, and in fact the entire song sounds like it could be a country & western stomp, were it not for the bagpipe sounds and Thompson’s northern English accent. This is another unique type of fusion at which he is so proficient (see "Tear Stained Letter," among many others), and the end result is something quite unique.<br />"Little Blue Number" once again expands the album’s theme and texture, and after these brief excursions into different modes of alienation, Thompson is set to return to the central theme of the agonizing impossibility of human relationships.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Little Blue Number"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=SQ1KItC80FA">http://youtube.com/watch?v=SQ1KItC80FA</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"She Twists the Knife Again" -</em></strong> In a more perfect world, this would be a universally known, well-loved part of the rock ‘n’ roll repertoire, blazing in the collective conscious alongside such other demented masterpieces as the Stones’ "19th Nervous Breakdown," the Who’s "I Can See for Miles," Talking Heads’ "Psycho Killer," and everything on Elvis Costello’s first three albums.<br />Going past the satirically humorous sado-masochistic text, the song spills over into real (and scary) emotional territory and Thompson just pulls out the stops to deliver one of the greatest horrific rock anthems of all time. Yes, this should have been a hit in any era, and it is so gripping that you can’t help but punch the repeat button and jump out of your chair.<br /><br />It is emblematic of Thompson to grow from a lyrically extreme position and have the subtext of the song spill over directly to hit an open nerve, and that is precisely what "Twists the Knife" does. The rocking, charging hook of electric guitar and drums is so powerful and committed that it sucks the listener in from the instant it begins. Then begins Thompson’s lament:<br /><br />I keep my nose clean, I keep my speech plain,<br />I keep my promises, she twists the knife again.<br />I shut my memory, I close my eyes and then<br />She takes another bite, she twists the knife again.<br /><br />The effect of these lyrics is a brutal attack. The words stab like little knives in themselves, piercing and relentless. In the beautiful transition to the chorus, there is no respite, just a hurt-dog memory of abuses:<br /><br />She never leaves me my dignity,<br />Makes a dunce of me in mixed company,<br />No bygone can be a bygone,<br />She throws the spanner in,<br />She puts the screws on.<br /><br />At the point of the chorus, the song seems to lose control, turning into an hysterical scream for help:<br /><br />In the middle of a kiss, she twists the knife again.<br />When I get up off my knees, she twists the knife again.<br />When I think I’m off the hook, she gets me,<br />She twists the knife again!<br />She twists the knife again!<br /><br />Rarely do the words and music of a song come together so perfectly that they seem to be one organism, a single blade, if you will. They emphatically do here.<br /><br />The most amazing thing about "She Twists the Knife Again," however is the frightening conviction of its performance. Thompson does not have to resort to any vocal histrionics - just his singing puts the message across so forcefully that there is absolutely no question that he means every word he is saying in this pastiche.<br /><br />"Who is he singing about?" We don’t even have time to wonder at this before the image of Linda pops in our minds. Is this about his ex-wife? Is it his excuse - or perhaps is it his guilt? There’s no way to know, and finally, we must concede that the question is simply irrelevant. What he is singing is very real, however, and any of us who have ever felt hopelessly entangled in a no-win situation will attest that he seems to be channeling our own nervous systems.<br /><br />I suppose you could say that "Twists the Knife" is the crisis point of the entire album, whether we follow a schematic pathway or not. In whatever relationship he finds himself, old or new, this is the howling of a man totally entrapped. There’s no way out of this hell - even sundering such a relationship leaves the psychic wounds that one will carry on into any future experience. As a matter of fact, "She Twists the Knife Again" could easily be about a relationship that is already over. Guilt scars deep - and the attack (as well as the song itself) is completely relentless:<br /><br />I make my moves well, I let her tell me when,<br />I walk a fine line, she twists the knife again.<br />Just when the scar heals, just when the grip unbends,<br />That’s when her mind reels, she twists the knife again.<br /><br />She can give it out, she can’t take it,<br />She smells something bad, she has to rake it.<br />I bring home my packet, my white-collar money,<br />I’m in a fist fight, she thinks she’s Gene Tunney.<br /><br />Even the silly humor of such an unlikely reference as this now-obscure boxer does not blunt the blows of the song. It remains magnificently, scarifyingly real. All humor here is pure gallows - a defensive move to keep one’s sanity under such mental abuse.<br /><br />Thompson’s guitar begins a repeated phrase, stepping down in repeat during each measure, as if he was slowly being pushed down, ground into the dirt. When he finally does let loose, he soars into crying, out-of-harmony excursion of which we have not heard the like since "Shoot Out the Lights." He does not remain long here, however, but is quickly pulled back into the trapped wheel of the chorus. For an ending, all he can muster is the charged repeat:<br /><br />She twists the knife again!<br />She twists the knife again!<br />She twists the knife again!<br /><br />followed by a sudden silence that is all too final.<br /><br />It is precisely this type of song that drives Richard Thompson fans insane - you want to talk to your new fellow-music fanatics, and all you receive is a "Who?" "God-damn it," you want to scream. "Listen to this! I lived through this!"<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "She Twists the Knife Again"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=5g2rABfoV4M">http://youtube.com/watch?v=5g2rABfoV4M</a><br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "She Twists the Knife Again" solo</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=uILkhhMwg48&feature=related">http://youtube.com/watch?v=uILkhhMwg48&feature=related</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Love in a Faithless Country" - </em></strong>The CD version of <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> ends with this, one of Richard Thompson’s strangest and most threatening-sounding songs ever. (Which is saying quite a bit.)<br /><br />It begins with a dissonant, trebly guitar arpeggio just hanging in space, dangling. Even as Thompson’s voice enters and the song proper begins, "Love in a Faithless Country" seems to float, ungrounded, almost suspended in time. A restless bass moves up and down, as scattered drums punctuate certain spare points.<br /><br />The spare melody is almost a bi-tonal chant, moving slowly, back and forth from a pivot point between two clashing chords. Thompson’s voice is ominous and hollow. The lyrics seem to be giving instructions for actions during wartime:<br /><br />Always move in pairs and travel light.<br />A loose friend is an enemy, keep it tight.<br />Always leave a job the way you found it.<br />Look for trouble coming and move around it.<br /><br />The music trails off and time, for a brief eternity, seems to hang totally in suspension.<br />Suddenly there is the brutal crashing of an electric guitar chord in savage minor, and hard, echo-riddled drums hold a slow beat. Thompson begins to chant the chorus:<br /><br />That’s the way we make love.<br />That’s the way we make love.<br />That’s the way we make love.<br /><br />This sudden and jarring juxtaposition between apparently differing subject matters contains a powerful mental and emotional jolt. This song has departed even further from dichotomies first laid out so powerfully and strangely in "The Calvary Cross." Here, love is depicted as a battlefield - a strange, barren landscape of deadly and cautious motions, requiring extraordinary vigilance, grounded in a knowing fear and dread.<br /><br />This is perhaps the bleakest that Thompson has ever gotten in detailing affairs of the heart. The song makes no apparent effort to reconcile or explain the relationship between apparently incongruous verses and chorus, no attempt to justify the pronunciation of the assertion that love is a dangerous, violent game. The simple assertion of the chorus, combined with the huge, ominous sound of the instrumentation are enough to convince - or at least confound - the listener.<br /><br />"Love in a Faithless Country" is a bold experiment, and one that lays Thompson open to criticism not of morbidity, but of the aesthetic and emotional justification of such morbidity. Here, like "The End of the Rainbow," one can easily charge that Thompson is simply going too far. The riposte here, as there, is finally that in this song, like the other, Thompson is painting a picture of a shattered psyche. Indeed, it is even a more justifiable interpretation in this sense, as the entire world of the song is ultimately related back to the first-person (plural).<br /><br />Personal experience and individual emotional perspectives are difficult to criticize, but they depend for their effectiveness upon the listener’s sensitivity, as well as the capacity of the artist to convincing express his unique point of view. The answer will vary from person to person, but the basic question is whether Thompson’s construction is adequate to the task of making a convincing case of such an extreme position. In short, does he present an honest nightmare or just a ridiculous grotesquery?<br /><br />There are two ways to answer this question, and two ways to test the result. First of all, there is the question of the power of the musical construction, the recording in itself - is "Faithless Country" strong enough to convince on its own? And secondly - and perhaps more importantly here - is the question of whether the larger context - the album as a whole - works to support such an imposing edifice.<br /><br />We will return to the question of context in a moment. For myself, I believe that this is a supreme example of an extreme piece of art or communication that relies upon its context - the album at large for its effectiveness. An album that has established itself so firmly with such haunting and convincing masterpieces as "When the Spell Is Broken" and "She Twists the Knife Again" has eminently established itself as such a unique artifact that an experiment as extreme as "Faithless Country" has not only earned its right for our attention, but makes a bold claim for us to take its extremities seriously.<br /><br />But let us return to the song proper. After the initial chorus, the song pauses and hovers before moving into the second verse:<br /><br />Always make your best moves late at night.<br />Always keep your tools well out of sight.<br />It never pays to work the same town twice.<br />It never hurts to be a little nice.<br /><br />The lyrics leave the activities being undertaken very ambiguous, though there is no question that they are dark and are directed towards actions of a surreptitious, if not even criminal nature. The advices given are instructions for paranoiacs, frighteningly vague and knowingly ominous. The choice of advices is very interesting, seeming cliches of strategy from a seasoned practitioner to a novice. After finishing the fourth line, the music stops and hovers once again before crashing back into the chorus:<br /><br />That’s the way we make love . . .<br /><br />The song begins to take on more power here, and it is largely due to the insistent incongruity of the singer chanting this mantra over and over that helps to make the song become compelling and believable. The sound is intense, the voice dead serious. It is becoming more disturbingly obvious that the singer is speaking from direct personal experience, and that it is the authenticity of this experience that allows him to speak so authoritatively, and hence, chillingly.<br /><br />The strangeness of the song builds, in other words, giving it more power as it continues. The very obsessiveness of it is a kind of testimony to its authenticity. Plus, the lyrics of the verses are becoming a little clearer in their relationship to the chorus - they are beginning to sound more and more like internal instructions for maintaining a relationship than disconnected metaphors.<br /><br />If this is meant as serious advice from a lover, then it helps to recognize him as the poor protagonist of "She Twists the Knife Again" who simply cannot win, no matter what or how he behaves. He is speaking hard-won, but apparently doomed lessons that have taught him how to survive in an ultimately unmanageable situation.<br /><br />The advices are, on one level, sickly reasonable, even in their (clearly) dysfunctional context:<br /><br />1) <em>Always make your best moves late at night. - </em>This is a strategy of timing, looking for the point at which the other party is at its weakest and least resistant.<br /><br />2) <em>Always keep your tools well out of sight. - </em>Whatever emotional techniques you employ for manipulation must not be visible or known to the other party.<br /><br />3) <em>It never pays to work the same town twice. - </em>This could refer either to using the same emotional techniques in the same way, or even to never attempt them with the same person.<br /><br />4) <em>It never hurts to be a little nice. - </em>This one, the most chilling of all the machinations, reveals that there is fundamentally a deceptive play going on - and a wide divergence between the actions and the feelings underneath. It reveals the ulterior motive, whatever that is, as clearly separate from surface actions. A reminder to be "nice" to a lover or potential lover seems to be the ultimate revelation of a subterfuge of depthless proportions.<br /><br />As the chanting of the chorus makes clear exactly what we are talking about here, it also locates it specifically in the relationship between the singer and his partner. "That’s the way we make love" suggests a kind of unspoken agreement between two willing participants in a relationship of manipulation and struggle for dominance.<br /><br />Another reading, however, could suggest that the "we" intended is both the singer and ourselves - that is, this is a larger observation about the duplicity of the entire human species when it comes to matters of the heart.<br /><br />Whether this meaning is intended or not, it is certainly there for the taking. If we protest that our actions in love are not stealthily selfish and calculated like this - that we are perhaps more authentic than the portrait being painted here, I think it is also an admission of honesty that we all do indeed - to some degree, practice various types of calculated behavior modification to get what we want. The question here is of degree - and from the perspective of the song, it is this base calculation that is being highlighted, so that it becomes the all-in-all of the relationship.<br />Can we presume that Richard Thompson feels that this is his essential nature because of this song? I think that is going too far. Just because one can locate a tendency or a fault in oneself and is honest enough to throw light on it, then it becomes, spatially centered in art, so to speak, the defining characteristic of that work of art. And seen from the perspective of that art, the rest of life seems fractured and insincere. This is one of the great roles and functions of art - by shifting our perspectives just enough, we can look at imbalances that we usually repress in order to return to a more truly informed, balanced perspective that humanizes us.<br /><br />That is not to suggest that art is a panacea, or even that we should use it as a prescription for keeping ourselves emotionally healthy. But if art is to do anything useful at all, it is to place us in a unique mode of perspective that will alter the way in which we view things, one way or another. For art is not merely entertainment - it is discovery, a discovery of hitherto unexamined possibilities of perspective.<br /><br />This, of course, is one of Richard Thompson’s specialties, particularly in the lyrical construction of his songs. Thompson, at least since <em>Henry the Human Fly</em>, has always sought to distort our visions of reality, to make us see things at least slightly askew. What he is practicing more clearly, here, in the burgeoning of his "solo career" is a transformation of himself into the subject of his inquiry. If he distorts himself, it is to gain wisdom through honest inspection - and if that self-inspection becomes infectious, he his doing a very good job indeed.<br /><br /><em>Across a Crowded Room</em>, like <em>Hand of Kindness</em> before it, can be seen as a brave journey through this personal odyssey, both coming in the wake of the explosive self-deconstructions of <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em>. It is almost as if we are playing with the debris left over from that enormous explosion, still trying to patch together and make sense of it all.<br /><br />If "Love in a Faithless Country" is a description of Thompson’s relationship with his ex-wife (as many listeners will assume, and the context of <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> in general will certainly attest (see "You Don’t Say"), it is not strictly - or even primarily - limited to that. The breakdown of that marriage - and more importantly, the mythical document of that breakdown, the transcendently horrifying revelations of <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> itself - is best seen as the foregrounding for Thompson’s work here. Were he simply documenting his own personal problems, the songs here would not have the kind of resonance that they have. The fact is, that these are universal songs, though songs not rarely written or heard, and it is the grounding of those songs in the reality of the artist’s personal experience that lends them such an authoritative sense of power.<br /><br />To return to the song, it begins to become more clear as it progresses just from where "Love in a Faithless Country" derives its sense of authenticity. And it does so artfully, which is only natural. In the second chorus, Thompson injects a "response chorus" of heavily echoed female voices, whose own chanting is difficult to understand, but is clearly a female correlative to his own perspective and voice. Perhaps the difficulty in understanding the words of this chorus is intentionally devised to highlight the inaccessibility of the essence of the fundamental other in a relationship - and consequently, what mechanisms she is devising, and for what purpose. In fact, the choral responses, seem strangely to emanate (as they actually do) from the singer’s own subconscious.<br /><br />The rhythm tightens up briefly, and Thompson moves into a guitar solo that takes us further and further afield in an inspired blend of passion and technical virtuosity that is astonishing even from him. The use of the harmonic materials contained in the two unresolved chords of the chorus creates a fantastic fabric that looms frighteningly like the score of some horror film of the mind, and when the more stable chords of the chorus come back around, the perpetual, questing action which has been set in motion is unresolved, chiefly through the use of quick rhythmic variations and surprise climaxes that finally melt back away to the hushed, sustained mystery of the initial, hung arpeggio with which the song began. Underneath this, the female chorus goes on with its incoherent chanting, casting an impenetrable spell until all ceases completely, and this nightmare of a song is ready to continue.<br /><br />The guitar solo is an important point, not only in this song, but in Richard Thompson’s music in general. Thompson is such a brilliantly virtuostic musician, and his playing is of such superb intelligence and power, that he could be (and perhaps should be) known primarily as a guitar player. This has never been Thompson’s methodology, however - he has always put the song first. His guitar playing remains, just for this reason, ever a kind of secret weapon. No matter how familiar we become with him, it is still a shock when he rips into a majestically authoritative solo such as this, thus stamping the song with a kind of supernal power that not only validates, but exceeds anything the song is already attempting to deliver.<br /><br />It is my perception that as soon as the guitar solo has completed, "Love in a Faithless Country" is absolutely justified as a sincere emotional expression as both a song and a performance. There appears nothing false or conceited about it at this point. The guitar solo has hammered down the intent, criticism is disarmed, and we are ready to proceed to the end.<br /><br />The final verse:<br /><br />Learn the way to melt into a crowd,<br />Never catch an eye or dress too loud,<br />You’ve got to be invisible my friend<br />To find the joy on which we must depend.<br /><br />Admonishes the singer (and presumably us) to recede into the background, to keep unnoticed, "invisible." This willful repression of the personal self, this unnatural stealth, it is argued, is necessary, both for protection and for the attainment of the ultimate goal: "the joy on which we must depend." We presume this "joy" is sexual, but the implications need not stop there. If we are looking for emotional compensation and security beyond the mere physical need, we must, to some degree, remain duplicitous, play a role, if we are not to give ourselves - and our secret intentions - away to our intended lover(s).<br /><br />As unnatural and sick as this sounds, this is not unfamiliar advice. Just consult any dating guide to discover how to behave as to maximize one’s chances with the member of the opposite sex. It is cultural common knowledge to feign "naturalness," a truly perverse notion once one begins to think of it, to have success with seduction. Placed in these terms, however, and in the context of this music, the subterfuge becomes eerily redolent of the maliciousness of a stalker. And thoroughly speaking, what exactly is the difference?<br /><br />As the chorus storms malevolently out into infinity, it is first joined, then finally superceded by the guitar again as Thompson plaintively chants "Love, love, love." The song builds to its climax, then ultimately breaks down, leaving only the dangling notes of the opening chord and the eerie, unintelligible chant of the female chorus, sounding strangely like a demonic church litany.<br /><br />It is finally clear that the "Faithless Country" is not located anywhere geographically, but is centered in the false parts of the human soul, which has been so manipulated and broken apart by fear that stealth and deception have become absolute necessities. And it is here, on this hellish revelation that <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> finally ends - resting uneasily on that last unresolved chord, dangling on a precipice.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Love in a Faithless Country"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=dPI54pmDU7c">http://youtube.com/watch?v=dPI54pmDU7c</a><br /><br />But should it?<br /><br />I began my discussion of <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> by pointing out the discrepancy between the sequencing of the CD and the original LP format. Unquestionably, "Love in a Faithless Country" derives part of its power and authority by its inclusion on this album - and the album gains strength from the song. But sequencing is very important - it is a very tricky business, not just from an emotional perspective, but the placement of a song on an album can alter the meaning of both the song and the whole, just as a scene in a movie can alter both meaning and impact, depending on when it is placed.<br /><br />On the original release of the album, this was the sequencing:<br /><br /><strong>Side One<br /></strong>"When the Spell Is Broken"<br />"You Don’t Say"<br />"I Ain’t Going to Drag My Feet No More"<br />"Love in a Faithless Country"<br /><br /><strong>Side Two</strong><br />"Fire in the Engine Room"<br />"Walking Through a Wasted Land"<br />"Little Blue Number"<br />"She Twists the Knife Again"<br />"Ghosts in the Wind"<br /><br />I have gone back and programmed my CD to play the songs in this sequence, and I find it infinitely preferable to the way that they are arranged on the disc. Of course, it is shorter (no "Shine on Love"), and the sequence is obviously, inextricably linked to the LP format for which it was originally devised.<br /><br />The first big change is the sudden appearance of "Love in a Faithless Country" as the fourth track. There is a strangeness and a kind of disruption of having this monster of a track appear so early. It functions to both wipe out what came before it (particularly "I Ain’t Going to Drag My Feet No More"), and to sum up and contextualize the entire first side. Situated here, the song seems less a summation of the album than a temporary resting place - a limbo, rather than a hell - before moving on into new territory. The implications are different - the repeats of "That’s the way we make love" sound less final, and the ending of the side leaves us in a state of abeyance that keeps us dangling until the record is turned over.<br /><br />The effect of the songs leading off side two is dramatic. Emerging from the context of the big, hollow void of "Faithless Country," "Fire in the Engine Room" takes on a new urgency, as if there were a rushed energy to try to identify and fix the problems at all costs. "Walking Through a Wasted Land" stomps in mock defiance and "Little Blue Number" takes on a maniacal fury that is given new life by the momentum created by the disruption and re-start provided by making "Faithless Country" the centerpiece, rather than the conclusion, of the album. Everything seems to matter more, more is at stake, once that song has been heard.<br /><br />"She Twists the Knife Again" takes on new meaning as the climax of the album, with emotional situations taken to their most extreme. There seems to be an organic growth from the middle of the album to this point, and there is no big "topper" that one has to follow when one has to get through after the catharsis of this extraordinarily propulsive song.<br /><br />Instead, we conclude with the wistful, haunting grace of "Ghosts in the Wind," which is emotionally much more satisfying as a release, as well as a much more profound philosophical conclusion to the album. Instead of everything feeling so bottom heavy, as it sits on the CD, it opens out, letting things be what they are in a wisely weary gesture of letting go.<br /><br />Indeed, "Ghosts in the Wind" takes us full circle, back to the brooding, beautiful opening of "When the Spell Is Broken," emotionally and texturally reminding us of that haunting, doomed beauty that opened the album to begin with. Ending with "Faithless Country" essentially choked off anything that came before it - along with stamping a damning finality on the album. In this configuration, where "Faithless Country" serves as an interruptus, we can finally sail out of the world of the album with a kind of spooky ambivalence (and acceptance) that feels ultimately more satisfying, tying the entire collection of songs together.<br /><br />Apparently Thompson (if he had any input into the decision) agreed, and the original CD format which I still possess has gone out of print. In the re-release on the British BGO (Beat Goes On) label, the CD reverted back to the original LP format. It is currently only available as an import in the United States, and it is hopeful that if it is picked up and re-released in America, that this will be the sequence retained, perhaps with "Shine on Love" (among others?) as a bonus track.<br /><br />No matter how you get it, however, <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> is absolutely indispensable to an understanding and appreciation of Richard Thompson, particularly as a signpost for the direction of his solo career. Finally told, this is as moving and coherent (and disturbing) album as Thompson has ever done, and one in which his search to define love in the aftermath of disaster, to pick up the pieces of left from the shatters off the past before heading off in search of new directions.<br /><br />And no one should be without "When the Spell Is Broken" or "She Twists the Knife Again," which do not appear on any of his compilations. For that reason alone, <em>Across a Crowded Room</em> is absolutely essential in any music collection whatsoever.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-46258205344527049982007-12-12T15:15:00.000-08:002007-12-12T16:35:21.081-08:00Small Town Romance<strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Small Town Romance</em> [1984]</strong><br /><br />This album is subtitled "<em>Live/Solo in New York, 1982</em>," with recordings being made both before and after the "<em>Shoot Out the Lights</em>" tour with Linda. At its root is a revelation of just precisely who Richard Thompson is. Although recorded before <em>Hand of Kindness</em>, 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, <em>Small Town Romance</em> caught the very essence of the artist behind the "rock star."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Most of the songs on <em>Small Town Romance</em> 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 <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> or <em>Hand of Kindness</em>), there is the concomitant shock of realization of just what a wealth of material this artist has created.<br />(A similar experience can be had from listening to Neil Young’s 1975 collection, <em>Decade</em>, 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.)<br /><br />But there is more to the experience of <em>Small Town Romance</em> 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.<br /><br />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 <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> and <em>Hand of Kindness</em> did to formally stamp Thompson as an electric guitar "hero," <em>Small Town Romance</em> 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.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Time To Ring Some Changes" -</em></strong> 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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br />This old house is a-tumbling down,<br />The walls are gone, but the roof is sound.<br />The landlord’s deaf, he can’t be found,<br />Time to ring some changes.<br /><br />Of course, the lyrics can be read spiritually as well, in the sense of the songs on <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em>. 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.)<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "Time to Ring Some Changes"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=BXDdpduNJU8">http://youtube.com/watch?v=BXDdpduNJU8</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Beat the Retreat"</em></strong> - 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><em><strong>"Woman or a Man"</strong></em> <strong><em>- </em></strong>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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"A Heart Needs a Home" -</em></strong> 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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"For Shame of Doing Wrong" -</em></strong> 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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />This is pretty heady meat, and topped with a lovely, devotional guitar solo to boot.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Genesis Hall" -</em></strong> 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.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "Genesis Hall"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=wa569wY1HzE">http://youtube.com/watch?v=wa569wY1HzE</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Honky Tonk Blues" -</em></strong> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson Performs "Honky Tonk Blues"</em></strong><br /><br /><br /><p><strong><em><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=Hep7FNNWyqo">http://youtube.com/watch?v=Hep7FNNWyqo</a></em></strong></p><p><strong><em>"Small Town Romance" -</em></strong> 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.<br /><br />The small-town populace has too much intimate knowledge of an individual to give love its natural scope of expression:<br /><br />They knew you when you were weaning.<br />They knew you when you were grown.<br />They think they know all about you.<br />They never will leave you alone.<br /><br />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."<br /><br />Oh, small town romance,<br />They’d still break you if they could.<br />They’d always say "I told you so,<br />She never was no good."<br /><br />"See, she never loved him anyway.<br />See, she never loved him anyway.<br />See, she never loved him anyway."<br />Oh, you can’t have love in a small town.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />In short, just chalk up another great song for RT.<br /><br /><strong><em>"I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight" - </em></strong>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. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=uUIpCqxRh_M">http://youtube.com/watch?v=uUIpCqxRh_M</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Down Where the Drunkards Roll" - </em></strong>"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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Love Is Bad for Business" -</em></strong> 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:<br /><br />What time of day is this? Oh, you really look a mess!<br />Clean down the tables and help out on the door.<br />It’s just no good to me if you’re in ecstasy,<br />Running all night with that boyfriend of yours.<br /><br />Love is bad for business . . .<br />Empties the tills, and it don’t pay the bills,<br />It’ll do you no good.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />A perfect rejoinder would be Ray Davies’ sublime couplet:<br /><br />"All life we work, but work is a bore.<br />If life’s for living, what’s living for?<br /><br /><strong><em>"The Great Valerio" -</em></strong> 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.<br />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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br />We falter at the sight,<br />We stumble in the mire.<br />Fools who think they see the light,<br />Prepare to balance on the wire.<br />But we learn to watch together<br />And feed on what we see above,<br />‘Til our hearts turn like the seasons,<br />And we are acrobats of love.<br /><br />The song, indeed, is now fully self descriptive, as life has validated the instincts of the artist.<br />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.<br /><br />This is absolute mastery at work. Find me something comparable - I’ll say you can’t.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Don’t Let a Thief Steal Into Your Heart" -</em></strong> This song originally appeared on <em>First Light</em>, 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 <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> and <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> - 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.<br /><br />Who is Thompson addressing here?<br /><br />Don’t let a thief steal into your heart,<br />Or you might wind up broken hearted.<br />Don’t let a whisper tear you apart,<br />Or you’ll be right back where you started.<br /><br />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.)<br /><br />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.<br />The last verse is one of Thompson’s most hauntingly poignant, relevant for himself, as well as everyone listening:<br /><br />Everyone is in love with money,<br />Strange news, ‘cause they say love is blind.<br />How many times did you meet somebody<br />Who said they had some real peace of mind?<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Never Again" -</em></strong> 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:<br /><br />Old man, how you tarry, old man how you weep.<br />The trinkets you carry and the garlands you keep.<br />For the salt tears of lovers and the whispers of friends<br />Come never, oh never, oh never again.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><strong><em>BONUS CUTS</em></strong><br />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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"How Many Times Do You Have to Fall?" -</em></strong> 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:<br /><br />You broke my heart so many times<br />I can’t count the pieces.<br />Every time you push me down,<br />It seems my strength increases.<br />How many times do you have to cry<br />While people stand there gawking?<br />How many times do you have to fall<br />Before you end up walking?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Thompson stays resolute through to the end:<br /><br />Oh, won’t you give me one more chance,<br />I couldn’t do no worse.<br />Empty out my heart for you<br />Before it has to burst.<br />I’m too hungry not to win,<br />But you’re the game I’m stalking.<br />How many times do you have to fall<br />Before you end up walking?<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Roll Over Vaughn Williams (instrumental)" -</em></strong> 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 <em>Henry the Human Fly</em>. 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.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Meet on the Ledge" -</em></strong> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />In short, <em>Small Town Romance</em> 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 <em>Small Town Romance</em> is a lonely sound, it is also a healing sound, part of a great transition to the reclamation of self.<br /><br />When these sets were recorded, in 1982, Thompson had not yet recorded <em>Hand of Kindness</em>, 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."<br /><br />Not many people bought <em>Small Town Romance</em> 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.</p>Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-59106125347124548542007-08-19T16:19:00.000-07:002007-12-06T01:22:56.168-08:00Richard Thompson: A RetrospectiveThe release of <em>Sweet Warrior</em> has lead me to reflect once again on the magnificently neglected career of one of the most amazing musicians/songwriters/singers of several generations. I can think of nothing more gratifying that to see this 58-year-old "sweet warrior" finally break out onto the charts with "Dad’s Gonna Kill Me," as an anthem to ending the Iraqi war and bringing our troops home. How wonderful to kill two birds with one stone!<br />Ah, I’m dreaming (". . . But I still dream").<br /><br />The power of Thompson’s writing and performing are so compelling and brilliant that he brings a frightening character to his music - a character he never seems to fail to communicate to his audience. He is one of the most dynamic performers I have ever seen. So why is he never seen? So why is he so little heard. The man exists in mythic dimensions. As Griel Marcus pointed out, his only real peers are Van Morrison and Neil Young. But unlike those two iconoclastic deities, Thompson seems ever a rumor - an underground character hiding in some subterranean system of rooms, tunnels and mirrors. To experience him, you must descend to that sacred level, like a member of an ancient mystery cult. Not all can enter, and his initiates seem to breathe his name to one another almost as a code that the rest of the surface world can scarcely begin to recognize, let alone recognize the significance.<br /><br />This new release has touched me deeply, and has triggered in me the desire to go back to the beginning - which is not the beginning, but only the recorded beginning, which is Fairport Convention in 1968. As I journey forward into the past, I will continue to absorb the new album and make commentaries on it as I go. The epic quantity of his production is immense. I only have about half of it, and I’m considered a fanatic. Let’s go back then, and follow the road this man has traveled the last 40 years.<br /><br />I have just come across a magnificent BBC-produced documentary on RT, entitled <em>A Solitary Life. </em>It is available in seven different episodes on Youtube.com, and I thought it would be wonderful to place links to the different segments on here, as long as it is available. There is quite a bit of background, insight, and most importantly, music.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - A Solitary Life, </em>part 1</strong><br /><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=jCxdEc3gVwE">http://youtube.com/watch?v=jCxdEc3gVwE</a><br /><br /><strong><a onclick="return amz_js_PopWin(this.href,'AmazonHelp','width=700,height=600,resizable=1,scrollbars=1,toolbar=0,status=1');" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B00007J35I/sr=1-4/qid=1196932725/ref=dp_image_0/105-8417101-3035622?ie=UTF8&n=5174&s=music&qid=1196932725&sr=1-4" target="AmazonHelp"></a><a onclick="return amz_js_PopWin(this.href,'AmazonHelp','width=700,height=600,resizable=1,scrollbars=1,toolbar=0,status=1');" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B00007J35I/sr=1-4/qid=1196932725/ref=dp_image_0/105-8417101-3035622?ie=UTF8&n=5174&s=music&qid=1196932725&sr=1-4" target="AmazonHelp"></a><a onclick="return amz_js_PopWin(this.href,'AmazonHelp','width=700,height=600,resizable=1,scrollbars=1,toolbar=0,status=1');" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B00007J35I/sr=1-4/qid=1196932725/ref=dp_image_0/105-8417101-3035622?ie=UTF8&n=5174&s=music&qid=1196932725&sr=1-4" target="AmazonHelp"></a><a onclick="return amz_js_PopWin(this.href,'AmazonHelp','width=700,height=600,resizable=1,scrollbars=1,toolbar=0,status=1');" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B00007J35I/sr=1-4/qid=1196932725/ref=dp_image_0/105-8417101-3035622?ie=UTF8&n=5174&s=music&qid=1196932725&sr=1-4" target="AmazonHelp"></a>Fairport Convention: Fairport Convention</strong> [June 1968]<br />This debut album demonstrates that Marcus was quite right about Richard Thompson being "all there from the beginning." The very first song, "Time Will Show the Wiser," demonstrates Thompson’s extraordinary guitar fills with his unique style and melodic flair, fully developed at the ripe age of 18.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Time Will Show the Wiser"</em></strong><br /><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=oTHgr19CaRk">http://youtube.com/watch?v=oTHgr19CaRk</a><br /><br />As a matter of fact, Thompson’s guitar playing is all through the album, channeling through different styles, including jazz and blues, as does the band itself. This is a remarkably good and curiously cohesive album by a band that was very young and without any sort of fixed identity as of yet. Covers of songs by Joni Mitchell ("I Don’t Know Where I Stand" and "Chelsea Morning") and even obscure Bob Dylan (Jack O’Diamonds) place the band squarely in the camp of America’s folk rock movement. However, they aren’t American - and they don’t really sound that British either.<br /><br />I keep reading comparisons of the group at this stage to Jefferson Airplane, but I don’t really hear it that much, except a few places. The band’s sound seems to reflect more the general mood of the time. With young, experimental bands forming all about England (Traffic, Fleetwood Mac, Jethro Tull, etc.), Fairport Convention seems to be simply another version of those eclectic combinations. There are parts which are quite memorable of the Velvet Underground - however more the sound of the Velvet Underground two years later (Loaded). At more fragile moments they remind one vaguely of Simon and Garfunkel. The playing is very tight, however, especially from Thompson and bassist Ashley Hutchings.<br /><br />Vocally, Thompson turns in no solo turns, but can be audible in several places as a baritone backing voice. The lead vocals are handled by a certain Ian McDonald, a tenor with a slight, reedy tremelo, as well as lovely female vocals by someone not named Sandy Denny - a Miss Judy Dyble.<br /><br />As far as compositions, there are a total of four songs co-written by Thompson: "If (Stomp),"Decameron," "Sun Shade," "The Lobster," and "It’s Alright Ma, It’s Only Witchcraft." (The last title surely must have come from Thompson’s head.) Although it is impossible to determine exactly what Thompson was responsible for in each of these, it is not difficult to discern, retroactively (so to speak), his presence in the totality, especially on the odd and creepy "The Lobster."<br /><br />Interestingly, this album both represents its time as well as stands the test of it. Its membership would change quickly, as would its stylistic leanings, but I don’t think it is too presumptuous to contribute a vast deal of its coherence and its appeal to its lead guitar player.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - A Solitary Life, </em>part 2</strong><br /><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=2rZhALSnyhY">http://youtube.com/watch?v=2rZhALSnyhY</a><br /><br /><strong>Fairport Convention: What We Did on Our Holidays</strong> [January 1969]<br />Okay, this one has Richard Thompson all over it - as composer, guitarist and general presence. Vocally, however, I don’t hear him, though he might be harmonizing at points. The chief male vocalist remains tenor Iain Matthews (Ian McDonald), and pleasant though he is, one wishes to push him away from the microphone, and drag up Richard to give the songs their proper depth of field.<br /><br />Vocally, of course, this album offers much more, as this is the group’s recording debut of the magnificent Sandy Denny. What shall one say?!! She hits you right at the start of the record with her own "Frotheringay," and immediately Fairport Convention becomes her band. This voice, like all truly great voices in the rock/pop genre - and there are very few truly great voices - is filled with both authority and mystery. Denny’s elegant elegant, lilting voice resonates with lower overtones - subtones, you might say. It incorporates such a chilling combination of power and fragility that it makes you stop in your tracks and listen with a kind of hushed-awe wonder. There is the character of the tragic in her cadences, and I believe that one would have been fully aware of them in 1969, though not able to articulate it clearly, even without any backhand knowledge of the decline into alcohol and misadventure that culminated in her untimely death.<br />Sandy Denny, like Billie Holiday, Patsy Cline, Joni Mitchell and Janis Joplin (while sounding totally unlike any of them), not only re-defines what it is to be a female vocalist, but what it means to be female, re-casting the entire gender in her own powerful individuality. And in any patriarchal society like rock ‘n roll, this is no mean feat.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Fotheringay"</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=mzSIc9Ynsss">http://youtube.com/watch?v=mzSIc9Ynsss</a><br /><p>As mentioned before, Thompson plays more - quite brilliantly and eloquently - throughout the album. And though his songs begin to dominate, Denny is not (yet) used as a foil for his ironic, misanthropic imagery. In short, this is a great band that has yet to fully cohere, and the parts are not playing off of each other to create a definitive whole. But they’re still marvelous. Though the evidences of British/Celtic folk music are beginning to creep in ("Frotheringay," "She Moves Through the Fair"), on the whole the band still sounds like a talented eclectic aggregation. And on the whole, while this second offering is much stronger than its predecessor, it’s still seeking its voice. The resemblances to other bands of the day remain - including, yes, Jefferson Airplane, but reminding me more of The Byrds than anything else.<br /><br />There is another Joni Mitchell cover here, "Eastern Rain," and this is a highlight, with Denny’s vocals and the band’s authoritive playing giving a decidedly new imprint to Mitchell’s singular style that re-appropriates it into a new dimension. Amazingly, the same can be said of the Dylan rarity, the beautiful "I’ll Keep It With Mine," which reaches an easy splendor that the Byrds had long since lost the ability to achieve with the Bard’s material.<br />But it’s the Richard Thompson songs that stick most in your gut. Here come the Griel Marcus-celebrated lines, "Take the sun from my heart/Let me learn to despise . . ." on "Tale in Hard Time," which could serve as the opening mantric evocation to the gloomy muse that pervades Thompson’s entire career. Even better is "Meet on the Ledge," already a masterpiece that presages such future jaw-droppers as "Wall of Death" and "When the Spell Is Broken."<br />As Marcus has remarked, there is no development in Richard Thompson, per se, as he arrived fully formed. And on What We Did on Our Holidays, that fully developed 20-year-old is already bleeding all over the disc. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Meet on the Ledge"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=t7BARo4bpsg">http://youtube.com/watch?v=t7BARo4bpsg</a><br /><br /><strong>Fairport Convention: Unhalfbricking</strong> [July 1969]<br />This is where Fairport Convention simply steps up and becomes a great, legendary band. Irrelevant lead singer Iain Matthews is gone, and the group is now firmly dominated by Richard Thompson and Sandy Denny, along with a crack rhythm section. More importantly, the tentative wading into British folk now becomes a full dive, resulting in an album of uncanny breathtaking, show-stopping power, beginning with "Genesis Hall" - a Thompson-penned, Denny-sung classic. All the sources are familiar, distant in time, yet emotionally relevant, even desperate. The elegant, painful chorus, "Oh, oh, helpless and slow/And you don’t have anywhere to go," crushes the listener in a beautiful kind of hell that is obviously an inheritance of ages and ages past. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performing "Genesis Hall"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=wa569wY1HzE">http://youtube.com/watch?v=wa569wY1HzE</a><br /><br />The amplification and "rockinizing" of ancient folk forms - although most of them are new compositions, is achieved with such grace and ease that there is no discernible fusion line between the forms. The effect is of a collective unconsciousness that is manifesting itself in the present tense - and by implication, will continue unabated for as long as there are people to play and sing. The subterranean depths of an ever-cycling human tragedy (and comedy) are the lynchpins of Fairport Convention’s mature style - Joycean in their mood and depth, yet simple and straightforward in a horrifying way.<br /><br />This is most noticable on "A Sailor’s Life," an eternal lament sung by Denny for her lover lost at sea. This traditional song, sad and elegaic, feels like it should end at the conclusion of the tale, where both lovers are lost. However, this is just the beginning of the eleven-minute opus, while the power of the band takes over like the inexorable power of the sea, straining heedlessly through the ages. It is difficult to describe the power of the playing here - especially Thompson’s guitar and the extraordinary attack of Martin Lamble’s drums. The sturdy modal music rocks ever onward, both covering up, as well as emphasizing the finality of the song’s tragedy, while universalizing it in time, suggesting it will continue to happen over and over throughout eternity. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention, June Tabor, Richard Thompson performing "A Sailor's Tale"</em></strong></p><strong><em></em></strong><br /><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=HYZeABbFZXc">http://youtube.com/watch?v=HYZeABbFZXc</a></p><p><br />How a band could reach a level of maturation like this is quite staggering. But as much talent is assembled here, including a genuine goddess like Sandy Denny, I must put the weight of the baleful credit on Richard Thompson. As time will ultimately show, this is essentially his muse speaking, as it will speak on for the next forty years and more. The style, the steel, the gashes and wounds are all his.<br /><br />That is certainly not meant to minimize the other members and what is obviously the coalescence of a true commitment to ensemble playing that creates in the group a unified identification as a separate entity, more than the sum of its parts. But the central figures do shine, especially Denny. Her masterpiece, "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?," simultaneously fits in and virtually transcends everything else on the album - yet it still manages to sound a piece with all the genuflections of the band. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=n2xODjbfYw8">http://youtube.com/watch?v=n2xODjbfYw8</a><br /><br />To talk of the band - Simon Nicol, Ashley Hutchings, Martin Lamble, along with Thompson and Denny - is essential. For Fairport Convention, at this cruicial point, anyway, is a unified and unique persona unto itself. The playing is so sympathetic, so organic, that the band is heard as essentially one entity, one voice. And this voice is so unique - as unique as the Velvet Underground, another group of the time of divergent personalities enfolding their various talents into one coherent vision.<br /><br />The Velvets were focused on the substratum of the city and the subconscious of the modern inhabitants of Manattan. Fairport, on the other hand, is doing the same thing with a completely different emphasis on geography and time - taking the ageless folk consciousness of the British isles and importing it to the present day, finding just the right sounds, blends, the perfect modes of expression to communicate the universality and tragedy of their characters and themes. I have to bring up the Velvet Underground here, because, although they are so different, they are the only band I can profitably compare to Fairport Convention at this period, in terms of their style, experimentation, and most importantly, their commitment (and distance) to their emotional content. Both play very abstract and sophisticated musics. Both play with a sense of irony and distance. Yet, somehow, through the same space of intelligence and collective commitment, both achieve an astonishing immediacy of experience that makes the distant immediately alive and relevant for the listener. If the focus of the Velvet Underground is on the "outsider" in the modern rural world - the junkie, the prostitute, the transvestite, etc., whose immediacy of experience is brought so close to the listener as to make it his own, the subjects of Fairport Convention are the distant, abstracted lives long gone, breathed alive and relevant to become as real as one’s own experience. In both groups, the culmination of the experience of "the other" is transcended, absorbed and experienced, alchemically, "first-hand," as if the members of the group are singing about themselves. Fairport accomplishes precisely the same feat, not through sleight of hand, but through empathy.<br /><br />Interestingly, all songs on <em>Unhalfbricking</em> are originals, with the exception of three Bob Dylan covers. (Four, if you include the bonus tracks.) Why Dylan? Of course, given the context of the time, the question is absurd. Dylan of course is the standard. And if Dylan is the last contemporary to be let go of, it is still vitally interesting and inspiring to hear Fairport’s take on the master’s complete control of his idiom. Of course, by 1969, it is a relevant question to ask, "which Dylan?" And we are treated to three different incarnations.<br /><br />"Percy’s Song," from 1964’s<em> The Times They Are a-Changin’</em>, is of course Dylan the protest singer (which is really too restrictive a term for even this period in his career). But Dylan’s bleak American rural vision, sung from the dusky back road of a hillbilly troubadour, emerging in a sense from an unschooled, unknown’s subconcious, is here not so much transformed by Denny and the group as integrated into a wider circle of global significance. Interestingly, Sandy Denny does not alter Dylan’s Appalachian diction one iota, but she does not copy his dialect or sound - rather she remains appropriately, almost timelessly English, with the same tonal approach of "A Sailor’s Tale," or "Genesis Hall." The result is a heartbreaking equivalence of experience that displays both the song’s universality, as well as a supreme justification of the band’s methodology.<br /><br />The following, and concluding song (on the original album) is the Basement Tape-era (1967) "Million Dollar Bash." The depth and resonance of this denser, harder-hitting excursion into the American subconsciousness is equivalently transformed to the British sphere where it makes just as much (or as little) sense. One wonders if Dylan is really necessary for the band at this point, as the originals are all so powerfully convincing. But I am glad that they are here, giving the listener at least one last reference to counterpoint the completeness of their transition to their mastery of their discovery of British folk rock. By so fully demonstrating their capacity to translate Dylan’s prophetic vision onto a different cultural field, they simultaneously justify both their decision to follow this new (yet infinitely old) path of electric minstrelsy, while demonstrating their complete absorption of the Dylanesque world of the mysteries of Americana, shedding new light on the possibilities of both sides of the Atlantic. </p><p><br />(A sad note: Soon after the recording of <em>Unhalfbricking</em>, a tragic traffic accident took the lives of both Martin Lamble - all of 19 years old, as well as Richard Thompson’s girlfriend. It is impossible to imagine the toll taken on these breathless young experimenters and their remarkable project. Amazingly, they continued on - and the impact of this sudden, violent intrusion of an uncontrollable reality into their lives and art must always remain a horrifying question of inexplicable speculation.)<br /><br /><strong>Fairport Convention: Liege & Lief</strong> [December 1969]<br />I do not feel myself able to adequately discuss this album after only one listening. I’ll give it a couple of days and come back to it.<br /><br />Well, I have spent more than a week and several listenings with this extraordinary album, and I feel as though I can finally address it. Upon first hearing, there seemed too much to absorb. My initial response was actually a kind of disappointment, in comparison to the experience of listening to Unhalfbricking. From their first album up to that one, their third, I could hear in Fairport Convention a continual sense of growth and experimentation, and with that seminal album, they had seemed to turn a corner - and the sound was the group maturing into its ultimate form. The sound of Leige and Lief, however, was the sound of the group, completely matured, addressing itself, once and for all, in what would be its singular, purposeful statement.<br />I recognized that on first listening - however, the authority of this document did not set easy with me. For one thing, the album is completely given over to what was now what we would call "British Folk Rock," a perfect synthesis of traditionalist ballads and instrumentals with the most mature contemporary development of the evolution of rock music. Wherefore, we have a genre that had never existed before, pouring out boldly, in secure of its power.<br /><br />In contrast, the fusions on <em>Unhalfbricking</em>, as sophisticated as they are, still sit in the beaufiful, shifting world of experimentation. There is an aching in those songs, as they strive to be born, make effort to be realized. There exists something in the discovery of such songs as "Genesis Hall," and "A Sailor’s Tale."<br /><br />Here, however, the songs are seemingly born fully blown, in full possession of their densities - remarkably focused, projected and controlled. And with the advent of full maturity, the loss of the blissful absorption and discovery of youth slips away, to be replaced by an adult persona that is no longer calling something into being, but simply "is," by dint of its own possession of itself.<br />One of the most distressing and confusing aspects of my first listening to this album was the apparent "shrinking" and total absorption of Richard Thompson himself - in both his writing and his playing. If the dominant theme of the preceding albums seemed to be increasingly something like "The Incredible Richard Thompson Band with Sandy Denny Singing," that sense is completely gone by the wayside. In truth, you can say that no one individual dominates in this group - here there is perfect balance.<br /><br />No doubt one of the reasons for this is the (relative) absence of Richard Thompson songs. With only three exceptions, this is an album composed entirely of traditional material. (And those three exceptions are painstaking re-creations of the old ballad style, so perfectly accomplished that you would never know without liner credits that they were not traditionals themselves.)<br />While Unhalfbricking was a connection between two worlds, Liege and Lief is a complete world unto itself, with no acknowledgement whatsoever that its concept is anything less than a complete organic statement. This can bring on a problem, however - first of all in perception. Whereas before, Fairport Convention seemed to be asking, "what if things were like this," now they are declaring, "this is what we are" - which is a very different prospect indeed. For in declaring themselves to be something of their own contrivance, it invites us to look at the group as imposters. And as Dylan had well known and demonstrated, the world holds no pity for folk imposters, and the real imposter is the only the artist being untrue to himself. The question that one ponders as one listens - once again and once again - is that does the group pull it off? What makes Liege and Lief truly one of the greatest albums of its time, is that they do. Rarely has a group set a standard so high (one thinks of the Beatles and Sgt. Pepper’s, and of course, the Band) and actually has the talent and substance to achieve it.<br /><br />Fairport announces its challenge with the very first song on the record, "Now Come All Ye," which is listed as a joint composition between Ashley Hutchings and Sandy Denny. It is a kind of make-believe world, where the group announces itself, in true Sgt. Pepper fashion, to be precisely what it is not: that is a band of "rolling minstrels." "No, you’re not," you want to say. "You’re a bunch of English hippies with electric guitars and amps."<br /><br />But such is the challenge here. In absorbing the spirit of the ageless troubadours of a pre-industrial island that is now decidedly post-everything, can this conjuring truly be relevant, or in fact even possible? As the glad and happy stomping of the group goes through heedlessly, Denny introduces each member, leaving out his name, allowing him to be a universal component of what is truly an ageless tradition.<br /><br />What is being attempted here, and I believe accomplished, is a genuine shift in psychological attitude and projection. For Fairport isn’t merely playing games and putting on costumes. In evoking the timeless styles, traditions and themes of their native culture and not just grafting them onto a modern form, but organically absorbing their content is nothing short of pure alchemy. On first listening, one will like "Come All Ye," or one will not - but it will not convince anyone. The song is the album’s anthem and statement of purpose. Whether it succeeds cannot be assessed until the entire project is taken in and assessed. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Come All Ye"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=EV44H7IyB10">http://youtube.com/watch?v=EV44H7IyB10</a><br /><br />The next song, a hushed ballad entitled "Reynardine," finds the band purposefully muted - almost at a standstill - while Denny sings the enigmatic lyrics of a seduction. Or rather, does the song sing her? Here, as throughout the album, Sandy Denny sounds absolutely possessed. This is the voice of a ghost - ethereal, lightly adorned, almost a whisper in the back of the consciousness. This is not one woman, but many women - perhaps all women - singing of their own experiences of maidenhood lost, with no apparent emotion, but rather with a kind of fatalism that makes its experience archetypal. Is it a lament? A celebration? Has she been ensnared by the devil? Or is she simply succumbing to fate as part of nature? What will be her fate? It is impossible to tell. The song transfixes the eternal in a moment and one must bring their own meaning to bear on it.<br /><br />By the next song, "Matty Groves," Fairport proves that they are steadfastly in control and that they are capable of making this material live. This long ballad in minor pounds away mercilessly with a grind comparable (once again) only to the Velvet Underground, but to vastly different (or are they?) purposes. The hard, interlocking bass of Hutchings with the relentless pounding of new drummer Dave Mattacks, locks the rest of the ensemble (Thompson and Simon Nicol on restless electric guitars, plus Dave Swarbrick - now a full-time member - on electric fiddle) in a seemingly endless lockstep grip which is devised as the time and textural frame of the tale. It is also the propulsion of the story itself, once again making the narrative seem inevitable in both space and time.<br /><br />The song tells the classic story of the troubadour - that of true love (or at least desire), against the backdrop of the artificial reality of class-arranged marriage. The heroine - if so we may call her - first casts her eyes on the beautiful young peasant, Matty Groves, in church. Hence her defiance is abstracted as largely as it can be, as her decision is to rebel not only against her husband, but ultimately, his justifier, God himself. Knowing her husband is away and will not return that night, she seduces Matty and takes him to her bed. Meanwhile, one of her husband’s servants overhears the plot and swiftly runs to warn his master. Once the husband returns, the deed has been consummated, but he arrives in time to find Matty and his wife in a naked, sleeping embrace. He rouses Matty and forces him to a duel against his will, then slays him. He then takes his wife, asking her who now she prefers? Her reply? "I’d rather a kiss from dead Matty’s lips than you or your finery." The husband, enraged kills her immediately. Then he orders them to be buried together, but with his wife on the top, as she was of higher class.<br />Sandy Denny’s voice is harder here, but still detached - she will not comment on the proceedings. There is no emotional judgement pushed into the story, but only the bare commentary itself. If there is one quality that you could attribute her extraordinary vocalization it is a kind of unwavering sternness - a commitment to the truth of the situation, an insistence that it be told properly, just as it happened. That she shares the rebellious perspective of the wife is revealed as their words converge on the line stated above. Indeed, this is the voice of the wife - and of all wives who renounce themselves as possessions and take hold of their own identity and fate as individuals. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Matty Groves"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=p2YYJEmDRhI">http://youtube.com/watch?v=p2YYJEmDRhI</a><br /><br />The tale is long and the emerging power is overwhelming. But once over, the band does not rest there, but rises up in an instrumental coda of commentary which is simultaneously celebratory and savage, finally laying to rest on a rumble of acoustic guitar and electric fiddle (which a year or so later would eloquently serve as the model for the ending of the Who’s "Baba O’Reilly").<br />The first side ends quietly and poignantly with Thompson’s only solo composition on the album, the brief and frosty "Farewell, Farewell," which could certainly be a folk song of indeterminate age. Sung softly by Denny, the song takes Dylan’s archetypal drifter and places him in a much larger context of place and time, making his path of chosen alienation even more universal.<br />The second side opens with "The Deserter," a British ballad of a soldier who escapes his regiment, is captured and punished, escapes and is captured again. He is about to be executed, when Prince Albert rides up and orders his life to be spared as he’ll "make a fine soldier for queen and country." His doom is thus sealed no matter where he turns. One’s first impulse is to view this as a basically "political" song in a Brechtian sense, and while it certainly works quite well that way, it also resonates with that grim sense of fatalism that grips so many old folk songs and stories. The presence of the old Germanic wyrd, that inescapable force of fate and destiny that encompasses all is certainly present here.<br /><br />The next piece, "Medley," is a purely instrumental set of traditional jigs, waltzes and reels, impeccably and excitingly done. It’s probably impossible to say with hindsight, after nearly 40 years of familiarity with this form, just how extraordinary and unique it was to hear these ancient Celtic melodies fired through with electricity and drums for the first time. And though it’s been done many times since, I doubt the exuberance of the performance has ever been outdone. There’s simply something so thrilling about discovery - and here Fairport, as a group, discovers not only the compatibility of the old and the new, but a natural meld. Here they open a door where the playing is not of the nostalgic - certainly not of novelty - but of the absolutely timeless. Up to the second in modern conception and playing modern rock, the band grabs the old forms, and without embellishment, discovers their eternal relevance and joy. Nor has the experiment aged a day. This is simply music that can be played forever and still sound fresh, fulfilling all the promises of the "Come All Ye" album opener. These could be 200-year-old (or more) musicians raised from the dead who (once shown how to plug in their amps) slam the immediacy of their celebratory dance of the earth into whatever century they happen to find themselves.<br /><br />"Tam Lin," follows, and this ethereally beautiful, ancient Celtic faery story serves as the true center of the album. I would like to take and research this amazing tale, for its roots are certainly very deep in pre-Christian lore, and is a song that has been sung for many a century.<br />The story concerns a young maiden (Janet, in this version), who, against warnings, visits a certain "Carter Hall," where she begins to pick roses. Confronted by the master of the Hall, Tam Lin, an elfin-grey creature, appears and rebukes her, whereby she re-asserts her right to do exactly as she may. Once returned home, she is discovered by her father to be pregnant. He pleads to her to marry one of his knights, but Janet will have none of it. She returns to Carter Hall, where Tam Lin tells her that he was once an earthly knight, but is being held captive by the queen of faeries. That night is Halloween, and he instructs Janet to pull him from his horse as he passes. The faerie who possesses him will change him into many animal forms, but she must not fear and hold him fast. Finally, he will be transformed back into a "naked knight." Janet does this, hides him in her cloak and steals away with him, to the Faerie Queen’s curses.<br />As I say, I do not know the source or original form of this tale or its context. One can tell its antiquity, however, not only from the fairy context, but from the heroic actions of the female, who fights and wins against the forces of nature itself. Here, in the conspiracy of love, the realm of the supernatural is outwitted - which suggests a 13th-century type of vision of the troubadours. The presence of knights certainly shows its date, and as it is Irish (or Welsh?) in origin, it may appear a bit later. The original Celtic tale is lost, or rather "hidden" in the translation, but its sense of ancient wonder suffuses it fully.<br /><br />The band here, is at their peak, with their arrangement and performance. Slashing guitar chords punctuate the narrative, and a driving, repeating motif, accented by drums, forces the tale along with extraordinary drama. Sandy Denny sings as if absolutely possessed - detached, yet enraptured by the tale, Janet’s defiance and resolution becomes her own. She could be singing another language - perhaps an unknown language - and she would still carry the same power. This long song, with its continual repetition of verse structure, never for an instant becomes dull. The band, with a couple of instrumental breaks, simply rides the song and the story like a wild stallion, and desperation, culminating in ultimate victory, permeates every second. </p><p><strong><em>Video: Fairport Convention: "Tam Lin"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=tJrLgOS7VO0">http://youtube.com/watch?v=tJrLgOS7VO0</a><br /><br />With this album then, Fairport Convention has successfully re-created themselves as an altogether new type of band of extraordinary power and authority. Unfortunately - or perhaps inevitably - this triumph would be the last for this particular set of musicians, as Denny would leave the band thereafter, along with co-founder Ashley Hutchings (to found an even more traditionalist folk-rock group, Steeleye Span). Thompson would depart after one more album. Strangely, the group persists, with different personnel, even to today - more as an institution or a stylistic ensemble than a defined set of individuals. But the band members would take what they learned here and apply it to their respective musical pathways throughout their lives.<br />This is truer of no-one more than the remarkable genius of Richard Thompson. Liege & Lief’s last song, arguably its greatest, though sounding as authentically pure and as old as anything on the record, is a collaboration between Thompson and David Swarbrick. "Mad Man Michaelf," this soft, gentle ballad of murder and madness, sensitively styled by Denny, is crafted of what will become the essence of Thompson’s art. In the brief story, "Mad Man Michael" is taunted by a raven that his true love will die by his own hand. In anger, he stabs the raven, who disappears, and is replaced by the bleeding body of his lover at his feet. This horrific tale is carried by what is probably the most beautiful of any on an album of filled with beautiful melodies.<br /><br />What is peculiarly Thompson-esque about the song, though, is not simply its roots in traditional songstry (of which he is a master), but that implicit recognition that the all-embracing power of fate (or wyrd) is situated precisely in the psyche of the victim himself. It is that knowledge and that power that will give to Richard Thompson’s future work the key to all its horrific power.<br />The last lines of the song reflect his characteristically frightening distance that ironically connects the listener directly into the heart of the "grave and constant in human suffering" (to quote James Joyce) that we all as mortals possess as our mutual inheritance and complicity:<br /><br />"For his own true love is flown into every flower grown<br />And he must be the keeper of the garden." </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention reunion - performing Liege & Lief, 2007:</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=iizZGDDiS4s">http://youtube.com/watch?v=iizZGDDiS4s</a><br /><br /><br /><strong>Fairport Convention: Full House</strong> [July 1970]<br />Alas, she’s gone. And with the departure of Sandy Denny goes one of the greatest rock bands of the period. Not that this still isn’t a kick-ass band at the peak of their powers. But they’ve lost their voice, and all those guys, with all their wizardry and inspiration just can’t replace that transcendent focus.<br /><br />This is still a fabulous album, with lots of traditional instrumental, and quasi-traditional original songs. The reason for owning the album, however, is the epic "Sloth," possibly Fairport’s greatest single accomplishment. This Swarbrick/Thompson-penned number gloomily, slowly, majestically unites a minstrelry tradition with expansive, exploratory guitar rock. The only comparable piece I can think of is Neil Young’s initial excursions with Crazy Horse the year before (Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, 1969) and of course the sonic discoveries of the Grateful Dead (i.e., "Dark Star"), but this is much more ominous and controlled.<br /><br />The song could be 300 years old and filled with the fatalism of the eternality and casual nature of war ("Just a roll on your drum . . ."). We really get to hear Thompson’s voice for the first time here, and it is unschooled, unprincipled - an everyman’s baritone, and somehow the conveyance of the doom of entrapment, combined with stoic acceptance makes the fit just right.<br />Better still are the long, interlocking, modulating guitar excursions that tie the verses together into a horrific predestination of hell. We have Thompson the musician fully on display here, and there is no question that he is one of the great masters of the machine - clearly on a par with Clapton or (more idiosyncratically) Robert Fripp. It is his personal vision, though, just as much or more than his technique that turns his workouts into journeys of sheer transcendence and doom. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: Sloth, </em>parts 1 & 2</strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=s3ttWjLAcV4">http://youtube.com/watch?v=s3ttWjLAcV4</a> </p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=J_0pXDIuyTA">http://youtube.com/watch?v=J_0pXDIuyTA</a><br /><br />Thompson would leave the group himself after this album, and the group would carry on, somehow, up until today (given one lengthy hiatus). What he left behind, however, was a legacy of a (mostly) unseen, unheard, unknown contributions to an extraordinary confluence of traditions, left for individuals of subsequent generations to continually, shockingly, rediscover. Let "Sloth" itself stand for that one great masterwork at the height of rock eclecticism that is eternally hidden. Its secrecy fits its nature to a tee.<br /><br />And as for Thompson, he would take all that Fairport was along with him on his ever-more-idiosyncratic journey, constructing his hellish replication of daily life in the confines of the shadows. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Now Be Thankful"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=QsyRF_i1PSs">http://youtube.com/watch?v=QsyRF_i1PSs</a></p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention: "Sir Patrick Spens"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=bGVqMK_wZtA">http://youtube.com/watch?v=bGVqMK_wZtA</a></p><p><strong><em>Video - Fairport Convention, Live 1970</em></strong></p><p></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=H4_QnaqCQp0">http://youtube.com/watch?v=H4_QnaqCQp0</a><br /><br /><strong>Richard Thompson: Starring as Harry the Human Fly</strong> [April 1972]<br />Holy shit.<br /><br />This may not be Richard Thompson’s greatest album, but this, his debut as a solo artist is probably his most important. For it is here that we find the character Thompson would assume in its first essential manifestation, and the effect is powerful and shocking. Notorious for its lack of sales (it was reputedly the lowest-selling album in the history of Warner Brothers on its American release), it was heard by very few. But the few that heard it must have had the bizarre sense that a madman on the street had grabbed them and begun singing the madness in his head into their faces as prophecy. It’s that strange - and just that effective. Probably too much so, as anyone who would hear it would likely request that it be turned off immediately, running away just as quickly as they could get away from that selfsame lunatic if he had actually accosted them on the street.<br /><br />For Thompson has found not just a style, but a persona here - much as Tom Waits would about that same time in his American street-hipster idiom. The Richard Thompson presented here is distinctly English, however, and an eternal representative of Britain’s past brought into the here and now. He is the madcap on the periphery of society, the fool blaring away at the back of the fair as if he were the star of the show, oblivious to the fact that no one is paying attention to him. He is loony lone drummer you meet on the highlands, leading his imaginary parade to victory or destruction, god knows which. He is the shouter on the streets, proclaiming the end of the world, or at least the end of whatever everybody else is taking for granted so comfortably.<br /><br />Ultimately, he is that voice at the back of your mind that won’t shut up, insisting that all your achievements, possessions and ego-attachments are unreal, unjustified, and ultimately delusional. No wonder nobody wanted to listen to him. As a matter of fact, when you come to think of it, it’s no wonder that so few people know of him even today. For everything that he has done since this album is nothing but a refinement of this concept. There is nothing like the shock of hearing it in its raw, earliest incarnation however.<br /><br />No question Richard Thompson is a strange bugger. But he’s not this strange. As mentioned before, Thompson is playing a role here, assuming an archetypal identity while fusing traditional British folk music with what can only be called a post-modern rock temperament. Oddly enough, on the first couple of listenings, I kept thinking of David Bowie’s Hunky Dory (1971), to which this album has no stylistic affinities whatsoever. Yet here was Thompson, forging his persona right alongside Bowie’s self-creation of the plastic spaceman-rocker "Ziggy Stardust." There can be no question that there was something in the zeitgeist in early ‘70s Britain that made it conducive to manipulation with imagery and playing the image against itself. Thompson’s "Harry the Human Fly" is just another aspect of Bowie’s "Ziggy." But whereas the latter was a self-proclaimed rock ‘n’ roll messiah, embraced by millions and suffering dying for their sake, "Henry" remained the Old Testament prophet that nobody really wanted to listen to. He wasn’t bringing "good news."<br /><br />The concept must have been strangely off-putting to anyone who actually did happen to come across it at the time. Richard appears on the cover, acoustic guitar in hand, wearing a giant fly’s head. If he is the eternal "fly on the wall," he is also a pest. He knows too much - much more than you want to hear, and his apparition suggests disease. That the disease comes from the very things that you consume is something that most people would rather not be bothered with. Better to shoo him off.<br /><br />The persona that Thompson presents here, and as I said before, would remain in a modified format throughout his career has its roots squarely in Fairport Convention. Fairport themselves, as a group, were a conceit - the conjuring up of a band of roving English minstrels, suddenly plugged into amps and microphones was inherently ridiculous, and as such, was a theatrical piece as much as a musical statement. It just happened to be filled with extraordinary musicians, of which Thompson was one. But just what was Thompson’s "character" in the little drama? Now we know.<br /><br />We should have known sooner. The twisted, demented and often damning lyrics that appeared under his credits on songs were a dead giveaway that he was the mad one, the source of the group’s sense of irony and perhaps the key to its ultimate triumph of the form.<br /><br />On Henry, Thompson steps to the side, and takes if from there. These are all original songs, all sounding exactly like traditional British folk music. And the voice? Jesus, the voice! Over the years, Thompson would take this ragged instrument and hone it into a force of powerful, deep expression. Much as the same way Bob Dylan had done, Thompson would take an inelegant voice of the people and make it sing with and intimacy and elegance unmatched by more conventional vocal "talents."<br /><br />Here, however, there is no moderation. It just howls, barely in tune, no conscious regard for whether or not it is "pretty" or even listenable. Over the decades, Thompson’s voice would age like wine - like Johnny Cash or Neil Young, it would come to carry the power and authority of clarity and vision. But here it just wails. And in no small measure, this is what gives it its power.<br />Now for the songs:<br /><br /><strong>"Roll Over Vaughn Williams"</strong> - Simply one of the most arresting, powerful, shocking and scarifying annunciations ever to kick of a debut album. This is Thompson as a true ranter, a mad bard stomping across the waste land of modern-day England - or the world for that matter. He’s the creepy prophet on the street corner holding his "The End Is Near Sign," and he’s heading your direction. As a minstrel, his message is even more frightening, and the insistent stomp of the music, along with the conviction in his voice is more than enough to place it in the back of you’re mind that he just might be right.<br /><br />Gentle ladies, gentlemen,<br />Waiting ‘til the dance begins,<br />Carefully we come to speak<br />A word for you to hear.<br />If you listen, if you should,<br />We won’t be misunderstood,<br />But don’t expect the words to ring<br />Too sweetly on the ear . . .<br /><br />Live in fear.<br />Live in fear.<br />Live in fear.<br /><br />That the threat is undefined makes it ever so much terrifying in its universality. What is it? It doesn’t really matter what the specific trouble is - what Thompson is really singing about is Joyce’s "grave and constant in human suffering." It is the function of the prophet, the minstrel, the madman - essentially the artist - to bring this to the forefront of human consciousness, where it is usually buried behind some artificial positivistic construction of the mind. Thompson attacks our defense mechanisms directly:<br /><br />Is it painful, is it right?<br />Does it keep you warm at night?<br />Fool your friends and fool yourself,<br />The choice is crystal clear.<br />If you break it on your knee,<br />Better men might disagree.<br />Do you laugh or do you stick<br />Your finger in your ear?<br /><br />Thompson’s adopted voice is so pungent and potent here - a wailing, lower class brawl that celebrates the common British dialect like nothing else until the Sex Pistols and the Clash would break out of the slums with their own "rantings" a couple of years later. In this sense, historically, Thompson can be seen as a "true" prophet, both of style and nihilistic content.<br />But the specific link to traditional English minstrelsy is carried over from Fairport Convention and locked firmly to the rock attack that Thompson help them forge in their inspired fusion of forms. From here on out, for the next thirty-plus years and going, Richard Thompson would appropriate that selfsame amalgam to his own dark and ominous vision. What is so appealing here is the freshness of the concept, the absolute lack of the careful sophistication in his vocalization that he would develop later.<br /><br />The big electric slab of sound is incredible, though, and here we first get the full force of Thompson’s "second voice," the searing electric guitar solo that will push his meaning beyond mere comprehension and inscribe all of its terrifying implications directly on the nerves and psyche. Here, he mimics a bagpipe sound in a swirling reel of notes that emphatically will not let up, letting you feel the insects of destiny swirling around your head.<br /><br />The title is an encapsulation of what is emerging as Thompson’s sheer genius and clarity of conception. The play on "Roll Over Beethoven" posits Thompson’s position as the new Chuck Berry, specifically for England. But this "new" Chuck Berry is a far cry from the great liberator of 1950s youth - he is a not-so-veiled threat to all complacent acceptance of a refined society that has grown too old and complacent and probably needs to be burned down.<br />This song gets the project off to an incredible start.<br /><br /><strong>"Nobody’s Wedding"</strong> - This acoustic jollity is a true madman’s celebration of joyous purposelessness. The lyrics are almost pure Lewis Carroll: ("Didn’t hear the words of the Bible being read/When it’s nobody’s wedding, nobody’s wed.") The odd chord changes accentuates Thompson’s gift for creating beautiful, traditional-sounding melody and twisting it around a pole until it simultaneously undermines itself in irony and celebration. As matter of fact, the question occurs - are we ironically skewing a celebration, or taken a step further - are we really celebrating an irony? The tension between these poles is held so perfectly in order that every thought and emotion carries its own contradiction and we simply don’t know how to react. The brilliance of this method of songwriting, seemingly so off-handed and simple is positively unnerving - and exhilarating.<br /><br />This wonderful celebration of nothing is capped by the popular traditional reel, "Marie’s Wedding," played off cheerfully by accordion and fiddle, fading off into the night where "Everybody came to nobody’s wedding."<br /><br />Transcendent insanity and bliss . . .<br /><br />"The Poor Ditching Boy" - This mournful acoustic waltz sounds as if it were being whined away in a back alley. The open guitar tuning and gentle fiddle accompaniment supports a message of a kind desolation that may or may not come from a woman.<br />The tale begins in winter:<br /><br />Was there ever a winter so cold and so sad,<br />The river too weary to flood?<br />The storming wind cut through to my skin,<br />But she cut through to my blood.<br /><br />The blame lies on the woman throughout the choruses ("With her scheming, idle ways/She left me poor enough."). But the cumulative effect on this character goes way beyond what one would suspect of mere heartbreak:<br /><br />I would not be asking, I would not be seen<br />A-beggin’ on mountain or hill.<br />I’m ready and blind with my hands tied behind,<br />I’ve neither a mind or a will.<br /><br />Could ever a woman destroy a man so utterly? The song seems to simply take it for granted that faith, once so sincerely and youthfully offered, when betrayed, has the power to reduce the mind and the will to utter helplessness. It can lead one to such a disillusionment of life that he is literally at the mercy of a world which only wishes to exploit:<br /><br />It’s bitter the life of the poor ditching boy,<br />He’ll always believe what they say.<br />They tell him it’s hard to be honest and true,<br />Does he mind if he doesn’t get paid?<br /><br />The song cuts deeper than the narrative first implies. Is this the state of man itself? If it really is so "hard to be honest and true," can this be only the province of the simpleton who does not possess "scheming, idle ways?" Is he ever digging ditches for free, alienated from a caring heart?<br />The song’s structure suggests that it was love’s disappointment that undid the boy so savagely. But looked at in another way, it seems possible that innocence is always doomed to an eternal fatality of opportunistic appropriation, whether in relationships or in society.<br /><br />Here, Richard Thompson is delivering on the promise of "Roll Over Vaughn Williams." This is simply one of the greatest folk songs I’ve ever heard in my life. Nobody else but Dylan can approach these depths with such economy and ease. The difference is that Thompson sounds like these things are actually happening to him!<br /><br /><strong><em>"Shaky Nancy"</em></strong> - Another somber acoustic ballad, albeit with muscular bass and drums. The only thing I can think to compare this sound to is Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush (1970) and the contemporaneous Harvest (1972). But the feel is so British and distinct that you could not make an accusation of copying styles. Given Thompson’s past with Fairport Convention, any similarities are obviously a case of parallel development.<br /><br />Here’s another portrait of a casualty. Thompson doesn’t tell us what happened to her, what makes her so "shaky," but it’s clear that it’s deeply imbedded in her soul.<br /><br />Nancy went walking, gone for the day,<br />When she comes back she’s been two years away.<br />There’s still a tear in her eye<br />Who’ll say a prayer for Nancy?<br /><br />The singer can’t console or woo her, so he finally throws himself into her lot completely:<br /><br />I’ll go to sleep<br />And dream sweet dreams of Nancy.<br />Perhaps it’s good enough, at the end of the day, for simple resignation and empathy. Perhaps that’s really all the best we can hope for - either from ourselves and others.<br /><br /><strong><em>"The Angels Took My Racehorse Away"</em></strong> - We return to rock and roll here with this joyously absurd lament for the singer’s late steed. Foul play is suspected: ("I believe it was that bookmaker from Crail/I believe he put one in her pail.") The singer’s bereavement sounds sincere enough - but if we listen closely, we’ll discern the real reason for the pain of loss:<br /><br />And I believe (I believe) every sporting man will cry,<br />I believe (I believe) to see his income pass him by.<br /><br />This was indeed a beloved horse. "She won the Lanark Silver Bell and she stole every heart away." The singer pictures "a racecourse in the sky," where "steward, lord and groom are calling her name." Thus the hope for monetary victory transcends even death. The song is funny, of course, but the pathetic image of man’s ultimate desire for transcendence residing in a bit of pot luck may be the most sadly pathetic image on what is already a very bleak album.<br /><br />Thompson turns in another stunning guitar solo on this one, and the jauntiness of the tune carries one beyond the irony to a kind of sad victory.<br /><br />(A wonderful note here: both Sandy Denny and Linda Peters (soon to be Thompson) provide backup vocals on this track, but they’re limited to the harmonized words, "I believe," in refrain to Thompson’s yowl. Now that’s funny.)<br /><br /><strong><em>"Wheely Down"</em></strong> - Side one ends with this chanted, warbled tale with a tune right out of ye Olde English Earthe itself. The only thing that belies its modernity is Thompson’s rattling electric guitar strings that makes it appear that the song appears out of a fibrous tangle of loose telephone wires. An repeated open fourth banged on a piano is the only accompaniment, as the singer begins painting his vision right out of Joyce: the voluptuous body of a woman lying on a hill merge and become one.<br /><br />The land/lady flourishes, and there is much rejoicing in this vision of nature. Finally, she/it become populated, and is the source of life.<br /><br />The vision cannot endlessly endure, however: All things must change within the earth.<br /><br />For the worms will eat the miller’s wheel<br />And the rats will eat the grain.<br />Man’s warlike efforts fail to the kick<br />of drums:<br /><br />And the armies of deliverance<br />Are run into the ground . . .<br /><br />In the end, all nature decays - be it the land or fertile female flesh. The song ends with the image of a hungry falcon circling overhead, as the piano fades away, leaving the initial electronic throbbing. Life comes from chaos, breeds, dies, then returns to the surrounding chaos. The pulsing momentum of the song has been the march of destiny, and now it as an end.<br />This song is a small masterpiece. If you haven’t been quite certain until now, this crazy little bugger is a genius. A particularly morbid genius, no doubt - but still a genius.<br /><br /><strong><em>"The New St. George"</em></strong> - St. George is the traditional patron saint of England, and is surely celebrated in song, though I am unfamiliar with with any specific tune to which the title might refer. In this song, the original tune is being replaced by a new one, which is a workers’ call to action and unity. It is anthemic in nature, religious in the sense of abandoning an old tradition of favoritism and privilege and creating a new one based upon the working class. It sounds as it could actually have been an old British Socialists’ rallying song.<br /><br />Freedom was your mother,<br />Fight for one another,<br />Leave the factory, leave the forge,<br />Dance to the new St. George.<br /><br />But is this song really in harmony with a socialists’ or workers’ movement - or is it posited against them, in view of something larger? Are trade union leaders being referred to in these lines:<br /><br />Don’t believe pretenders<br />Who say they would defend us.<br />While they flash their teeth and wave,<br />The other hand is being paid.<br />They choke the air and bleed us,<br />These noble men who lead us . . .<br /><br />Indeed, nature seems to be dying. "The fish and foul are ailing/The farmer’s life is failing." Once again, the leaders are ineffectual. "The backroom boys can’t save us now."<br /><br />Indeed, this call for a rising up does not seem to be a traditional strike for wages or better working conditions. "Leave the factory, leave the forge," sound all too final here. The radical alternative seems to be a complete transformation of society into a universal brotherhood of a completely transformed society. To "Dance to the new St. George," is exactly that - to participate in a new order of a sanctified unity.<br /><br />Of course, this was the ultimate goal of classical socialism. But placed in this context, the utopian promise seems hollow and imaginary. As a practical political solution, it means nothing. The song can be seen as a spiritual call to arms, or rather, perhaps it could be interpreted as a satire of such sentiments.<br /><br />In the nihilistic context of the album as a whole, the latter interpretation seems most likely - although this does not exclude what may be Thompson’s genuine concern for the proletariat, the common working man who’s voice he appropriates - not only on this song, but throughout the album. Rendered in this light, "The New St. George" could be ultimately interpreted as pathos - the ringing anthem for a problem which cannot be fixed, only romanticized - which leaves nobody better off than before.<br /><br />The song itself is powerful, in a tattered way, trundling down the street, so to speak, to the accompaniment of saxophone and trumpet reminiscent of a Salvation Army band. And what other army would our singer call on here than one that would bring salvation itself? It’s what the song ultimately demands, and what we know will always be ultimately denied.<br />Ultimately as depressing as it is rousing, this song is about as political as Thompson gets. There are no promises to be kept and we are still under his initiating judgement, his real call to arms - to "live in fear."<br /><br /><strong>"Painted Ladies"</strong> - The sound of this song is once again tremendously reminiscent of Harvest-era Neil Young, with which is exactly contemporaneous (e.g., compare "Heart of Gold" and "Old Man"). There is simply no chance that this is a stylistic copy - even less likely the other way around. Once again, this self-produced album (along with a certain John Wood) simply miraculously appears as Young’s Anglican doppelganger.<br /><br />The lyrics carry Young-like inscrutability here, as well. Just who are "the painted ladies I know," anyway. The first verse suggests that they may be prostitutes. Or then again, they could just be any attractive (perhaps "trendy") women, with whom a man will not have success without money:<br /><br />When you don’t have credit, don’t hold no sway<br />With the painted ladies I know,<br />It’s thank you for nothing, we’ll see you someday,<br />The painted ladies I know.<br /><br />At any rate, these women are inaccessible. "Those film stars and beauties" can only be experienced vicariously through the imagination, and do not satisfy.<br /><br />Apparently, they like to tease, however: "When you’re starved for some loving they can make you feel special." However, it doesn’t last. "And God help the children playing their game,/The name of the game is ‘good-bye.’"<br /><br />Looking a bit closer, though, one must ask is the song really an indictment of the "painted ladies" themselves, or is it of the male’s conception of them? The men’s attitude seems to justify their behavior: "’When you want to love everyone, how can you love?’/The painted ladies all say." Everyone, it seems is a victim here. In a culture where women are objectified as "painted ladies," the male’s desire is insatiable, and the women are not regarded with enough depth to be made a subject worthy (or even desirable) of commitment. As the song concludes,<br /><br />It’s time to move on or go down with the ship,<br />The painted ladies all say.<br /><br />The objectification of female beauty and the exploitation of male desire creates a fantasy world in which no one can win. Making a commitment is surrender, it is implied, and that destroys the seductive desires that gave the female the allure that aroused the male to begin with.<br />It is another perfect portrait of hell by Richard Thompson - who is here emerging as its most perceptive and expressive chronicler.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Cold Feet"</em></strong> - This funny, self-effacing song has a country kick in the chorus and is reminiscent of classic-era Kinks. The protagonist is obviously tied down with servile devotion to his girlfriend through her charms and manipulations, but something deep inside him tells him that he shouldn’t cross that line into commitment. Still he can’t seem to back off ("I’d cross my fingers but they don’t seem to meet"). A much lighter song than the rest of the album, but it still displays a classic conundrum that maintains the main theme of entrapment, and it’s a pleasant sing-along.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Mary and Joseph"</em></strong> - The Salvation Army band returns with a vengeance, marching down the street, Thompson singing the hymnal like an old drunk lagging behind. This could easily be a cut off of a late-eighties Tom Waits album.<br /><br />The lyrics are an insane portrait of the Holy Couple, with "Mary . . . tied down on the bed/While Joseph plays the ukelele/standing on his head." In this strange scenario, Jesus will not come to be born, as the couple is divided.<br /><br />The imagery of the song is somewhat difficult, and the point being made somewhat obscure. It seems, in a way, to be simply a song of madness, a hymn for an alternate reality, a dream that failed to materialize.<br /><br />Why are Mary and Joseph so estranged? Are they too different ("Like the worm that loves the rose")? If Mary is tied down to the bed, is she supposed to bear the saviour against her will? At any rate they are "divided," inexplicably "parted in the name of good."<br /><br />Is this a suggestion that perhaps the Biblical pair, chosen against their will and desire, cannot bring forth the arrival of the Son of Light, whose name and essence is Truth? Perhaps our mad, drunken bard, observing that there is no peace on earth, assumes that no Incarnation has ever taken place, since mankind is not redeemed. Mary and Joseph could not bring forth the birth of the saviour naturally, so that any other kind of birth - a supernatural incarnation would not only be impossible, but absolutely meaningless.<br /><br />But this places us in another Catch-22. If "He’ll only come when hearts are joined," how can he ever arrive to deliver mankind. Can Christ only appear to a mankind which is already in love, peace and harmony? Then what would be the purpose?<br /><br />I am not sure at all of Thompson’s intentions here, but this "alternate reading" of the absence of the divine is a marvelous addition and extension to the wandering ranter’s rebel cry. Thompson’s voice is even more deliberately "unrefined" here, a warbling amateur baritone just following along the notes of the staff of his imaginary hymnal.<br /><br />Why wasn’t this a hit record?<br /><br /><strong><em>"The Old Changing Way"</em></strong> - We return now to that Neil Young Harvest sound, but we’re still distinctly in the British folk-tale idiom. The story tells of two brothers (tinkers), who set out on the road to make whatever modest fortune they can, pledging to always stay together. When hard times arrive, however, the brothers split up, each one having to make his lonely way by himself. It is a cautionary tale not to break with your blood or to face a harsh, wandering road, lost and without comfort.<br /><br />The self-contradictory name of their pathway - the name of the song - remains the same whether they are together or apart. Does this oxymoron take on an additional meaning after they split? If the "Old Way" was to travel together, encountering new experiences on the road - thus "Changing" - is there a new "Old Changing Way" after they part? Here "Changing" would modify "Way," instead of "Old." So is song a requiem for the changing of time when blood kin are not bound together in life?<br /><br />The singer states "We never agreed to divide our tin." So was it money, perceived as necessity that broke up the two? Does a capitalist, market economy drive a wedge between the old, sacred order of bonding that comes natural to brothers - or just plain human beings?<br />This seems to be the gist of the song, but with Thompson, I’m not ruling out another layer of irony that I just may not be picking up at this point.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Twisted"</em></strong> - What a fabulous way to end the album! Here, in one of Thompson’s strongest melodies so far, he tells a simple first-person, present tense tale of being hopelessly drunk and not being able to interpret things properly. ("Sitting at the bar with my face in the jar,/"And something tells me I’m twisted.")<br /><br />His girlfriend (?) has already left, the band has stopped playing. People are becoming hazy, and he can’t quite remember the way he came in. So he stays and drinks.<br />This eloquent, simple tale of a lost soul, couched in the language of drink, seems a fine summation for the narrator of "The Human Fly." It is his destiny and doom to be alone, left behind. If drink is a metaphor for escape, it is not helpful here, as the perpetual outsider just gets constantly sucked back into himself. The final reality seems to be the reflection of his own face. Why is he alone?<br /><br />Blame it on the drink if you like. But when he reflects that "Something tells me I’m twisted," I believe he’s saying more about his inner condition than simple inebriation. Drinking is only a symptom here of an existential state. It is the fate of the "twisted" man to see things aright - or at least in a way that nobody else does. "Twisted" is not just drunk - it’s a different kind of alignment to reality from everybody else. At its extreme, as the singer seems to fear, it really may be actual madness. No wonder nobody else wanted to stay or take him home. They’d have to listen to him.<br /><br />As a prophet, Richard Thompson was entirely accurate concerning his first solo album. As he wryly recalls, "I think I personally knew everyone who bought a copy." This album needs to be heard. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Solitary Life,</em> part 3</strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=sxzDmu8krz4">http://youtube.com/watch?v=sxzDmu8krz4</a><br /><br /><strong><em>Richard and Linda Thompson: I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em></strong> [April 1974]<br /><br />The debut of the newly married Thompsons was released on Island Records in the U.K. in 1974. I can find no record of its sales history. I had no idea before I started this how popular Fairport Convention were in their "heyday," but I don’t know that Richard and Linda enjoyed any kind of the commercial success that the group had, thus I cannot judge their impact on the British consciousness. In the U.S., I think the impact was probably about zero. The album was released by Warner Brothers, but I’m not sure it was even in the same year. I don’t recall seeing or hearing Richard and Linda Thompson albums until <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> was lionized by the national media in 1982.<br /><br />But however long the gestation took, <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> certainly exists not only in the American consciousness (albeit marginally, obliquely, to a sequestered crowd), but is also a member in good standing in the "official" canon of rock ‘n’ roll, having placed in the Top 100 Albums (1967-1987) in the initial Rolling Stone classification of 1987, as well as weighing in at #4?? on their 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. It’s interesting, in fact, that no Richard Thompson album other than Shoot Out the Lights is included in this list, though there is no question that many deserve to be.<br /><br />My basic supposition is that the second <em>Lights</em> illuminated critics enough to revisit their back catalog, where they were astounded by the first Lights, and it has enjoyed its privileged position ever since. Of course, speculation like this is always a bit hazy, but the passing of two decades has not dislodged the album’s place of power, so there it remains, reinforcing Richard Thompson’s severely underrated presence in the canon.<br /><br />But to be fair, despite all that he had accomplished before, and even with what was to come, it is finally here, that Richard Thompson lays down some of the greatest songs of his career - masterpieces that will become touchstones throughout his long musical sojourn - both with, and without Linda.<br /><br />There is also a sense of something greater coming together, moving into focus on this album. As freakishly wonderful as <strong><em>Henry the Human Fly</em></strong> was, this is not just an extension, but a move into something entirely different - much larger, more spatially and emotionally inclusive.<br />Of course the change is accented by the appearance of Linda Peters (now Thompson) as an apparent "equal" collaborator, though how much of that really is a cause, and how much just part of the presentation will continue to be obscure. Richard continues to write all the songs, and he sings about half of them. There is no denying, however, the added power and strength that Linda brings to some of the very best songs an entirely new dimension. It’s not so much that it’s a beautiful voice intoning these beautiful song visions. Like Dylan, Richard Thompson has one of the most effecting, transformative voices in popular music history, even if (like Dylan) it is not conventionally "pretty." What’s more important is that the songs seem to open up in new dimensions, with new possibilities. The real key is that Linda knows how to sing Richard Thompson songs - she knows how to get to their emotional root - without sounding at all like Richard Thompson. Behind Linda’s beautiful contralto is a sense of emotional distance that compiles the ironies and bring all the stark pain of the songs she sings to the surface, without any apparent commentary. I do not believe that it is an insult to say that Linda Thompson allows Richard Thompson’s songs to speak for themselves. Indeed, that is the very quintessence of her art.<br /><br />With Thompson’s singing, which is improving dramatically here, you have nothing but emotional investment. When there is irony, the bite of his delivery spits it back with a vengeance. In stark contrast, Linda’s vocals are entirely transparent. Her interpretations of the songs sometimes seem like they emanate directly from the shell-shocked victim of the tragedy they portray, creating an eeriness that can be absolutely devastating.<br /><br />So why, might one ask, does not Linda sing all the songs on the album? Well, for one reason, thankfully, we do get to hear Richard Thompson’s voice. But unlike Shoot Out the Lights, we do not get any real sense of dialogue here. This album is more of a united team front. The contrast between the pair simply opens up all the songs, making for a more universal statement than would be possible with only one singer.<br /><br />Here, at the beginning at least, the Thompsons appear as comrades in arms. But it’s not just that Richard is using Linda as another instrument. We cannot know just how and why - only they could tell us that (actually perhaps only Richard could tell us that) - but Linda’s presence and henceforth, necessity for performance, alters the way Richard writes songs. She opens up an entirely new universe for him - and to make the claim that this is the universe of the eternal feminine is, I believe, not too trite nor an overstatement.<br /><br />If anything, such an assertion still probably falls short of the reality. Just how the relationship of his new wife affected his writing, how much she became established as his muse (and mouthpiece) altered his perspective is incalculable. What cannot be denied here is that these are some of the greatest songs that Richard Thompson had (or would) ever write.<br />It’s not just the songs, however. The presentation and the sound are exquisitely open, and Richard’s voice shifts just enough from the madman of Henry to become more universally human. The openness of the sound, the relaxed nature of such horrific visions lends Lights a gorgeous invitational quality that it rivals the contemporary Southern California style (which it seems to emulate) of Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles, Joni Mitchell, Linda Ronstadt, etc., that these tunes could have easily been placed on the radio in 1974/75. (The fact that they were not, I have to ascribe to Warner Brothers Records, who made so many ridiculous errors around this period of time - witness only their refusal to release Frank Zappa’s Läther as a supreme example of executive stupidity.) But of course, once inside the lyric world of the album is a bleakness and nihilism that would not be encountered fully until the punk era (Randy Newman aside).<br />The cover of the album wonderfully exposits and reinforces the contrast of the extremes that the record contains. Spray-painted on a blank, nondescript wall is the title in dripping red. When one sees the image "I WANT TO SEE THE BRIGHT LIGHTS TONIGHT" as a piece of graffiti, its message seems to become much more desperate than any simple request or wish. The fact that it looks as though it is painted in blood sears into the brain, and finally the message appears as if it were a suicide note. The smaller "RICHARD AND LINDA THOMPSON" painted similarly just below it seems to suggest the collective author of the aforementioned statement, and shifts the meaning of the relationship of artist and title just enough to cue us in that what we are about to encounter is something less than a celebration, definitely not a product, but something more essentially and violently human.<br /><br />Earlier in the year, Bob Dylan’s shocking self-autopsy, <em>Blood on the Tracks</em> made a similar suggestion - with the title, if not the cover. Two years before the explosion of punk rock, there was clearly something in the air - and that was nothing if not the realization of the absolute dissolution of 1960s ideals, and the correlative notion that the individual (or couple) was frighteningly adrift on his own.<br /><br />This is, of course, Richard Thompson’s unique perspective that seemingly had been there all the time. Life is pain, loneliness and self-delusion, while cultural actions - especially human relationships - are designed to divert us from this central fact. Love, the great deliverer, is the great deceiver, as we are all so selfish at heart.<br /><br />In the course of the Thompson’s career, Richard’s vision would become a self-fulfilling prophecy, as this relationship, simply mirroring millions of others, would sink into catastrophe. But the strange thing about this album - as in so much of Thompson - is the sense of humanity affirmed by this hellish situation, particularly embodied in a magnanimous, loving - if futile - kind of hope.<br />Strap in and get ready for a long ride. This is the real start of the journey of Richard Thompson, the great modern master of katharsis. Get ready to see what it feels like to be fully human. (Hint: it hurts.)<br /><br /><strong><em>"When I Get to the Border"</em></strong> - Richard sings this kick-off song with seemingly high spirits. It’s a tale, a plan of escape. Whatever the imaginary "border" is, the singer is going to leave all his problems far behind once he gets there. The song encompasses an earnest belief in some sort of (at least personal) utopian ideal of freedom. Rocking infectiously in mid-tempo, it pulls the listener in with its open grace and glad tidings. It rocks like a rocking chair, and Linda’s harmony on the chorus makes everything about it just seem that much more alluring, charming and full of promise.<br /><br />On first listening, the uninitiated may not catch any glimpse of irony, save perhaps a sense that the singer may be perhaps a little over-optimistic. It’s only after listening to the album as a whole that one recognizes all the high hopes and schemes presented here are a mad delusion. This peppy gem is a sheer masterstroke to lead off one of the most bleak visions ever committed to vinyl. It serves as not only a supreme contrast, but a very much-needed balance to the album as a whole, which is fascinating that Thompson recognized this as so by placing the song right at the beginning. Everything that follows will appear in a different light after this bucolic excursion.<br />Beautiful Celtic melodies ring in on fiddle and dulcimer, which are answered by Thompson’s full-throated electric Strat lines. The contrast and sympathy between the two musical forms and approaches has an uncanny poignancy and a strange sense of fatalism as the tune fades away into its uncertain future.<br /><br />In short, this masterpiece begins with a master stroke. It so wonderfully invites you in - now it’s about to turn and grab you by the throat.<br /><br /><strong><em>"The Calvary Cross"</em></strong> - This is, quite simply, one of the most beautifully brutal, most nightmarish songs ever written. The "mad ranter" of <em>Henry the Human Fly</em> has transformed now from a caricature to a human being of palpable suffering, and he takes the entire audience with him.<br /><br />A modular electric guitar enters and searches restlessly for half a minute or so, but finds nowhere to go. Then suddenly, the doom-laden three chords come crashing down, repeating incessantly, locking the singer who emerges from this enclosure to ruminate on his own private hell.<br /><br />The lyrics are at first just a strange jumble of images until you begin to finally connect them. Each phrase seems to stand alone as an aphorism or an enigma until you fit them carefully together as a narrative. This is easier to do with reading the lyrics than with listening to the song being sung - as each line is separated by the pounding of the same three chords and the mournful background wailings.<br /><br />I was under the Calvary Cross,<br />The pale-face lady she said to me.<br />I’ve watched you with my one green eye,<br />And I’ll hurt you till you need me."<br /><br />"I’ll hurt you till you need me." With that one phrase, Thompson encapsulates everything that can possibly be wrong with a relationship. It is predicated with pain, desire, loneliness, the need for control and manipulation. Love appears here as a twisted pact between sick, helpless individuals. Each will gain something from this balanced shared psychosis, but in the process, each will lose themselves - which is, frighteningly, perhaps the very point of it all to begin with.<br />If love is, indeed, the haven of the existentially vulnerable individual, is there only one side we can blame? "The pale-face lady" in this case is the predator, the creature of cunning and dominance. But no one would accept her call who would not want to ultimately escape from himself. No matter what you might think of this woman, you cannot ultimately blame her any more than him. Was this "the border" the singer was so happily fleeing to in the opening song?<br />The singer speaks like a creature out of Dante. There is no real choice once you have made your decision - you are stuck irretrievably in that portion of Inferno which has been designed for you - and more significantly, with complicity by you. And finally, once you receive the full force of this vision, there is no getting away from asking yourself - what role am I playing in this drama? His or hers?<br /><br />Let us retreat for a moment and ask the question, is this dark, grim, pathological analysis of love truly universal? Or is it an aberration of the ideal? For if we accept Thompson’s vision uncritically, we are indeed damning the entire human race to an eternity of sick dependency. In short, is this song a portrait about a sick, perversion of love, or is it rather a portrait of love as an unalterably sick perversity?<br /><br />I don’t know if this question can be fully answered. No relationship is perfect, and all carry some degree of dysfunction rooted in fear. What he’s singing about here is a very extreme case indeed. But for those of us who have been in one or more of those extreme cases, the situation is all too familiar. Is even a "good" relationship "good" only in terms of degree?<br /><br />Well, at any rate, the song is not going to tell us. The song is the prophecy of the damned, and is certainly a "worst-case scenario" that may hold a kernel of truth in it that exists down deep somewhere even in the best of relationships.<br /><br />Love is always a compromise of individuals. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It can be quite joyous and transcendent, as most people (and love songs) will witness. The power and the utter audacity of the song resides in its utter insistence at pointing out this universal principle as an ego-death compromise - whether it is willing or non-willing. We are not prepared for songs to tell us things like that. And certainly not like this. This is where "Calvary Cross" gets its unfathomably dense and potent power. In a sense, if you can’t take it, you’re really not truly prepared to be honestly alive.<br /><br />The chorus:<br /><br />Everything you do,<br />Everything you do<br />You do for me.<br /><br />inverts the ordinary perspective of the lover who proclaims his joy at pleasing his love. Here, the object of his affection is instructing (or simply stating the fact) that all his actions now belong to her. As the song concludes, "This is your first day of sorrow."<br /><br />But what about the title? What about the image of the Calvary Cross. Is the fact that the "pale-faced lady" was under the dead body of Christ (at least in the imagery) implicate her in his crucifixion? Is this now to be another one? Or is there something deeper, more sinister at work here?<br /><br />Did the lady learn her lesson at the Calvary Cross? Is that what Jesus’ sacrifice means for us - in essence, a life of guilty devotion? Does this portrait of a dysfunctional relationship point more deeply into the very nature of devotion itself? Do we serve God himself through fear and sickness?<br /><br />The metaphor lies there, undeniably, sickeningly implicit. The lyrics of the second verse sharpen their steely implications:<br /><br />"Scrub me till I shine in the dark<br />"And I’ll be your light till doomsday."<br /><br />Even if this is the intended metaphor, we are left with the question of whether this is the nature of faith, or a sick perversion of it.<br /><br />In the end, Richard Thompson leaves us no easy answers - in fact no answers at all. As the mournful chords fade away, it is finally him suffering up there on the cross, and we can and will join him to whatever degree our sense of identification and dropping of defense mechanisms will allow.<br /><br />This is a bolt out of nowhere on a "pop" album, even in the extraordinarily sophisticated age of 1974. After this brutal, unexpected assertion, Richard Thompson has already gone just about as far as he can go. From this moment on, everything he writes can only be a variation on this theme. From this staggering masterpiece, everything else flows. We either turn away from him and think happier thoughts, or we follow with our eyes open, breathlessly waiting for whatever this now-accomplished "poet of darkness" is driven to reveal. </p><p><br />If you can get past "The Calvary Cross," you can get past anything. And that includes the rest of this album. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson: "The Calvary Cross"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=DPsAcgdOns8">http://youtube.com/watch?v=DPsAcgdOns8</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Withered and Died"</em></strong> - This slow waltz ballad is the first solo vocal given to Linda Thompson, and it is extraordinary. I don’t know where to begin: I could talk about the majestic simplicity and beauty of the melody, the achingly sad, defeated lyrics, the pureness of tone in her voice, the absolute absence of emotion that makes the performance so starkly believable. I could roll them all up into a little ball of description that makes every side of this cut so amazingly perfect, but I still couldn’t get it across. One must hear this heartbreaker, so free of maudlin, but so completely desolate that it simply makes you want to cry. The closest experience to which I can compare it is listening to Hank Williams’ "I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry" to get a sense of the potential beauty of despair. Of course, Hank’s is the greater song - the shocking masterpiece of bleakness that miraculously heals. But "Withered and Died" is its worthy descendent.<br />Although seemingly an English ballad, "Withered and Died" is also at heart an American country & western song - a blend that Thompson feels instinctively and that will emerge continuously throughout the rest of his career. His sliding guitar solo reminds one of a pedal steel and its sense of "crying." This is no accident. Everything here is purposeful. The greatness of its art is in not appearing at all artful. This is one of the most natural-sounding recordings I have ever heard and appears completely organic. With Linda, Richard Thompson has found an extraordinary new instrument with which to express his melancholy and give it different levels of meaning, perspective, and universality.<br /><br />Three songs into the album, and we’re already at a level of depth of expression for which I can find very few comparisons anywhere. This album is truly great, and it’s only going to get better as it goes along. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson - "Withered and Died"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=kcKyZEnPWBQ">http://youtube.com/watch?v=kcKyZEnPWBQ</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight"</em></strong> - The first time I heard this song, I was somewhat baffled. Sung with exuberance by Linda, it comes off as good-timing party rocker. A girl wants to be taken out clubbing by some fellow, drink, dance and have fun. So what?<br />Context is everything. What is this song doing here? Why is it the title of the album? Why is it seemingly written in blood on the cover? A few close listenings, and deeper meanings begin to gleam through the text. The third verse is really the kicker that cued me in:<br /><br />A couple of drunken nights rolling on the floor<br />Is just the kind of mess I’m looking for.<br />I’m gonna dream till Monday comes in sight.<br />I want to see the bright lights tonight.<br /><br />The song is a desperate plea for escape - escape from work, escape from a lonely mundane existence, escape from oneself. The great subject of the song is the absolute void that is pushed aside so that it it seems to be absent from the song itself. That is all in the effort and desire of the singer who so wants so badly to throw herself into a whirlwind of pounding sensations just to get away from everything else that just hurts so bad.<br /><br />Listen a few times. The singer’s exuberance is really desperation. She’s heading for a nervous breakdown - no, probably an existential breakdown. Linda’s precise control in holding the balance between the two emotions is absolutely astonishing.<br /><br />The Salvation Army horns right out of "Mary and Joseph" seem to mock her every feeling, every syllable. The Thompsons have created a masterpiece of sustained irony here, and is on my list of recommendations for consideration of "greatest songs of all time." To take the celebratory party ethos of a rock ‘n’ roll "anthem" and subtly deconstruct it, showing the void behind it is an absolute triumph that few could pull off anywhere near this subtly.<br />The scariest part is that the song sounds so fun - and you wish you were going along too.</p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson: "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=LQBjaUZ_kUE">http://youtube.com/watch?v=LQBjaUZ_kUE</a></p>Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-64999719061203098932007-11-26T15:24:00.000-08:002007-11-26T17:30:07.539-08:00Hand of Kindness<strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Hand of Kindness</em> [June 1983]</strong><br /><br />I am not certain whether to say that this is a new Richard Thompson, but it is definitely the beginning of a completely new stage in his career and life. Certainly, Hand of Kindness, his first solo album after breaking up with wife and partner Linda, is a kind of re-birth of sorts. There is, on this stunningly fresh, mostly exuberant album, an emergence of joy, energy and independence that firmly announces a new kind of presence, if not a new presence itself.<br /><br />This is not to say that Richard Thompson has here fundamentally changed - there is still the irony and the bewilderment of his greatest work, but here they are mostly worked for comic and lightly cathartic effect. That is not to say that there is no darkness here - it wouldn’t be a Richard Thompson album without it, and one feels the "ghost" of Linda and the shadows of guilt emerging throughout all the buoyant mood of the record.<br /><br />There is remarkable energy here, however, and much of that is indeed the energy of freedom - a self-release that a man in his early thirties can feel when he’s suddenly cut loose and do exactly what he wants to do. And from that source, there emerges so much of Hand of Kindness’ power and freshness, even at the loss of the indescribable depths of <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em>. In a sense, this is an album by a much younger man.<br /><br />Another thing that makes this album distinct is the sense of a band. The group assembled here are mostly familiar faces from Richard & Linda’s previous albums and tours, and of course, Fairport Convention - Simon Nicol, Dave Pegg, Dave Mattocks, Pete Zorn (on saxophone this time), and John Kirkpatrick. This group, along with Pete Thomas on baritone sax, makes a lively and exciting presence, a full-blown show band that have developed a sound specifically for this album. The "live" sound and ambience on Hand of Kindness enhances is ready-to-like appeal.<br />Thompson would tour with this group to support the album. Their sound, both on the record and on the road, were a revelation to those that managed to hear them. The blend of instruments, some of which seemed at the time archaically antithetical to rock (accordion, saxes), especially in the wake of dying embers of punk and new wave, combined with such rock-ready enthusiasm and intensity (not to mention virtuosity), helped establish a new mode of presentation that deftly leaped past conventional assumptions and presented an extraordinary forward vision that could be described as the essence of "postmodernism."<br /><br />Though never a big seller, Thompson, with this hip/straight rocking ensemble neatly skirted the ever-self-conscious "cool" definition, and would provide inspiration, love and loyalty to a whole generation of "alternative rockers," as diverse as Los Lobos, Brave Combo and They Might Be Giants.<br /><br />At the center of all this fresh energy was Thompson, full throated, with that odd Scots accent, and ever and ever more electric guitar. Thompson, one of the most gifted guitarists rock has yet produced, had always provided showcases for his virtuosity within certain songs ("Night Comes In," "Shoot Out the Lights," etc.), but always to the furthering of the text of the composition. On <em>Hand of Kindness</em>, he finally, unashamedly, steps into the spotlight and just lets her rip. The result is sheer joy, ecstasy and release.<br /><br />Everything great about this approach, and the resultant excitement are all completely manifested in the opening song of the album . . .<br /><br /><strong><em>"Tear Stained Letter" -</em></strong> This classic barn burner simply blows doors. The energy and irony of this kickoff celebration to musical/emotional independence is one of the strongest songs in the Thompson canon, and it still sets of fireworks in concert to this day.<br /><br />The song is constructed by a series of riffs that sound like a crazy sailor’s hornpipe played by the saxes, accordion and guitar, with a breathless energy and roller-coaster sense of endless development. The rhythm is hard, driving and relentless, and the resultant impression is a kind of crazy-quilt explosion that effortlessly fuses British folk rock, zydeco, rockabilly and punk with a zany majesty.<br /><br />Richard’s vocal enters, and his voice is full, rich and confident, yet fed with an affected kind of delirium that mocks itself (and its past) in its feigned desperation:<br /><br />It was three in the morning when she took me apart,<br />She wrecked my furniture, she wrecked my heart.<br />She danced on my head like Arthur Murray,<br />The scars ain’t never going to mend in a hurry.<br />Just when I thought I could learn to forget her,<br />Right through the door came a tear-stained letter.<br /><br />Cry, cry, if it makes you feel better,<br />Set it all down in a tear-stained letter . . .<br /><br />Here, Richard Thompson has pulled off a major coup - coming off the much-publicized breakup with Linda and the painful insights of Shoot Out the Lights, he manages with his first shot out the gate both to confront and mock any and all expectations. The thrill of self-release and abandonment is absolutely thrilling.<br /><br />After a repeat of the musical theme, the zany lyrics continue:<br /><br />Well, my head was beating like a song by the Clash,<br />It was writing checques that my body couldn’t cash,<br />Got to my feet, I was reeling and dizzy,<br />I went for the phone but the line was busy.<br />Just when I thought that things would get better,<br />Right through the door come a tear-stained letter . . .<br /><br />Of course, the knowledgeable listener thinks immediately of Linda. What would Richard Thompson produce on his first effort after the breakup? Would we find his sense of regret, of sadness, his confessions of guilt?<br /><br />Well, I don’t think anybody expected this. The good-natured sense of sentimental mockery of "Tear Stained Letter" is absolutely the furthest thing from any morbid sense of contriteness that one could imagine.<br /><br />Is the song biographical? Of course not. Even if Linda had written some kind of yearning plea after their divorce (extremely unlikely), Richard certainly wouldn’t have flaunted it in public. But it is personal, in a sense, This is Richard Thompson at his wickedest, and in some ways his most brilliant. With brilliant irony, he both answers and derides his audience and critics’ expectations of him to reveal his true self, to put his emotional laundry out on the line.<br />Tear Stained Letter is the parody of a soap opera, a manic, furious attack on his personal/artistic situation, a punk-fueled middle finger at sententiousness, and a joyous declaration of independence.<br /><br />Richard’s first guitar solo takes up an entire verse and chorus with lightning runs, mocking jiggles and phony bended-note cries in a display of virtuosity that is both ecstatic and nasty. For the first time since the late Fairport Convention days, the shy, non-showy Thompson rips out a solo that would leave Clapton fans dropping in the dirt.<br /><br />For all the seriousness and sensitivity that he has shown in his lyrics for so long, it is a liberating thrill to hear Thompson tear back into his ridiculous tail of personal mayhem:<br /><br />Well, I like coffee and I like tea,<br />But I just don’t like this fiddle-di-dee.<br />It makes me nervous, gives me the hives,<br />Waiting for a kiss from a bunch of fives.<br />Just when I thought I could learn to forget her,<br />Right through the door came a tear-stained letter . . .<br /><br />The ridiculousness of it all is simply sublime. And the fact that Thompson sounds like he means every ridiculous word of his diatribe makes it that much more hilariously liberating.<br />The musicians begin swapping solos, beginning with one sax, followed by a brilliantly dramatic accordion by Kirkpatrick, another sax that threatens to take the roof down, and finally comes back to Thompson, zapping through his seemingly infinite possibilities of speed runs and crazy clusters until he drives the song defiantly home.<br /><br />What a way to kick off a solo career!<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "Tear Stained Letter"</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=8hEWFsXrXv4">http://youtube.com/watch?v=8hEWFsXrXv4</a><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em>"How I Wanted to To" -</em></strong> If the album kicks off with a frantic parody of Thompson’s personal life, its second offering, "How I Wanted To," resonates with deep, heartfelt emotion. No matter what Thompson might say, indeed no matter what his intentions, this song, this performance, are unmistakably addressed to Linda, right from his very soul. Personally, I believe that he must have meant it to be so, quite explicitly, but even in the event that he did not, it comes across that way with such direct, confessional force that whatever universal meaning might have been intended becomes immortalized - through perception and context - as severely personal. Ironically, in this instance, the personal nature of the song gives it greater power, and thus universalizes it further than it could have been otherwise.<br /><br />A slow, deep mournful ballad, tuned to a low D on electric guitar, Thompson begins his soliloquy in a dark, resonant wail:<br /><br />When we parted just like friends<br />We never tied loose ends.<br />I could never say the words that would make amends.<br /><br />This seems so brutally forthright and honest that the confession is not only convincing, but absolutely disarming. Admitting his inability to voice expression to his failures, he turns in his art to reach for the words he could never summon in a plain voice.<br /><br />Ultimately, his desire for communication, even here, is limited. The repeated words of the chorus are brief, simple and inadequate, but they are given force by the gorgeous melody and the intensity of the singing:<br /><br />Oh, how I wanted to,<br />Oh, how I wanted to,<br />To say I love you,<br />To say I love you,<br />Oh, how I wanted to.<br /><br />In a sense, this economy of limitation in verbal expression reveals more than mere words could. In this case, less is more, as what else could be added to make the inexpressible more coherent?<br />As the slow, martial drum joins the procession of the song, Thompson continues singing, his voice saying more than his words, and his words limited at that. Pain, regret, guilt, sympathy, and the recognition of the enormous emotional tie between himself and his ex-partner keep him nearly tongue-tied, and it is is the confession of this that makes the song profound:<br /><br />Now hearts do what hearts will,<br />And my nights are sleepless still.<br />Well, I never was the one to speak my fill.<br /><br />His admission makes his effort more beautifully effective, and genuinely moving in its stark humility.<br /><br />Finally, towards the end of the song, the words simply give out, and Thompson, in pure emotional abandon, gives up on words completely. Instead, he plays his guitar, and sings along to the notes he plays, such notes that convey that expression that goes far beyond words. The moment is unexpected, astounding in its emotional impact. It is an inspiration that comes not just from art, but from deep within the recesses of the self, that self that knows the bottomlessness of meaning, as well as the confusion of commitment to self and to other - and the self that realizes the futility of either explaining or excusing either.<br /><br />In short, it is one of the most beautiful, transcendent moments ever to occur in music, and the years have not diminished its power to shock, hurt and heal.<br /><br />The song builds to a climax and reaches its conclusion with increased dynamics that have been earned. This is pure honesty, and there is nothing remotely contrived about "How I Wanted To."<br /><br />He needed to say this - that is, to play and sing it. He has now done it, and it is time to move on.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Both Ends Burning" - </em></strong>What the album does move onto, is perhaps the silliest song Thompson has ever done. "Both Ends Burning" is a galumphing tribute to an impossibly decrepit nag that somehow miraculously crosses the finish line a winner. There is an affable goofiness to this stomp, and the band is in fine form, but one still feels like this might have been better left on the discard reel.<br /><br />Of course, you can search for an allegory in the story - perhaps something like tenacity in the face of impossible odds, or (more likely) the irony of the last coming in first, but any interpretation here seems like a bit of a stretch.<br /><br />The repeated chorus of the song:<br /><br />Both Ends Burning, Both Ends Burning,<br />That’s how she got her name,<br />Both Ends Burning, Both Ends Burning,<br />I never will sleep again.<br /><br />might suggest diligence, but the choruses don’t really seem to support this contention. At any rate, if one can bear it, the song definitely takes the listener far afield of the depths of "How I Wanted To," and the sax and guitar solos are certainly there to be enjoyed. In short, it’s fun if you want it to be. If there is any more depth here, I would be delighted if someone would point it out to me.<br /><br /><strong><em>"A Poisoned Heart & A Twisted Memory"</em></strong> - An uncertain, twanging guitar chord hangs, repeating in the air, and then suddenly - bang! - the band joins in for a shaky sledgehammer parody of a blues-rock song with Thompson screeching at the edge of hysteria:<br /><br />Oh, you took my word and you took my key,<br />You took my pride and you took my dignity.<br />How can I still pretend<br />To be what a man should be?<br /><br />If we are back in the realm of Linda, we have returned via the way of parody, the way we began, with "Tear Stained Letter." However, instead of the manic fury of that lunatic masterpiece, here we are, stumbling along, punch drunk.<br /><br />The song drips sarcasm, but the humor is so rich and self-pointed that we cannot help but be swept along by the damned thing. Thompson is too much aware of the predicament in which he’s placed himself, so he admits it, singing about it with only half-feigned amazement:<br /><br />Well, whatever I say is in a book,<br />Whatever I do there’s someone there to look.<br />You just can’t shake a man<br />The way that I’ve been shook.<br /><br />So what do you do when you’re a public artist whose personal life has become inextricably enmeshed with his public’s perception and expectation? Apparently, you sing about it:<br /><br />Is this the way it’s supposed to be?<br />Is this the way it’s supposed to be?<br />A poisoned heart and a twisted memory?<br /><br />The effect of Thompson parodying himself as the public victim is energizingly shocking, funny, and liberating. Someone as oddly intelligent as Richard Thompson is not going to be shoved into the confessional singer/songwriter mold, and if he’s going there, he’s going on his own sarcastic terms.<br /><br />Everything about this song is bigger, more ridiculously impactful than life. Thompson mocks the role he is supposed to play by exaggerating it and playing it to the hilt. His vocals sound like a madman losing his grip, barely in control, and the lyrics are outrageously inflated:<br /><br />Oh, see that lifer doing his time,<br />If I could have his place and he’d have mine,<br />We’d be no better off<br />On either side of the line.<br /><br />For me, the height of the ridiculousness that always brings me to laughter is Thompson’s mock-anguished cry, "You treat me like a creep." Both the use of this hilarious word and Thompson’s pained pronunciation (as if it were the ultimate denunciation) are deliriously rich.<br /><br />This brilliant band is so adept at playing this shook-up version on a rock ‘n’ roll nervous breakdown, that it seems to totter and sway like a tower that could crash down any moment. Near the end, with a holler like he’s falling off a bridge, Thompson rips into a screaming, manic guitar solo, full of anxious jetties and screaming wails that make you think his head is about to explode. This neurotic parody of the blues is so ripe in its pitch, so dead-on in its delivery, it simply blows any sententiousness aside.<br /><br />Still, Thompson seems to have his cake and eat it too. As ridiculous as he makes this madcap farce, the intensity is such that you cannot help but feel that everything he says and plays comes straight from his gut. That authentic human emotions creep through this seething, sarcastic mush is the true testament to Richard Thompson’s true artistic power - perhaps, his genius. The sheer intelligence of an individual aware of being locked into such a ridiculous situation, despite his seemingly conscious abilities is palpable. That Thompson can put this to words, play it, scream it and enact it with such self-effacing skill is absolutely extraordinary.<br /><br />Here, at the end of side one of <em>Hand of Kindness</em>, we are suddenly aware, not that we have a new Richard Thompson, but one that has been through his own private hell and is re-emerging with his spirit intact and his keen mind still punching at the windmills of uncontrollable chaos.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Where the Wind Don’t Whine" -</em></strong> This fantasy of escape sounds madly triumphant even though it ends in failure. To the rhythm of martial drums and a bagpipe-like electric guitar, Thompson spins a tale of being taken up by a strange young woman ("She looked too fresh for twenty-one") and being driven off in her fast car to a promised land. The song demonstrates the singer’s maturity, while still accepting his susceptibility for delusional fantasy - in the end, he recognizes it as such, and what’s more, he recognizes his own limitations. Essentially, he recognizes who he is.<br /><br />"Get in the car," she said, "and drive me into next week."<br />I should have turned her down, blame my curious streak.<br />I never dreamt that we’d be driving into trouble<br />Until we hit a rock that bent my nose double.<br /><br />As this maiden promises to lead him into an ever-youthful, erotic paradise, devoid of trouble and strife ("where the wind don’t wind), the singer is ultimately not up to the trip:<br /><br />I was feeling weary when the car died on me,<br />I pulled her over, and my strength just drained from me.<br />The price of running’s getting dearer and dearer,<br />And nothing ever seems to get nearer and nearer.<br /><br />In the end, he readily acknowledges that the entire affair was an idealistic fantasy, a recognition both of limitation of self, as well as the ephemerality of evocative, sirenic visions;<br /><br />I suppose I didn’t make the grade, grade, grade.<br />When I looked around, she’d slipped away, ‘way, ‘way.<br />Out in the night, you’ll see her shine, shine, shine,<br />Waiting where the wind don’t whine . . .<br /><br />Looking out upon this futile vision like an eternal star in the night, one short trip has been enough to teach the singer the lesson that he’d probably already known.<br /><br />The joyful exuberance of the song (and its attendant guitar solos) I relate to Thompson’s joy in recognition that he will not become entrapped in the cliche’-ridden world of the male in mid-life crisis.<br /><br />This is a song of admission - temptation lays out there - but more a song of escape from romantic self deception. In a way, it’s a kind of inverted "Born to Run," that celebrates the trip not made, and makes staying home a more realistic model of behavior for a thirty-something divorcee.<br /><br /><strong><em>"The Wrong Heartbeat" -</em></strong> This energetic rocker with its infectious ska rhythm belies its warning content. Speaking, perhaps, to his new (or any) love, he attempts to define himself brushing aside false expectations right from the start:<br /><br />Don’t think my love is something you can play with,<br />I’m not the one to spend the time of day with.<br />You learn to hide love, you look it up or find it gone.<br />You think you need me, you think you read me,<br />From the beating of my heart.<br /><br />But you’re listening to the wrong heartbeat . . .<br />My love is strong.<br /><br />Here’s a head’s up to any surface lover that here’s not a man to be trifled with. It’s also a rare confession (or rather, profession) that what appears on the surface is not necessarily what one is going to find inside. "Don’t take me at face value," he seems to be saying. Here’s a person who’s not going to wear his heart on his sleeve - but that doesn’t mean that it’s not there.<br />The next verse continues the caution against surface detection:<br /><br />If you should see a tear, you won’t see many,<br />If you should hear a sigh, it’s not for any.<br />If you should greet me as I am walking along,<br />You only want to see just the shell of me,<br />You don’t know the other part.<br /><br />Why, we have to ask ourselves, does this individual have to define himself so, right up front? Why the warning, why the hiding? Is this just a confession that he is an introvert? A posting that he is a serious man, not to be trifled with? It’s all that and more.<br /><br />One could take the song a step further and suggest that Thompson is seeking to define himself to his audience - and to defend himself. After the shockingly swift and very public breakup with Linda, perhaps he feels somewhat vulnerable before his public and critics. He’s not going to go so far as to apologize or anguish over a personal decision he has had to make, but he is certainly not going to be dismissed as not worth hearing because of it, either.<br /><br /><em>Hand of Kindness</em> is a remarkable album in so many different ways, but most importantly, and perhaps most subtly, it is a declaration of independence, a statement of self. If he has "reneged" on any bargains he has kept, he has his own reasons, and we are not to assume that it is foolishness, insensitivity or shallowness on his part. The song is, at least in part, a reminder to his public that they really don’t know who he is, and that they had better withhold judgement.<br />A searing, self-defiant guitar solo that starts out against the grain of the chords seems to make his point all the more emphatically. This is not a man who is going to grovel and beg - he’s going to stand up straight, proud and direct, and this is part of who he is going to be from now on. If we can’t take it, perhaps we should just move along.<br /><br />Our ultimate lack of capacity in understanding the true person is nailed down flat in the third verse:<br /><br />Don’t throw your secrets where men will steal them.<br />You’ve got to hide them, you’ve got to seal them.<br />No matter what you try, you’ll never take my love from me.<br />And if you might think that you can move me<br />From the beating of your heart . . .<br /><br />You’re listening to the wrong heartbeat . . .<br /><br />In short, you’re never going to get the real Richard Thompson, at least not in the sense of a confessional singer/songwriter. That does not mean we cannot deduce certain things, but it is indeed a caveat that what we analyze is merely a projected image, constructed by art. And, yes, it is a little humbling to a critic or analyst to be reminded that their subject matter is ever elusive.<br /><br />Still, like any other writer of any notable merit, Richard Thompson continues to give more away the more he tries to hide it. Ultimately, we meet him halfway, and the other side of the story is that which we always bring to it ourselves.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - "The Wrong Heartbeat" Video</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=zVc_4pgE2_w">http://youtube.com/watch?v=zVc_4pgE2_w</a><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "The Wrong Heartbeat"</em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=vF5q8iU_2Aw">http://youtube.com/watch?v=vF5q8iU_2Aw</a><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em>"The Hand of Kindness" -</em></strong> Smack dab in the middle of side two comes the album’s central, defining - and greatest - song. It’s no accident that this song shares the title with the record as a whole. We have parodied pity, played with ghosts, flitted with dreams and been warned not to think we’re too close to the center. But "The Hand of Kindness" is as clear a definition of just who Richard Thompson is, in the perception of his audience, and perhaps even just what he expects from us.<br /><br />One thing is certain - we are never going to get that clear and definitive answer as to why Richard Thompson left his wife, why Richard and Linda Thompson are no more. And even less are we going to get some confessional or apology. This is, after all, none of our business. But for those who were, and wish to remain, fans, there is an emotional investment there on our part that demands some sort of answer.<br /><br />This is as much as we are ever likely going to get - and actually, it is quite a lot.<br /><br />The song is set in an ominous, minor key at a thudding mid tempo that suggests a kind of stalking. But who is stalking whom? Thompson begins by painting a portraiture of where he’s led himself to, publicly, perhaps artistically, through his actions:<br /><br />Well I wove the rope, and I picked the spot<br />Well, I stuck out my neck, and I tightened the knot.<br />This is a startling, but honest recognition and affirmation that whatever situation he now finds himself, it is ultimately of his own making, his own doing. He continues, and he addresses us:<br /><br />Oh, stranger, stranger, I’m near out of time,<br />You stretch out your hand, I stretch out mine.<br /><br />If the singer is committing suicide, why does he expect us to help save him? The answer comes in the powerful chorus, which is not a defense, nor is it a statement of universal love and forgiveness. In fact, the answer to the question, aims much lower, more humbly - and thus more universally and convincingly:<br /><br />Oh, maybe just the hand of kindness,<br />Maybe just the hand of kindness,<br />Maybe just a hand,<br />Stranger, will you reach me in time?<br /><br />In the last analysis, is that all that anyone can reasonably ask for? Is it not reasonable? Is it not human? And who are we if we refuse it? Are we any better? Are we not far worse?<br /><br />Thompson does not have to supply the other side of this equation. He simply states the situation, places us in it as a (perhaps unwilling) participant, and then asks for the least we can do - which in essence is to give our fellow man the benefit of the doubt.<br /><br />There is something special in "The Hand of Kindness" that strikes us as palpably real human emotion, even within the context of such an honest writer as Richard Thompson. He doesn’t have to come out and say that there’s an unspoken bond between all people - he simply lets you know where he is, which of course could just as easily be us, or indeed anybody, in any situation. He simply asks for the human decency, upon self reflection, we know that we should and must deliver. At the very bottom of the matter, it is just a simple request for acceptance of human imperfection.<br /><br />In this one stroke, Thompson regains the moral high ground that we fear he may have squandered by deceiving, finally, not Linda, but us, through his "betrayal."<br /><br />He makes this more explicit:<br /><br />Well, I scuppered the ship, and I bent the rail.<br />Well, I cut the brakes, and I ripped the sail.<br />And they called me a Jonah, it’s a sin I survived.<br />Well, you stretch out your hand, I’ll stretch out mine.<br /><br />He does not try to justify himself - he knows he can’t. Whatever guilt lies on his shoulders, he’s going to have to carry. It’s all up to us - will we accept his plea or turn away. It’s all up to us. There’s nothing else he can do, and he knows it.<br /><br />Suddenly, the pulsing of the drums and bass cease, and Thompson’s guitar is left alone to plead for itself, traveling now through shifting, unknown corners of chord changes, a glistening wanderer, uncertainly, through previously unknown territory. He negotiates his way with skill, yet still alone. Dave Mattocks’ drums return to pound against the beat, seemingly fighting him back, then finally they push heavily against the pounding return of the main riff. It is stalking, indeed - and there is no question now that it is stalking him. But there’s still no denying it’s of his own making, and he lays himself open for whatever will come as its result:<br /><br />Oh, shoot that old horse, and break in the new,<br />Oh, hung are the many, and the living are few.<br />I see your intention, it’s my neck on the line,<br />You stretch out your hand, I stretch out mine . . .<br /><br />The song pauses, hovers in space, then renews its humble request. Thompson repeats the chorus twice, then joins up again with the ominous riff, soloing against its inevitable pulsations without any sense of resolution. Here, the guitar seemingly uses every phrase it knows to entreat, but it cannot conclude - nor can the song - without some intervention from the listener.<br />"Hand of Kindness" gradually fades away, unresolved, forever suspended above a precipice. How can we answer? I suggest that the only way is by continuing to listen to Richard Thompson, and to trust that he will do his best to live up to his side of the bargain. And that is to be honest with us.<br /><br />All his subsequent career validates our trust.<br /><br /><br /><p><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson: "The Hand of Kindness"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=xiSDJc4SuFE">http://youtube.com/watch?v=xiSDJc4SuFE</a></p><p><strong><em>"Devonside" -</em></strong> Thompson finally returns to the ballad form in third person here, though it glistens with the steely sounds of electric guitars. The theme of deception is annunciated musically, as the carefully arranged introduction suddenly resolves to a completely unrelated chord before the story begins:<br /><br />By Devonside she was a-marching,<br />It was a gang of no great size.<br />And surrender was the banner that she carried<br />And hungry was the shiver in her eyes.<br /><br />Who is this mysterious lady, and where was she marching? I do not know where (or if) Devonside is, or what its significance is, if any. If "surrender" was her banner, and she was leading a small group, the obvious question is "surrender to what?" And we also ask if this is a literal scene or a figurative one. If hunger is the reason for her surrender, from what was she holding out? It seems a very strange image to me to march with a banner of "surrender." Does this image simply describe a mind set or mood in the woman, and is the "hunger" literal? There seems to be no question that "hunger," in whatever sense, is the cause of her "surrender."<br /><br />She met a boy, his health was failing,<br />She dropped the banner and took her prize.<br />And the only food she had was bread and morphine,<br />Ah, but he fed on the shiver in her eyes.<br /><br />By claiming the boy, the woman drops her banner of surrender. Then was her "surrender" a denunciation of love? If so, she has abandoned it, and no doubt it has something to do with the boy’s ill health, which may be of a spiritual nature. Still, her hunger cannot be completely appeased - for with only "bread and morphine," she is receiving only the barest sustenance, along with a kind of delusional sense of love. The boy, on the other hand, is truly nourished by her love. Strangely, it is this mysterious "shiver in her eyes" that both sustains the boy (perhaps thinking it true love), while for her it was, and perhaps remains hunger - maybe the hunger for that love that she cannot give or receive.<br /><br />By Devonside his love was drifting,<br />He looked for comfort otherwise.<br />And there never was a rope or chain about him,<br />Ah, she held him with the shiver in her eyes.<br /><br />Some time has apparently passed, and the young man has begun to mentally stray and look for love elsewhere. It is once again that "shiver" that holds him to her, that hunger that had fed him when he was ill.<br /><br />I’ll dare to venture forth a picture here of a dysfunctional romance. If, on one hand, the woman "hungers" for love, in which she invests it in a relationship which is not substantive, on the other, the young man is held immobile, entrapped by the sense of power that she holds over him. The "shiver" that did feed him before is in fact, a projection that he places on her, which is now revealed (to us) as not true love, but rather as emotional, psychological need on her part. And when once he fed on this appearance when he was weak, now that he is stronger, it is what holds him to her, perhaps through guilt.<br /><br />There is a key change here, back to the original, introductory mode, and the song is graced by a beautiful, mournful violin solo by guest Aly Bain.<br /><br />The final verse:<br /><br />"Ah," she said, "my John, I’ll be your pillow.<br />I’ll be your mother, lover, whore and wife."<br />And he knew that he had loved and never seen her,<br />When the light fell from the shiver in her eyes.<br /><br />In her complete submission to him - and it is notable that the song now becomes personal with the introduction of a proper name - he loses all illusions about her. She is now no longer the food on which he emotionally subsists, nor is she the lover to which he felt dutifully bound. In point of fact, he does not know her at all - she is a stranger.<br /><br />This beautiful, heartbreaking depiction of need in disguise of love, this sad, but too common marriage of codependency into which so many young lovers fall, is a masterpiece of pathos and empathy.<br /><br />"But is it about Richard and Linda?" we anxiously want to ask. Well, the answer is that we will never know - and possibly Thompson could not tell you definitively himself. What does remain is Thompson’s extraordinary sensitivity to the blind psychology of love, and it is as obviously doubtful that he never experienced it as it is for all the rest of us.<br /><br />In the end, the biographical details are irrelevant (though admittedly unavoidable in this context). What remains starkly relevant is Thompson’s return to the Brit-folk story form on which his first songwriting was originally based, and its renewed power to mine emotional gold. Richard Thompson will ever after use this time-honored technique of traditional balladry to evoke universal truths in the post-modern era. In "Devonside," the old Richard Thompson is irrevocably fused with the new, and a very old art form is once again given new life and power.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Two Left Feet" -</em></strong> <em>Hand of Kindness</em> opens with raucous sarcasm, and it ends its emotional journey in the pure, unabashed joy of silliness. This polka-driven rave up features Thompson’s most succinct put down to date - "How can you dance with those two left feet?" Well, in the metaphorical depths of Richard Thompson’s sarcasm, "two left feet" could mean quite a bit indeed. Coming from this voice, this criticism can carry as many ominous overtones as one would care to imagine.<br /><br />Still, this song reminds us that humor is as essential to Richard Thompson’s vision and art as any other component, and the effortless style of throw-away satire is at the core of his vision. Still, at the root, this song is mere fun.<br /><br />In between verses and choruses, Thompson and his band play a charming little Celtic-rock ditty that may or not have some traditional source - but it effectively shoves that unique British perspective of timelessness that’s been going on since Fairport Convention. As the song continues, this melody is taken out of its harmonic boundaries and twisted up into something approaching an avant-garde jazz line. The shift is both stunning and hilarious, but it zooms quickly back to its source.<br /><br />This riff, along with the raucous solos by the sax players, accordion, and finally Thompson’s wild, devil-may-care Stratocaster connect this, the final song, with the album’s opener, "Tear Stained Letter," and while it may lack the harsh ironic bite of that brilliant barn burner, together the two songs serve as perfect sandwich ends for the heartbreaking travails and hilarious send ups in between. The fact that this song works, and works so well, is a testament to the power of what has gone before it, and more precisely, the moral, musical, and spiritual power that Thompson has earned, not only over this album, but over a decade and a half.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs acoustic version of "Two Left Feet"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=LQzVhBVQ7Z8">http://youtube.com/watch?v=LQzVhBVQ7Z8</a></p><p>The fact that no one else could end an album as powerfully, as ridiculously cathartic as "Two Left Feet" is testimony to who Richard Thompson now is. Here, on <em>Hand of Kindness</em>, he definitively begins the solo career that he is still pursuing without interruption to this day. Emerging from the 1960s, from triumph and tragedy, emerging from the conjurations of hell and heaven in the 1970s, emerging from his great musical partnership, and its abrupt, messy fatalistic demise, Richard Thompson finally stands here alone as the mature, confident, albeit satiric and melancholic artist that is given its final definition.<br /><br />I remember when this album first appeared, and I can still feel the exhilaration of its shocking impact on myself and my small cadre of friends who were (thanks to me) Thompson-savvy. Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of <em>Hand of Kindness</em> was its appearance in the MTV-dominated post-music world of 1983 as a life-affirming, genre-defying statement of individual purpose. Amidst all the other "real" music of the day, which was basically rooted in a commercial-defying, postpunk aesthetic (U2, R.E.M., X, the Smiths, XTC, the Replacements, etc.), this was something wholly different, yet somehow carrying the same kind of audacious power. In fact it was more powerful, considering the artist’s age and pedigree. Of the artists of Thompson’s generation, only Neil Young would be able of pulling off such a startling coup upon the new music scene, while retaining the essence of what he had established in the counter-culture period. And while Neil Young would prove increasingly (though interestingly) erratic from here on out, Richard Thompson would amazingly hold and even expand upon this form, functioning much in the same way for the next quarter century.<br /><br />Given the seemingly paralyzed size and composition of Richard Thompson’s small, yet rabidly faithful audience, it is difficult to declaim precisely the enormity of his impact. But Thompson has always had a larger group of admirers than Vincent Van Gogh had, and his music, then and now, continues to remain a vitally important resource, not just for the fringes of the culture in which it operates, but in its ever-living potential for wider discovery. For Richard Thompson is such a powerful and unique artist, that his existence on the periphery merely highlights the enormous shortcomings of the center of our culture, and from the Thompsonite’s view, the perspectives are transposed - Thompson cuts to the core of our being and moves to the center of our emotional/aesthetic lives, casting the blaring, empty, official culture off to the meaningless sidelines where it belongs, cowering it his overwhelming shadow.<br /><br />Another thing must be mentioned in regards to <em>Hand of Kindness</em> - and that is the spectacular, cohesive playing of the band, as well as Thompson’s skill and ease at being a bandmaster. It’s odd to remember that this group is basically Fairport Convention (minus Sandy Denny and Dave Swarbick), with saxophones to boot. But it’s all Richard’s show. Never before has he stood alone, so center stage, and good lord, does he have the aplomb to pull it off! We must also remember that here is also the birth of Richard Thompson, the great showman - always before he played a supporting role, even if he had composed all the material. To say that he exhibits true star quality here is not only an ironic understatement, but ultimately, to be missing the point.<br /><br />Thompson’s move to the spotlight was not just an aesthetic decision, but somewhat circumstantially determined, now that he and Linda had parted. That this naturally shy young man was finally emotionally capable of coming out and commanding an audience, speaking on his own, says volumes about his personal development, now at the ripe old age of 31. That he did so - and so victoriously - is a tribute to his great sense of nerve in overcoming an inferiority complex (which, considering his genius and virtuosity is truly silly). But it is more than that - Richard Thompson’s bold first step on his own here represents the emergence of the self-reliant individual, who - truth be told - has put himself in his own position, to sink or swim. That he not only swims, but surfs and glides was probably a surprise to no one but him.<br /><br />And this is probably the key, after all, to "Both Ends Burning," which can be read as a self-effacing look at his own dogged career, along with the surprise at his own attempt at success on his own. Sales and airplay aside, Hand of Kindness is a stunning success from start to finish, a bravura sense of self-release, yet still carrying all the weight and baggage of all the achievements in which he has participated, and has now left behind.<br /><br />In the last analysis, <em>Hand of Kindness</em> is the birth of a true icon - the artist that one can turn to in solitude and measure their own sense of personal achievement and efforts of survival against. He is now, and will remain, a survivalist’s sounding board, a true test case - a constant, both in effort and honesty, by which one can feel reflected one’s own sense of tenacity, sanity, combined with the ridiculousness of the notion of the weight of the entire world on one’s shoulders.<br /><br />If there’s one artist you’re going to be able to trust from here on out, it’s Richard Thompson. He simply is incapable of being anything other than what he is - even if that includes being brilliantly talented. That unique, humbling combination is what finally makes him so desperately important, perhaps even necessary, especially to those dwelling on the fringe of a society that values none of his essential virtues.</p>Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-55777907367993460802007-10-24T12:32:00.000-07:002007-11-07T15:36:05.914-08:00Shoot Out the Lights<strong><em>Video - A Solitary Life, </em>part 4</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=0WwYlqLe0HA">http://youtube.com/watch?v=0WwYlqLe0HA</a><br /><br /><br /><strong>Richard and Linda Thompson: <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> [April 1982]</strong><br /><strong><br /></strong>Regardless of questions and opinions regarding aesthetic value in Richard Thompson’s previous or subsequent work, there is no question that this is the central album in his career, the record that put him on whatever map he does exist on, and for so many reasons that elude numeration. For whatever remarkable achievements he had already accomplished, would continue to achieve, and will subsequently attain, there is no question that <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> will forever be perceived as his defining work, his one unquestioned essential album, and his key contribution to the canonical works of rock music.<br /></strong><br />For there are certain albums, along with certain songs, which simply transcend any objective assessment - they resonate so strongly that their power simply creates a new kind of archetype, a living touchstone in the artistic stream. In short, they become mythical, and in so doing, tie their creators (for better or worse) to these epochal statements.<br /><br />Contributing in no small manner to its mythic status, the album, recorded in 1981, and released in spring 1982, is intimately connected to the perceived real lives of its creators, which, whether accurate are not, hit such a sharp universal nerve among contemporary critics, that its power forced Richard and Linda Thompson upon what public was there to receive it. The album (and its subsequent U.S. tour) not only introduced the pair to what public attention they would (so briefly) enjoy, but its resounding power laid the foundation for Richard Thompson’s continuing solo career.<br /><br />I cannot personally recall so much verbal hyperbole for a record at the time of its release for an artist with whom I was previously unfamiliar, appearing on virtually every music publication’s Top Ten list for the year. Likewise, there are few albums indeed, that upon first hearing was I so smitten - indeed, astonished - with the contents that such hyperbole seemed sorely insufficient to do it justice.<br /><br />Critical appraisal has held up. At the end of the decade, <em>Rolling Stone</em> magazine voted it #9 of their 100 Greatest Albums of the 1980s. And in the new millennium, it retains its status, ranking in at #333 on the magazine’s 100 Greatest Albums of All Time. (The relatively low ranking - one feels it should have been at least in the top 100 - does not reflect a diminished view of the disc. Rather, the summation of so many "classic" albums, primarily from the 1960s and 1970s simply swamps it in a flood of too-familiar titles. Its steadfast maintenance as a landmark release from two still-virtually-unknown artists reflects its defiant status as a verified classic.)<br /><br />While the sheer visceral power of the record, so apparently raw, naked and stark in the portrayal of the couple’s break-up - (more on this in a moment) - most definitely helped to inspire critical awe, fresh listening reveals the more than ample justification of this assessment some 25 years after the fact. Truth be told, all personal issues aside, <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> remains simply one of the most beautiful, intense and powerful albums ever produced in the rock era. Its inspiration may have come from premonitions of marital disaster, but its greatness lies in the simply breathtaking breadth and depth of its songwriting, along with the fully matured and passionately peaked fever of its execution.<br /><br />This is in no way to suggest that the material on the album can ever be truly divorced from its emotional wellsprings. But let us do well to remember that the Thompsons had not only were not going through the traumas of marital breakdown while recording the album. Remember that Richard had written, and the duo had recorded, six of the album’s eight songs the year before, and the argument for the record as a document of the duo’s demise becomes even more specious. That <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> was conceived and produced simply as a new album for Joe Boyd’s Hannibal Records label, and was meant in every sense to further and sustain the careers of Richard and Linda Thompson is documented beyond question.<br /><br />On the other hand, whatever lurking feelings of pain, dread, and paranoia were unrolling themselves in the back of Richard Thompson’s brain as he composed these dark, harried and desperate compositions certainly did come to fruition in their aftermath. Something was undeniably wrong, and whether conscious or not, the fact remains that Richard did leave his wife for another woman, abruptly and permanently, soon after the record had been finished.<br /><br />In the final analysis, to listen to <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> and not think of it as an unconscious<br />document of a relationship’s death is simply impossible. Not only are the themes of emotional dissolution too explicit, they are simply too powerful - too real - to be discarded as "mere art." As the drama of their lives unfolded precisely in the terms the album describes, and life begins imitating art, we cannot be convinced that art - at least subconsciously - did not begin by imitating life.<br /><br /><em>Pour Down Like Silver</em>’s ecstatic revelations notwithstanding, one need flip through Thompson’s back catalog, even in Fairport Convention days, to see a young, sensitive, distrustful man, constantly "watching the dark." Someone so sensitive to the ironies and failures of life, an artist continually placing himself in communion with his darkest of muses, he had always opened up his pores to filter through the all the false representations, the fluid fluxes and changes, to reach a critical core of an unflinching vision of life as an essentially horrific joke is not a man easily fooled. At least he is not fooled in his art.<br /><br />Richard Thompson, the husband and father, wanting to be and do the right things, might not have allowed the consciousness of the insufferable state of his marriage when he wrote the songs. But Richard Thompson, the intuitive artist, could not ignore the rumblings within - and compassionate balladeer that he is, he could neither filter out the potential effects of his emotional estrangements would have on his suffering companion. For the songs on <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> are not merely those of paranoia and disaster, but guilt, self-loathing and, most importantly, incredible compassion.<br /><br />I must confess that I do hate analyzing music (or any art) on such a personal level - but that some works (<em>John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band</em>, <em>Astral Weeks</em>, <em>Blood on the Tracks</em>, for example) absolutely demand it. To ignore their human subtexts is to artificially separate them from their essential emotional context.<br /><br />The final proof of the, not validity but absolute necessity of this approach, for <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> comes, ultimately, on the performances of the then-separated duo on the phenomenally bizarre and brave tour to promote the album, when the no-longer-speaking non-husbad/non-wife team nightly poured out this emotional content live onstage before forever going their separate ways. By all accounts, these amazing, discomforting shows were so powerfully real in their emotional content that the power of the songs themselves are absolutely justified. Simply put, music does not get much more powerful than this.<br /><br />One more word before delving into this masterpiece more intently, and that must be about Linda Thompson. From the duo’s first album, she had more than held her own as a wonderful singer, and the most sensitive interpreter of her husband’s songs. Here, she not only meets him with an equal footing, but often times she surpasses him. <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> is designed, unlike any other Richard & Linda Thompson album, as a series of dialogues between male and female. Whenever Linda takes up her cue, she takes up the material given her, and simply dominates it. As if the song were being composed to steal away her identity, she simply rises up, re-appropriates the melody and words and transforms them ultimately in her own defiant image, and in so doing, becomes simply one of the greatest singers (and artists) of her time, giving her full equality with Richard, even if just for a moment, and rendering herself as mythically large as he. She does not go out of the picture as a victim, but as a conqueror - and there is no question that she fulfills the demand to stand eye to eye with him in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, whether placed on earth, or in the grander, transcendent pantheon of true artists and pop-cultural gods.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Don’t Renege on Our Love"</em></strong> - The album opens with a full-speed, minor-key gallop of electric guitars, bass and drum in a kind of chase reminiscent of "Borrowed Time," from Sunnyvista. But there is no conceit at work here. From beginning to end, this introductory song seethes with true desperation, the running of a man terrified, half out of his wits. When Richard’s voice first enters, we finally have reached the voice of his maturity - strangely rich and consonant, but also dreadfully disturbed. It is the sound of a man, frightened and astonished, a man fighting for his life:<br /><br />Remember when we were hand in hand?<br />Remember, we sealed it with a golden band?<br />Now your eyes don’t meet mine,<br />You’ve got a pulse like fever,<br />Do I take you for a lover<br />Or just a deceiver?<br />Simple is simple and plain is plain,<br />If you leave me now you won’t come back again<br />When the game is up -<br />Ah, don’t renege on our love . . .<br /><br />It is obvious that he has already lost the race. This is someone who has already lost his love, and he’s realized it too late to do anything about it.<br /><br />As he continues, he becomes more angry, frustrated, and he begins to answer his declamations with savage strokes on his guitar. His arguments come faster, his objections more indignant:<br /><br />Well, give me just an ounce of sympathy.<br />Give me my chains of liberty.<br />There’s a rope that binds us,<br />And I don’t want to break it.<br />If love is a healer,<br />Why should we forsake it?<br /><br />Well hunger is hunger and need is need,<br />Am I just another mouth to feed<br />When the game is up?<br />Well, don’t renege on our love . . .<br /><br />Anyone who knows anything about the history of the Thompsons will find it odd that it is Richard here who is begging the woman to remain steadfast in the marriage. It is after all, he that will soon be walking out on her to join a new lover. But that really is irrelevant. As we’ve noted, the songs on the album are not documentaries of the Thompson’s personal lives. But with this album, the personal context cannot be swept away from the mind of the knowledgeable listener. And more to the point, the realism, the directness of the performance ultimately gives the singer away. This is someone singing from his very gut.<br /><br />Analyzed psychologically, it could be suggested that Richard Thompson wrote this song as an emphatic warning to himself, sympathetically anticipating the pain he could cause his wife through his leaving. Or it could be a reflection of deep-seated sense that something is indefinably wrong with his relationship and is fighting against the urge to run away from it, to keep faith. These questions are merely suggestive, and of course are ultimately unknowable (even to the composer). We can all play as analysts here, and whatever we may say or imagine does nothing but extend the meaning of the song for ourselves as we listen and project.<br /><br />The fact does remain however, that "Don’t Renege" is a very powerful, urgent song that announces the main theme of fealty at the beginning of an album whose very core hovers around the difficulties of maintaining allegiances. It is a warning song in more way than one - it announces to the listener that we are entering treacherous territory, and that we’d better strap ourselves in.<br /><br />The word "renege" is an odd, formal, almost archaic sort of word, and not something you would generally find in a pop song, however sophisticated. It implies a formal violation, the willful repudiation of something that has become to seem out of date - yet still it carries an enormous claim of responsibility. The references in the lyrics to the wedding ring, the "ropes that bind us," etc., display a respect for a moral obligation that goes beyond just feelings.<br /><br />Anyone who has listened to <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> knows how important, indeed how sacred the concept of commitment is to Richard Thompson. This is not just a human conviction, but a religious and spiritual one, and one that I remain certain that Thompson maintained then and maintains to this day.<br /><br />It is the incredible tension of the tempted violation of this sacred bond that creates such urgency in the song. It is reminiscent of that special power contained in certain country & western songs dealing with divorce or adultery, wherein the context is eternal damnation (June Carter’s "Ring of Fire," for example). While most fear-of-love-loss songs center entirely on the internal emotions of the individual, Thompson’s move through those, and point beyond, to something eternal. The potential violation of that eternal bond is a haunting, damning demon, and it threatens not only the lover, but in some sense, the moral and spiritual essence of the universe.<br />In short, everything is at stake here - and it sounds like it.<br /><br />Richard’s brief guitar solo treads up and down the fretboard questioningly, hovering uncertainly at jagged points that seem out of place, but he does not linger there long, returning, almost fearfully to the proper notes of the chord. In a mini foreshadowing of the pyrotechnical outspinnings of the title track, Richard’s lines delicately "test the edge" of their harmonic boundaries before retreating.<br /><br />He continues singing in one last desperate attempt at salvaging the situation:<br /><br />When my heart breaks, it breaks like the weather,<br />If you leave me now it’ll thunder forever.<br />Oh, don’t give it up.<br /><br />He keeps repeating the refrain, pleadingly, "Don’t renege on our love," answered by a fatalistic chorus of bass-throated male voices chanting like doomed monks. He continues singing through an of unexpected modulations, suggesting that the song itself is careening out of his control.<br />Finally, there is a pause in the momentum of the chase - the driver has dropped his reigns. Richard plays a brief, static, chordal figure and comes to rest on an unresolved chord as the drum shifts to a slower, martial measure, and the song fades out slowly, waiting in hushed awe for its answer, all the while afraid that it will come.<br /><br />Thus begins <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> . . .<br /><br /><strong><em>"Walking on a Wire"</em></strong> - If there were nothing else, this song alone would secure Richard and Linda Thompson’s immortality.<br /><br />Richard’s most beautiful composition ever is stately, simple and slow, almost a lullaby of pain. Wrapped in a cushion of strummed acoustic guitar, it rocks plaintively to its sharp, insistent drum beat that barely seems to keep it afloat.<br /><br />Linda’s most stunning vocal begins in what can only be described as an open-throated whisper. She sounds not so much plaintive as absolutely stunned by what she is singing, staring cat eyed into the glaring spotlight where she begins to reveal the uncertainty and pain in her soul - an uncertainty and pain that she didn’t even quite realize was there until she started singing about it. The song takes its time to develop and has a sense of self-discovery that eventually overawes the singer as much as the listener.<br /><br />Her vocal functions much the same way as a Shakespearean soliloquy: she begins at an observation, a wondering, and as she listens to her own words, gradually she comes to realize the depth of the yawning void that surrounds her:<br /><br />I hand you my ball and chain,<br />You just hand me the same old refrain.<br />I’m walking on a wire,<br />I’m walking on a wire,<br />And I’m falling.<br /><br />Richard’s electric guitar kicks in along with the drums, where it will continue to hover about her, answering in sympathetic, yet helpless counterpoint to her yearning questions of self:<br /><br />I wish that I could please you tonight,<br />But my medicine just won’t come right.<br />I’m walking on a wire . . .<br /><br />The imagery returns us to the skills of "The Great Valerio," from <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em>, but here there are no "acrobats of love." She is simply falling.<br />Linda herself has described "Walking on a Wire" as "a portrait of a disintegrating personality," and it is absolutely chilling to listen to it as it occurs.<br /><br />In the bridge, the harmonic structure is seemingly taken out of her control, new chords building up, one on top of the other, and she must follow it with a melody that matches, pulling her more and more out of herself, until it feels as though she is going to split from her soul. The word come quicker and more desperately:<br /><br />Too many steps to take,<br />Too many spells to break,<br />Too many nights awake<br />And no one else.<br /><br />Richard’s guitar seems to carve these climbing phrases in the air, while Linda has no choice but to follow them upward to see where they lead:<br /><br />This grindstone’s wearing me,<br />Your claws are tearing me . . .<br /><br />Finally, the guitar seems to take pity on her, leading her gently back down as she sings to a resting point, still sad, but bearable:<br /><br />Don’t use me endlessly,<br />It’s too long,<br />Too long<br />To myself.<br /><br />She recovers just long enough to continue her lament:<br /><br />Where’s the justice and where’s the sense,<br />When all the pain is on my side of the fence?<br />I’m walking on a wire . . .<br /><br />Richard’s guitar enters to relieve her with a solo that is stately and solemn, maintaining her mood, but still bearing her dignity. As he continues, he becomes more anxious and fidgety, moving up the scale in chords and squiggles until he himself reaches a peak and has to run back down with a jaw-dropping series of two-note runs that finally crash back into the beginning of the bridge.<br /><br />Linda’s second trip back through the puzzling ladder of the bridge sounds more desperate, probably because she is more self aware, and the emotional strain of the journey shows her practically cracking at the seams. But the downturn comes again, dropping her to a point where she has enough strength to propose a final verse:<br /><br />It scares you when you don’t know<br />Whichever way the wind might blow.<br />I’m walking on a wire,<br />I’m walking on a wire,<br />And I’m falling.<br /><br />She repeats the refrain again, Richard singing harmony. The song pauses for just a deadly moment.<br /><br />Suddenly, as if with a last, despairing gasp, she leaps up a full octave and shouts out the refrain again, this time not with stoic acceptance, but with a full-throated shout that seems to be simultaneously a scream of self-abandonment and a liberating cry of ultimate transcendence.<br />She is gone . . .<br /><br />Richard quickly takes her place with one of the most frantic guitar solos ever recorded by man, a crying, quivering, screaming line with note-bending cries and hammer-offs that reverberate like sobs. He takes this wailing lamentation as far as it can go in the structure of the verse, pauses once for reverence, then stately ends on the bottom-most note, which he must twist the gear-head on his guitar neck to be able to come up to reach.<br /><br />I have heard very few more powerfully, affecting compositions and performances anywhere in my life. The impact of this song left me absolutely stunned upon first hearing - and it does so to this day.<br /><br />Amazingly, after Richard’s abrupt departure, Linda, still in shock and anguish, full of booze and pills to ward off her demons, insisted on singing this song night after night on their U.S. tour to promote the album. Through enacting in public the breakdown of her private persona, Linda faced her pain and made herself cope with the reality of her own "disintegration," ultimately paving the way for the long period of self healing that would follow. In so doing, she also gave some of the bravest and greatest performances in the history of song.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson: "Walking on a Wire"</em></strong><br /><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=OQQQGrk2AwQ">http://youtube.com/watch?v=OQQQGrk2AwQ</a></p><p><strong><em>"A Man in Need"</em></strong> - This stomping, virulent declaration of both independence and dislocation has over the years become something akin to Richard Thompson’s theme song. It kicked off the 1993 3-disc retrospective, Watching the Dark, and Thompson plays it in his concerts to this day.<br />The opening lines seem prescient as to the events that would occur over the next year:<br /><br />I packed my rags, went down the hill,<br />Left my dependents a-lying still.<br />Just as the dawn was rising up<br />I was making good speed.<br />I left a letter lying on the bed -<br />"From a man in need," it read,<br />You know it’s so hard to find,<br />It’s so hard to find,<br />Who’s going to cure the heart of a man in need?<br /><br />In a sense this could be same character featured in "I’ll Regret It All in the Morning" from <em>Hokey Pokey</em>, but one who has finally decided to take some action.<br /><br />The dual themes of restlessness coupled with yearning seem to define the Richard Thompson persona, and they will appear in various guises from songs all throughout his solo career. The sense of being alone in the world, adrift on a hopeless quest permeates so much of his work that they are practically the very substances out of which his songs are constructed.<br /><br />Is this the way the real Richard Thompson feels? That is both irrelevant and unknowable. That this is the part of what any sensitive human being can feel is undeniable, and hence the universalism in this song, as well as in so many others. One can certainly make the supposition that these emotions were welling up in the young man of 30 or so, married to his musical partner - to his work - for nearly ten years by then, two children, with another on the way - who can say? Even Richard Thompson cannot say for certain. The point is that the song delivers all the emotional strains and contradictions of what is a very familiar human syndrome and delivers it clearly, forcefully and without obfuscation.<br /><br />The protagonist, the "man in need" may have everything that objectively you could think he could want. But he is really living within the confines of a trap that he has laid for himself. His home, his family, you would think, would be a comfort for him. But they are only props in which he has taken refuge, and that now are seen to be the obstacles which prevent him from leading an authentic, fulfilled life. At the beginning of the song, the protagonist has made his decision, and is defiantly taking leave of them to search for his true self. But just what that is - that he still cannot say.<br /><br />He is well aware that he looks ridiculous in the eyes of the world. Those outside of his experience cannot imagine what he’s going through:<br /><br />All of my friends don’t comprehend me,<br />Their kind of style, it just offends me.<br />I want to take ‘em, I want to shake ‘em<br />‘Till they pay me some heed.<br /><br />Thompson virtually spits these words out of his mouth in angry frustration. His delivery of the song is incredibly convincing, and the listener gets a palpable sense that he means everything he sings with every fibre of his being. His act of singing seems to be a kind of primal scream, a way to break through a wall that both encloses himself and separates everyone in the world from his ability to communicate with them on a real level. Right now their ears are cut off from his voice, drowned as they are by their own questions of "Just what is your problem?" "How do you answer such a dilemma?"<br /><br />Thompson shouts the obvious answer right back to them:<br /><br />You’ve got to ride in one direction<br />Until you find the right connection.<br />You know it’s so hard . . .<br /><br />His only companion here is his guitar, which he doubles on the track, lending himself his own support in a solo of self-righteous defensiveness. He returns to asking the hard questions:<br /><br />Who’s going to give you real happiness?<br />Who’s going to give you contentedness?<br />Who’s going to lead you? Who’s going to feed you?<br />And cut you free?<br /><br />And here is the real dilemma. How can an individual live a life of freedom if they are indeed dependent upon another person? And that’s the problem - he cannot. But that doesn’t stop his yearning. This is a cyclical problem, and the singer clearly recognizes that there’s no way out of the situation. His questions get louder, more insistent, more demandingly unreasonable:<br />Well, who’s going to shoe your feet?<br /><br />Who’s going to pay your rent?<br />And who’s going to stand by you?<br /><br />Just who is going to "cure the heart of a man in need?" The answer is plainly clear and does not need stating. "Nobody." It is, in the end, a quest that once undertaken can neither be realized nor abandoned. But the moving action itself is the very thing that defines the individual in all his honesty. His situation in hopeless, but his private consolation is that he is finally, ultimately, asserting his actualized selfhood.<br /><br />So hard, indeed. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson: "A Man in Need"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=QhOSiaD8x2A">http://youtube.com/watch?v=QhOSiaD8x2A</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Just the Motion"</em></strong> - The next song is Linda again, and by now it is clear that <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> is developing into a kind of dialogue between opposites, between conflicting states of mind that must be put together to see the entire puzzle of meaning. That all of the songs on this album are arguably great, even masterpieces, it is the breadth of vision that allows both sides to be alternately heard and understood that gives the album its true greatness.<br /><br />Just coming off the defiant declaration of "A Man in Need" is the female’s reaction to such impossible demands. In a very different way, her answer is the same as his: acceptance.<br />In a harmonic setting of almost-still, lilting chords, played by acoustic guitar and delicately embellished by Richard’s gentle electric lines, Linda sings passively, almost completely devoid of emotion. She almost sounds as if she isn’t there at all:<br /><br />When you’re rocked on the ocean, rocked up and down, don’t worry.<br />When you’re spinning and turning around and around, don’t worry.<br />You’re just feeling sea-sick, you’re just feeling weak,<br />You’re mind is confused and you can’t seem to speak,<br />It’s just the motion, it’s just the motion.<br /><br />The response given to life’s blows here are equated with the unalterable rhythms of nature. One cannot change them. There is no need to protest or argue, or even to object. Your only recourse is to surrender yourself to the inevitable with a kind of stoic withdrawal. The world is not coming to an end - it’s only the natural vibrations of life that necessarily must carry with them pain.<br />That the song was specifically intended for the female perspective is made more clear in the second verse:<br /><br />When the landlord is knocking and your job is losing, don’t worry.<br />And the baby needs rocking, and your friends are confusing, don’t worry.<br /><br />Here the lyrics seem to suggest the demands of motherhood, along with all the other strains of life in the modern world. One can’t help but jump to the next sentiment, which is not stated: "When your husband has left you for another woman, don’t worry."<br /><br />Is Richard Thompson here unconsciously attempting to write a prescription for his wife’s suffering, after imagining himself leaving triumphantly in "A Man in Need?" Is this a gift given to her out of guilt? It is impossible to say, and such speculation is certainly stretching the point. But the notion seems to fit so well that it is impossible to dismiss the implications, whether intended, consciously or not.<br /><br />Just what sort of advice is withdrawal, anyway? Whether it is him telling her, or her telling herself, the answer is clearly a lie. To deny life’s problems is no solution, merely a defense mechanism. And of course Richard Thompson clearly sees that. The song is a song of a self coping with the uncopable.<br /><br />In the beautiful bridge, the melody and harmony open up to new emotional territory, and Linda’s sense of hurt and rage is allowed to be given scope. The effect is achingly painful to hear:<br /><br />Rocked by a hundred winds, knocked down a hundred times,<br />Rescued and carried along. Beaten and half dead and gone,<br />And it’s only the pain that’s keeping you sane<br />And gives you a mind to travel on.<br /><br />After another verse, Richard joins in to give her emotional support (or at least sympathy) in a subtly stated guitar solo. The bridge is repeated to great emotional effect, then everything hangs in a brief suspension, as if reaching the crest of a wave, before continuing to the last verse. As Linda sings, the instrumentation dissipates to its most minimal level, then slowly returns, continuing the rocking motion implicit in the song:<br /><br />Oh, the motion won’t leave you, won’t leave you alone, don’t worry.<br />It’s a restless wind and sleeping rain, don’t worry,<br />‘Cause under the ocean, at the bottom of the sea,<br />You can’t feel the waves, it’s as peaceful as can be.<br />It’s just the motion . . .<br /><br />This final image of ultimate withdrawal to the core of emotional depths within, promising escape is as empty a promise as one can imagine. This is cold comfort indeed, and both the singer and the composer know that this solution is false. Yet oddly, at the same time, it seems the only sane way to keep a personality from completely succumbing to the insurmountable odds of some onslaught.<br /><br />This sweet and terrible song, this lovely, ironic port in a storm is, in the final analysis, only a temporary solution. It gorgeously, sadly ends side one of this masterful, humane album. The beginning of side two will dramatically, decisively prove to shatter any illusions lingering about the individual’s apparent safety in a network of withdrawal.<br /><br />In a sense, <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> is a kind of emotional laboratory, where different situational, conceptual stances are tried out in response to the uncontrollable world upon which we subsist. Each attempted perspective is alternately tried on, only to be abandoned (or conquered) by a succeeding mood - each one ultimately inadequate for sustaining a mythical construction of self in which one can be either fully actualized or kept safe. The album will continue this back-and-forth struggle until its final resolution.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Shoot Out the Lights"</em></strong> - We have heard Richard Thompson exploring the depths of nihilistic horror before, peering into a void that peers back, on "Calvary Cross." We have heard his guitar searching, penetrating into vast, unstudied rooms of possibility on "Night Comes In." Here, we abruptly encounter a fusion of these two approaches on this jaw-dropping masterpiece, and the resonances are unbearably shocking in both their force and their bottomless excursions into the endless realm of the dark subconscious itself.<br /><br />To call "Shoot Out the Lights" a <em>tour de force</em> is to diminish it. Yes, it is ultimately here that one wants to turn just to demonstrate Thompson’s mastery of the electric guitar. Its fireworks display is truly of Hendrix-like proportion, which is to say it is almost inconceivably great. Most comparisons to Jimi Hendrix are woefully passing to surface-level similarities of the guitar’s greatest genius - here Thompson actually matches him in intensity, virtuosity and power, while actually superceding him in horrific self consciousness. Of course Thompson’s sound and approach to the guitar is is completely different from his forerunner, and radically his own, it must be said that this is truly one of the few works on electric guitar that fulfills the astonishing template that Hendrix uncannily established in his too-short career.<br /><br />However great the guitar solos, however, this is not the focus of "Shoot Out the Lights." The masterful, mind-boggling guitar lines are merely the extensions of a song of such darkness and fear that it seems to rip itself, uncalled, from Thompson’s own deepest subconsciousness. Quite simply put, there is nothing anywhere like it recorded.<br /><br />To say that "Shoot out the Lights" "punctures" the false tranquility of the dreamy escape of "Just the Motion" is somewhat like saying that a nuclear attack can spoil a nice picnic. This, the emotional center and core of the album, blasts such a withering whole into any facade of artistry that every other song here cannot help but be seen in its all-conquering light.<br /><br />"Shoot Out the Lights" is the outward manifestation of an inward demon that is too powerful either to destroy or ignore - for it is the eruption of the irrational, death-loving, self-hating nature that takes the form of a stalking killer. The blasting, ugly perambulations of electric guitar chords, bass and drum are the unstoppable footsteps of this living death wish as it moves across the dark cityscape. The lyrics are less of a narrative than a device in which this unquenchable, destructive emotional force embodies itself:<br /><br />In the dark, who can see his face?<br />In the dark, who can reach him?<br />He hides like a child.<br />He hides like a child.<br />Keeps his finger on the trigger,<br />You know he can’t stand the day.<br />Shoot out the lights.<br />Shoot out the lights.<br /><br />Thompson talks/sings these words in a deep, haunted voice, as if in a trance. It is not an observation - it is a voice that seems to be speaking through him. His vocal creeps through the relentless onslaught of the huge, lumbering chords, caught in a kind of sleepwalk. He is more chanting than singing.<br /><br />That his narrative is told in third person is completely irrelevant here. The singer here is not so much singing about himself as simply manifesting the emergence of the force as it envelops anything. "He" could be translated into "me," "we," "they," or most precisely "it."<br />As the chords crash down on the refrain ("Shoot out the lights/Shoot out the lights"), it is less a description than it is a sense of will. And it seems, ultimately, less a directive to an individual or situation as it is a benediction, a fatalistic blessing of a deed already accomplished.<br />He continues:<br /><br />Keep the blinds down on the window.<br />Keep the pain on the inside.<br />Just watching the dark,<br />Just watching the dark.<br />Ah, he might laugh, but you won’t see him<br />As he thunders through the night.<br />Shoot out the lights . . .<br /><br />It is the action of burying the unbearable within oneself that creates the monster. Within, all fear and pain festers and grows until it escapes and runs rampage, like a Frankenstein monster. It’s inside of everyone, and it’s just waiting for a triggering release. "Just watching the dark" - in this one impossible phrase Thompson captures the very essence of the soul in inner turmoil, constantly held at bay, but due to release at any given moment.<br /><br />Thompson’s first guitar solo lets the monster loose. Playing with the tuning of his lowest string, he immediately creates a sense of unstableness. His fiery runs lead him back and forth from this point, and finally to a high, hanging, shrieking series of unresolved notes that dangle perilously, waiting breathlessly for the massive chord change to finally come along and save them. When it does come, he runs breathlessly across the fretboard, seemingly trying to get away,<br />Just what kind of music is this? "Shoot Out the Lights" holds a sustained tension between controlled, virtuosic display and pure exploding rock blast. Not exactly jazz, not exactly heavy metal - the song carries more the brooding nihilistic flair of the early-eighties punk rock that was currently in vogue in places like Los Angeles. But astute critics noted that Richard Thompson adroitly "out-punked" punk in this savage display of raw power and emotion. Schooled as it is in masterly improvisational techniques, the song remains a raw, bleeding sledgehammer of true power and despair. (Tellingly, the greatest of the L.A. punk bands - X - would eventually record a cover version of the song for a Richard Thompson tribute album.)<br />The guitar returns to big, sustaining block chords as the lyrics resume:<br /><br />In the darkness the shadows move.<br />In the darkness the game is real.<br />Real as a gun,<br />Real as a gun.<br />As he watches the lights of the city,<br />And he moves through the night -<br />Shoot out the lights . . .<br /><br />"Real as a gun" is pretty damn real, indeed. Thompson keeps repeating the refrain like a chant, until his guitar returns and completely takes over. Here, he begins on a repeated line built of substitute chords that feel completely alien to the song as they enter, a shocking, dissonant display of an individual split in half, locked in his own compulsive spasms. He starts wandering all over the fretboard, bouncing, seemingly heedlessly from one inappropriate note to the next, all the time sustaining tension against the still, slowly repeating chords of the song. He freezes up into the highest register, impatiently screaming a note, breathlessly waiting for the chords to resolve. He finally succumbs, playing a series of sharp, descending slides that sound like inverted fireworks crashing to the earth.<br /><br />But it is not over - the beast won’t die so easily. He rattles low on the strings, like a ghost creeping about the base of a house, then jumps in with some chord runs that sound like Chuck Berry’s paranoid voodoo nightmare. Finally, it all comes down crashing in staccato stabs that stab like little knives down to the conclusion.<br /><br />Even as the song ends, the demon remains, appearing in ghostly harmonics swirling up and around the final chords, all unresolved.<br /><br />"Shoot Out the Lights" abruptly interrupts the dialogue of the album, seemingly hijacking the proceedings with a final denunciation that lays waste to everything in its path. If this album can be seen to document a decaying relationship, it’s dead right here. "Shoot out the lights," it’s all over, it seems to say. There is no turning back at this point. What was once is gone and dead, and this guitar-slinger is both its weapon and its killer.<br /><br />I can think of no song I have ever heard as simultaneously sophisticated and savage as "Shoot Out the Lights." Richard Thompson would near these heights (depths?) again, but never equal them, which is probably a good thing if you think about it. But what could possibly follow in the wake of it on this album? </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "Shoot Out the Lights"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=RfVEHjhnsEc">http://youtube.com/watch?v=RfVEHjhnsEc</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Backstreet Slide"</em></strong> - The problem here is solved by a kind of dodge. This is a savage, mean little song that diverts the direction of the album from the previous back-and-forth, male-female dialectic of the rest of the record. Instead of attempting to immediately answer "Shoot Out the Lights," "Backstreet Slide" deals more with its aftermath in the general community. It is nothing short than a blaring "fuck you" to any potential critics of the existential meltdown that just preceded it.<br /><br />In what is becoming another uncanny series of premonitions, "Backstreet Slide" seems to anticipate and hold off the would-be critics of the Thompsons’ divorce, slapping it back in their faces defiantly as nobody’s business. It is a nasty rebuke of nasty, gossipy people who most definitely should mind their own business. The vocal, sung by Richard (with Linda on harmony on verses) is probably his angriest sounding yet. God knows to what (if anything) he was reacting when he wrote and performed it, but it sounds like he means every god-damned word of it.<br /><br />Reverting momentarily to the British folk-rock form that seems to have all but vanished from the Thompson’s palate, the song begins in a harsh, electric jabbing that moves like a series of punches in place of footsteps at a reel.<br /><br />The objects of derision are (female) gossips that so casually destroy a person’s reputation:<br /><br />Those backstreet women, watch what you say,<br />You turn your back, and they slide away.<br />They run next door, they give it all away,<br />Doing the slide.<br /><br />The chorus turns the gossips’ activities into a kind of dance:<br /><br />The backstreet slide, the backstreet slide,<br />They’re gonna get you, dead or alive,<br />Stab you in the back with a kitchen knife,<br />Doing the slide,<br />Do it all day, the backstreet slide.<br /><br />The subject matter may seem insubstantial after the volcanic eruptions of "Shoot Out the Lights," but the quick beat is a contrast, and coupled with the snarl of the song, moves it along quite effectively.<br /><br />Thompson adds a mocking guitar solo in seeming mimic of the gossips’ tongues, playing on the cliche’ of rapid minor-second hammer-offs to suggest the vacuity of their babble.<br /><br />As verses keep coming, and the chorus keeps returning, Thompson’s vocals simply drip venom:<br /><br />Slide over here, slide over there,<br />Spreading that scandal everywhere,<br />Stab you in the back, and they just don’t care,<br />Doing the slide . . .<br /><br />The derision is contagious, and the rocking, minor key taunting of the song makes it quickly perhaps the most catchy and deliriously driving of any song on the album.<br /><br />The end features an extended coda, with a descending set of chords that repeat like slaps, until finally - boom! - it’s answered by a major-key British dancing jig, complete with fluttering accordion. The surprise and utter sarcasm of this musical device is pure, snotty joy, as the beat sustains the same drive while the two themes jump back and forth between each other in savage mocking.<br /><br />"Let’s slide!" shouts Thompson, as the song is carried out to its nasty, curt conclusion. Never mind the bollocks, indeed! </p><p><strong><em>Video: Richard Thompson Performs "Back Street Slide"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=gAm6Zj99IZY">http://youtube.com/watch?v=gAm6Zj99IZY</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Did She Jump Or Was She Pushed"</em></strong> - One could conceivably say that there is no "answer" song possible to "Shoot Out the Lights," with its violent, nihilistic sense of finality. Miraculously, there is one right here. The last Richard & Linda Thompson song to be performed by Linda is a call from the grave, a ghostly question from the aftermath of a holocaust, and it takes the album even deeper into dangerous emotional territory than probably any pop/rock record has ever delved before or since.<br /><br />It is also the only Richard & Linda song to be credited to both participants, every other song in their catalogue being a composition completely of Richard’s. What Linda brought to the composition of this haunting masterpiece is unknown, but the overall effect is one of a female’s unique and privileged perspective, albeit delivered after the fact.<br /><br />From the very beginning of their partnership, Linda has demonstrated the extraordinary ability to sing emotion-laden material without any audible expression of emotion (i.e., "The Great Valerio"), but this extraordinary restraint finds its ultimate execution here. She sings the song as a cipher, as if she were not even there. The narrative of the song is in the third person ("she"), and in the past tense, so the subject only exists in the past tense. However, the closeness with which she delivers the lyrics, the way she floats on the beautiful melody, inevitably fuses her performance with her subject matter. There is no question in the listener’s mind that Linda Thompson is here singing about herself.<br /><br />That the song was written and recorded before their breakup is a fact. It is startling, therefore, to realize that this final vocal from Linda is not a literal commentary of herself as victim, just as it is impossible not to hear it that way after the fact. There is no way of knowing the couple’s exact emotional state during the time of the recording, and one can only sensibly attribute the associated biographical meanings to an incredibly intuitive artistic sensibility on the singer’s part, a profound ability to "get inside" of a song and inhabit it. That Linda Thompson has always had that capacity is obviously clear right from the beginning of <strong><em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight. </em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />The other strangely beautiful aspect of the song is the composition itself. How can something so perfect, so right, emerge unknowingly from a composer’s mind in regards to a situation that had not actualized itself as of yet? The only answer, again, is the powerful sensitivity of the author(s) to such an imagined situation, and it displays, in Richard Thompson’s case, a clearly understood depth of empathy and guilt that informs all of his greatest work.<br /><br />The song begins as two unresolved guitar chords brush back and forth between one another to create the musical form of a question, of a mystery. Linda’s voice emerges with the practically single-note melody and begins the narrative, cool, undisturbed and straightforward:<br /><br />She was there one minute and then she was gone the next.<br />Lying in a pool of herself with a broken neck.<br /><br />The words have tremendous economy and power, delivering the violence of the imagery with a matter-of-factness that is palpably frightening. As the verse continues, the chords begin a strange series of modulations that reinforce the nature of puzzlement, as Linda takes us through all the details:<br /><br />She fell from the roof to the ground.<br />There was glass lying all around.<br />She was broken in a hundred pieces<br />When her body was found.<br /><br />The verses are divided into two parts. There is a brief pause, then Linda returns to the first part of the melody to complete the entire section. Here, she focuses on the victim’s life, in double-tracked harmony with herself:<br /><br />She used to live life, she used to live life with a vengeance.<br />And the chosen would dance, the chosen would dance in attendance.<br /><br />The double tracking creates an eerie feeling of her singing along with herself - either as observer and subject, or perhaps as subject, before and after. The use of the phrase "life with a vengeance" hammers home the stunning reality of death ever closer. The second line, above, displays a sense of power in life, a kind of aristocratic station and direction of will that makes death even more alien a notion.<br /><br />As the verse begins its conclusion, the guitars strike power chords, the drums pound militantly, as if the vocals suggest the mustering of arms to lead someone to a firing squad. Linda observes:<br /><br />She crossed a lot of people,<br />Some she called friends.<br />She thought she’d live forever,<br />But forever always ends.<br /><br />Did the dead woman abuse her power or station? Is she being called complicit in her own death? The chorus comes quickly to supply us with the answer, or rather a non-answer, as a question only remains. Any "answer" is merely the correct way to form the question:<br /><br />Did she jump or was she pushed?<br />Did she jump or was she pushed?<br />Did she jump or was she pushed?<br /><br />This simple question is asked, over and over, to the accompaniment of a slow march tempo, beautiful guitar arpeggios, and Richard’s dark voice joining back in the mix. There finally comes no answer, and the voices finally fall silent as the martial instruments of the chorus solemnly end.<br /><br />The two gently clashing guitar chords return, as if to begin the next verse. Instead, Richard enters on electric guitar with a quietly probing solo that seems intent on getting to the bottom of the question itself. It twists and turns with the odd maze of the harmonic structure, but finally exits the tangle still unresolved.<br /><br />Linda begins the next verse, still double tracked:<br /><br />She used to have style, she used to have style, and she used it.<br />And they say it turned bad when the truth came ‘round and she refused it.<br /><br />What does this last line mean? What was the "truth" that the subject would nor or could not acknowledge? Was it the disruption of the illusion of her life? Was it a betrayal by a friend or lover? We are not told - we are only given more facts that leave an enigma as to her end:<br /><br />They found some fingerprints<br />Right around her throat.<br />The didn’t find no killer,<br />And they didn’t find no note.<br /><br />"Fingerprints" certainly suggest an attacker, though they may not mean that the attack was part of a murder, or was, rather, the prelude to a suicide. There is no doubt some violence has been done to her, however. Clearly, she is a victim - but just how much did she contribute to her own destruction?<br /><br />The refrain asks the same question, over and over again, with no resolution in sight.<br />"Did she jump or was she pushed?" Just exactly what are we asking here? If we are examining a human casualty of some sort of lifestyle, we might question to what degree did she bring on her own demise? In the context of a relationship dissolving, we may ask what part did the person play in bringing about her own rejection or betrayal?<br /><br />In the end, perhaps it really does not matter. The calamity is the central fact, and there is no question but that the subject of the song is a victim. There is, in the unanswerable question of the refrain, contained the eternal enigma of question of inevitability. Could this disaster have been avoided? What can be learned?<br /><br />Ultimately, as I read the song, there is no way to engage in life - especially in love and relationships - without risking everything. If we re-contextualize this text with the (once and again, unavoidably!) Thompson’s own personal history as it would soon enact itself, the fact that Richard would (or could) leave Linda is an inevitable and universal condition of the fact of her marriage and commitment to him.<br /><br />When one does not risk all, one is not completely engaged, and in the great dance of life, not to be engaged is to relinquish life itself. If there is no risk, there is no gain. And if there is gain, there is always the chance of loss - even utter and complete loss.<br /><br />Which still does not answer the question of the ultimate responsibility here? "Did She Jump Or Was She Pushed" does not answer its own question. It certainly does not condemn the singer, nor does it in any way let the author of the song off the hook. It simply hangs in the air, ever mysteriously taunting, asking for an accountability that cannot ever be truly given.<br /><br />Here, so close to the end, <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> leaves the singer dangling, without any certain answer to hold onto. Nor does it do any more for the listener. We are left out on a ledge, dangling, as the softly crushing chords continue and the searching guitar goes on puzzling aimlessly until the song’s fade.<br /><br />In truth, the album could end here, justifiably asserting the lack of any possible resolution to life’s problems. We would still be in possession of a masterpiece - one of the wisest and most sublime albums ever made by any artists.<br /><br />That it does not end here is testament to something no less than a miracle . . . </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "Did She Jump or Was She Pushed"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=4MvZ39Ddlfc">http://youtube.com/watch?v=4MvZ39Ddlfc</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"Wall of Death"</em></strong> - The fact that Richard Thompson wrote this, arguably his greatest song is astounding enough. That it found its place here, as the grand finale to possibly the most profoundly tortured album ever recorded by pop/rock artists, is something that elicits nothing short of sheer awe.<br /><br />How can such a troubled odyssey as <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> end in anything like an affirmation, let alone a life-ennobling affirmation that does not dodge any of the hard-won, prickly truths of love and life? The fact that it does so, and does so in such a majestically, sweeping and powerful manner is nothing less than the proof of genius, as well as the profound inspiration of desperation and pain.<br /><br />The structure, both musically and lyrically, of "Wall of Death" is very simple. It is simply a sustained metaphor of life as an amusement park ride, set to simple, open folk chords. Richard and Linda sing together, their voices entwined forever in a shared chant that locks them (and us) indissolubly together on a venture of the ride that we all must share.<br /><br />What gives the song its power is the indescribable strength of the name of the thrill ride - "The Wall of Death" - combined with the singers’ not only acceptance, but insistence upon riding it:<br /><br />Let me ride on the Wall of Death one more time.<br />Let me ride on the Wall of Death one more time.<br />You can waste your time on the other rides,<br />This is the nearest to being alive.<br />Oh, let me take my chances on the Wall of Death.<br /><br />Wherever it came from, Thompson has happened upon an irreducibly powerful name here - a metaphor for life, with all its attendant risks. The shock of the name does not diminish as they sing it, even after 25 years of hearing it. To desire this, the most dangerous - indeed fatal - ride in the amusement park is to invoke and affirm everything that life has in store. It is to have the courage to venture forth in the world as fully human, completely vulnerable, both to all the joys, richness and happiness that living as a human has to offer, as well as to the disappointments, pains, and even complete destruction of personality as well. To take one’s chance on the Wall of Death is, in essence, to give an unqualified "yes" to life, regardless of the consequences. Indeed, not to place oneself in such a vulnerable position is rejected as a "waste (of) time."<br /><br />This, then, is the ultimate retort and summation of all the tangled, twisted, nightmarish voids that have been visited on the album. It is also the ultimate justification for engaging oneself in a commitment to another, which may or may not work out in the end. For the Thompson’s, as we know, the ride did not turn out happily - but that does not mean it was not worth the trip. If either of them are still alive after the ride is over (and they will be), they will pick themselves up and go back to ride it alone, or with another.<br /><br />The bridge expostulates on the experience:<br /><br />On the Wall of Death all the world is far from me.<br />On the Wall of Death, it’s the nearest to being free.<br /><br />If the Wall of Death is "the nearest to being alive," how can the world be said to seem far apart? The answer, I believe, is that it is the mundane world, the unreal world of day-to-day, busy, pointless acts of life that deflect us and distract us from our real meanings, our true selves, that are pushed into the background. Here, in the face of Death itself, is the one true place where anything worth having in life can be truly appreciated. By subjecting ourselves to the infinite possibilities (and potential cruelty) of fate, we ironically free ourselves from fear, and thus approximate the closest thing available to true human freedom.<br /><br />The rest of the verses of the song detail the other rides you can "waste time" on. Each is a form of distortion or escape - "You can fly away on the Rocket or spin on the Mouse." All are merely ways of avoiding confrontation or commitment. All are safe activities, and all are merely useless.<br />In the context of a marriage, of a relationship, the "Wall of Death" is emblematic of the commitment of two souls to endure whatever may behap - even if the relationship is destined to end in failure or tragedy. For if one does not completely commit, there is no chance of the attendant ecstasies of communion. And with this transcendent joy in love, necessarily comes the risk of pain and loss. The alternative is a kind of wasteland, a wishy-washy world of non-committal half-being, wherein no one can be said to truly live.<br /><br />The willful entry of two souls, wide eyed, into this dangerous realm of commitment is finally justified by the exquisite and horrific highs and lows of love. The song is sung with exuberance by the couple - passionately, openly embracing all the possibilities of life, which we, with hindsight, realize that they are bound to lose in the end. Yet in the playing, and the replaying of the song, one senses that all the pain and loss were truly worth it in the end.<br /><br />This, of course, is the unescapable subtext that concludes the forced biographical reading of Shoot Out the Lights. What makes the song (as well as the album) so profoundly permanent is its extension beyond this reference to a more universal meaning of square-faced, open-hearted commitment to see life through to the end.<br /><br />When all is said and done, <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> remains one of the most powerful universal statements about life, love, pain and loss to be put to record. Within the context of its real-life protagonists, it is profoundly moving. Taken beyond them, and pointing to life as a whole, it is merely profound. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performs "Wall of Death"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=A_FJImYHkZk">http://youtube.com/watch?v=A_FJImYHkZk</a><br /><br /><strong><em>BONUS TRACK</em></strong><br /><br /><strong><em>"Living in Luxury"</em></strong> - When <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> was first released on compact disc, it came with a bonus studio track from the sessions for the album. While there is nothing wrong with that in itself, the way that the disc ended up being programmed gave the appearance that "Living in Luxury" was the final, culminating track of the album, following "Wall of Death." While "Luxury" is a nice enough song, it certainly pales in the fiery glory of its predecessor. <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> ends definitively, powerfully and passionately, in "Wall of Death," and there is absolutely nothing left to be said about the matter. The bonus track, thus, inevitably threw off the balance as a whole, and in the present form of the compact disc, it has been removed.<br /><br />I don’t think it necessarily should have had to been completely excised - by boldly printing "Bonus Track" on the disc sleeve, and separating it respectfully from "Wall of Death" by a good ten seconds or more of silence, it could serve as a pleasant little addendum to the album. But I will agree that it’s better to have it completely removed than to (falsely) end the album as it originally did on earlier CDs.<br /><br />"Living in Luxury" is the B-side of a single - (I didn’t know Richard & Linda Thompson had singles). A wonderful little song on its own, it’s just subpar from Shoot Out the Lights standards. A sort of British or Scots march, complete with horn fanfares, it is a nice slice of sarcasm sung in harmony by both of the team. The lyrics extoll the virtues of love over riches:<br /><br />You don’t need a thing<br />To live just like a king,<br />Because loving is living in luxury.<br /><br />Does love make one’s life luxurious, or is it simply a "luxury," in the sense of superfluity? Perhaps it’s just an excuse . . .<br /><br />Rocks in my bed and two crusts of bread,<br />Two crusts of bread ain’t the feast it used to be.<br />Rocks in my head, but I’ve got love instead,<br />Because loving is living in luxury.<br /><br />It’s a lovely slice of lowlife/highlife with a terrific bass line, and it’s nice to have if you’ve got it. But it has nowhere near the urgency of any of the material that makes the album so intense.<br />It is very difficult to sum up such an extraordinary album as <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em>. Quite obviously the artistic high point for Richard and Linda Thompson, it also signalled the end - nor could it have done any other. But out of the ripping fabrics of their relationship there was weaved this singular masterpiece - their definitive album, both as a couple and as individual artists.<br /><br />This is the album that would bring Richard Thompson to an international critical recognition from which he has not yet diminished one iota. This, the ending of his partnership with Linda, would also stand as the starting point for his own solo career, which has been going on steadily in its wake for 25 years now.<br /><br />Through blood and tears, but more importantly, sheer musical inspiration and mastery, <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> proves itself today, just as essentially as it did upon its release, its vital and necessary place within the core of the canon of rock and roll. It goes even further - it is the fulcrum upon which the entire works of Richard Thompson balance, that essential validation of his entire career, with his odd and unique approach to songwriting. It is, quite simply, the album that makes Richard Thompson matter so vitally to the music of the late 20th and early 21st century.<br /><br />From here, Thompson would go on to write many, many more great songs, and record over a dozen magnificent albums of new material. And yes, he would subsequently quite often rise to these heights, and in some brief moments, transcend them. But it is from Shoot Out the Lights, this magnificent triumph in marital and existential despair, ultimately, from which Thompson derives his his commanding power and authority, no matter how few records he sells, or how many poor souls don’t know who the hell he is.<br /><br />In a sense, the long continuation of his career seems almost like an attempt to prove that <em>Shoot Out the Lights </em>was no fluke - he really is that profound of an artist. Ultimately, he strives to live up to unmatchable standards - in both his art and his life - standards that he has created for himself, and in whose message here, in his greatest work, is that to do so is to attempt the impossible.<br /><br />Therein lies his glory and his most everlasting value.</p><p><strong><em>Video - A Solitary Life, part 5</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=kUFeX6wPsng">http://youtube.com/watch?v=kUFeX6wPsng</a></p>Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-83306213504276656752007-10-10T15:20:00.000-07:002007-10-24T14:26:55.982-07:00Pour Down Like Silver<strong>Richard & Linda Thompson: <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> [November 1975]</strong><br /><br />Whatever the experimentations of <em>Hokey Pokey</em> would have prepared one for in the next Richard and Linda Thompson album, it certainly would not have been this. <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> at first strikes the listener as much more subdued than anything Thompson has done before. Gone are the wild rants, the instrumental flourishes, the taunting sarcasm. On first listening, Silver presents itself as a relatively straightforward collection of love songs with very simple, even repetitive settings. The melodies, and the singing (especially Linda’s) are quite lovely, but the songs seem to sit there in a kind of passive, unironic, reflective mode that seems quite unlike the Richard Thompson we have come to know.<br /><br />That is not all that is different about <em>Silver</em>. There is a complete mood and shift of attitude here that seems strikingly sharp. The songs here are almost all seemingly love songs - songs of yearning, songs of hope, songs of devotion. And devotion is indeed the key word here, for Richard and Linda Thompson had, behind the scenes, so to speak, had made a religious conversion to Islamic Sufiism.<br /><br />That is in itself somewhat of a surprise enough. Up until now, Richard Thompson’s vision, at least expressed in his lyrics, had been pronouncedly un-romantic, cynical - perhaps even nihilistic. Any sense of spirituality previously expressed had been presented eliptically, even ironically, if they had been there at all. In fact, all of Thompson’s love songs themselves had been portraitures of loss, alienation and self deception. That such a profoundly sarcastic bastard as Thompson should suddenly turn and embrace any sort of transcendent vision would have seemed terribly unlikely, to say the least.<br /><br />But considered in retrospect, this shift in perspective is not as great a turn-around as one might think. Any human being who represents life as bleakly and cynically as Thompson has, must often, on the other hand, be deeply disillusioned by the unmet promises and hypocrisy of existence. In other words, his guise as mocker is essentially a mask for the yearner, the unending seeker after not only truth and validation, but ultimately, for a satisfying ground of being itself.<br /><br />Whatever Thompson found in the Sufi faith - the great mystical tradition of Islam - it touched a chord deep within him that nothing before had managed to satisfy. And here, on this album, we can hear its results in the artist, and to most striking effect. It is not so much that his conversion has changed him, but rather that it seems to have effectively brought out his other side - his deep, loving, spiritual side - that before had only been able to be observed as in a kind of negative reflection. Whatever wall had broken down for him, there is a newly discovered energy at work here that will provide and sustain a much broader, balanced perspective to his writing and performing, throughout the rest of his career.<br /><br />Seen in this light, previous songs, especially "A Heart Needs a Home," seem to take on multiple levels of new meaning. Where before, in context of <em>Hokey Pokey</em>, this song could only be interpreted as ironic. Now it can be heard quite differently, as a heartbreakingly aching desire for a restless soul’s wandering. Other very "bleak" portraitures, such as "Has He Got a Friend for Me," and even "Twisted," take on a much larger, existentially poignant resonance as contrasted with an ultimate, transcendent faith, displaying the human condition as more tragic than pathetic, as the individual is seen as basically alienated from his core. The songs that mock ethereal pleasures "Hokey Pokey," "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight," etc., glimmer with a new radiance in the rising light of an infinite, spiritual beneficence.<br /><br />For it must not be assumed that this religious conversion marks for Thompson a new "either/or" perspective of faithful blindness. Even here, and throughout his subsequent output, Thompson remains the open-eyed realist, and irony is never far from his mind. What has happened, however, is that the irony has deepened and been transformed by a vision of infinite love and acceptance. It is this odd fusion - or perhaps it is not so odd, after all - of idealist and ironist that will feed and sustain the seemingly boundless humanism of Thompson’s art.<br />But to return to the album at hand, after repeated listenings, Pour Down Like Silver gradually opens itself to deep, heartfelt visions that belie the simplicity of their settings. For these are extraordinarily deep, moving and life-enhancing songs. Whether conceived as songs of human love and devotion, or interpreted as paeans to the infinite God, they ultimately reveal the depth of the individual heart.<br /><br />There are really no albums I can think of that serve as equivalents to the experience of listening to Pour Down Like Silver. The closest I can come to are Van Morrison’s <em>Astral Weeks</em> or John Coltrane’s <em>A Love Supreme</em>. But whereas the former is the portrait of an anguished search, punctuated with a busy jazz bass and spacious strings, and the latter is an impassioned celebration expressed through the boundless power of music to leap past all human boundaries, the Thompsons’ spiritual masterpiece is lean and spare. What connects all three works, however, is a boundless openness that the listener may enter and attach himself to another’s pure vision of the divine.<br /><br />Briefly spoken, <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> is quite simply one of the greatest albums of the 1970s. Its singularity and its uncompromising vision may put off some listeners who resist falling under its spell. More is their loss. This is a vital and essential document of the human condition at its most poetically stark and vulnerable. This is a masterpiece.<br /><br /><strong>"Streets of Paradise"</strong> - The album kicks off with this hard-hitting, slow electric march with a vocal by Richard that is more chanted than sung. The ambiguity of the point of view holds the listener in a kind of holy spell. For the song is arguably ambiguous in its sincerity, as regards the lyrics, but totally convincing in its sentiment it regards to the music and the vocal performance.<br />In a sense, "Streets of Paradise" can be compared and contrasted to "When I Get to the Border," the great opening song of <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em>. Whereas in the latter case, the singer looks hopefully to a fanciful realm of escape in a prelude to an album of songs detailing total entrapment, this song yearns more for the concrete realization of heavenly transcendence. What makes the song ambiguous is its juxtaposition of its apparent literality with the jarring nature of its imagery. The opening stanza:<br /><br />The tears fall down like whisky,<br />The tears fall down like wine<br />On an island made of cocaine<br />In a sea of turpentine.<br />We all need some assistance,<br />But won’t that day be fine<br />When we’re walking down the streets of Paradise?<br /><br />Without an awareness of Thompson’s religious conversion, one would be apt to think the lyrics to be purely ironic, but in a rare way, he seems to be using his rhetorical devices to point to something broader, more meaningful and lasting.<br /><br />For what is Paradise? From a mystic’s point of view a literal heavenly city is an absurdity. Paradise is the perfect union of the human soul with God, which in essence, is beyond rational comprehension. What are the words that could conjure up that vision, essentially, by nature, ineffable? "Walking down the streets of Paradise" is clearly understood by Thompson as a metaphor for an indescribably transcendent event or state of being. The implication of its use here is indeed a recognition of the inadequacy of language to communicate this experience, just as the mind of man is limited to metaphors of the banality of everyday life.<br /><br />The lyrics explicitly acknowledge the human being’s limitations in the temporal world, and affirm - though clearly not as absolutes - the efforts of people to attempt to attain a semblance of this purely transcendent vision.<br /><br />Hence, the opening reference to drugs. Thompson acknowledges what the majority of even drug users fail to realize, which is that the use of such substances are sub-consciously an attempt to re-create or induce this divine, "intoxicated" state. He does not condemn this activity, however, recognizing the limitations of the separated individual, and makes a clear distinction between this and the reality of the experience of self absorbed in the ultimate transcendence of God. That this ultimate transcendence cannot be expressed otherwise than in another (utterly human) limitation of language and imagery that may confound the mind by a literal interpretation of the words, is Thompson’s ultimate concession.<br /><br />For more than anything else, "The Streets of Paradise," is a passionate song of yearning, a prayer to be lifted up and away from the mundane, as well as a statement of assurance that - somehow, in some way - God will allow this to happen to those who are open to His grace.<br />The next verse continues, similarly with a portrait of a drunkard:<br /><br />Tar brush on the corner,<br />I’ve never seen him before.<br />He drank ten fingers of what they had,<br />Now his feet don’t touch the floor.<br />He can’t see me or this dirty old town,<br />He’s got nothing to look for.<br />He’s walking on the streets of Paradise.<br /><br />This verse explicitly connects with such previous songs as "Twisted," and most specifically, "Down Where the Drunkards Roll." Whereas, in the latter song, the visions of the drunken masses were seen as purely delusional, here they are re-interpreted as transformed into a kind of "halfway house" of spiritual ecstasy and are not to be condemned. (Thompson would later return most definitively to this theme in his great and moving ballad, "God Loves a Drunk" on <em>Rumour & Sigh</em> in 1991.)<br /><br />The third verse denounces worldly goods and achievements in favor of holy issue. But a doubt begins to creep into the listener’s mind when the singer announces that "I’d trade my little sister" for Paradise. We protest that a human life is sacred and is not a thing to be bargained with. This is a strong hint that the song is sung, not by Thompson, but by a delusional character who is perhaps barking up the wrong mystical tree.<br /><br />In a sense, this is true, yet it may be not. As Thompson recognizes that the metaphorical "streets" are a way of thinking about the unthinkable, the limitation that the image places on the mind of the singer can just as easily distort his perspective and indeed cause him to miss the point of his entire quest.<br /><br />The final verse solidifies the singer’s demand for pure coin instead of spiritual substitutes:<br /><br />I asked you for a racehorse,<br />Now don’t hand me no mule.<br />I asked you for a fast car,<br />Don’t you take me for a fool.<br /><br />In the end, language always points back to the clear and concrete world of things, and therein lies an inevitable distortion. What exactly is the "authenticity" that the singer seeks so strongly in the song?<br /><br />Oddly, it is man’s condition, as reflected by the inadequacy of his language, to be forever separated from the perfectly divine, which is what he ultimately seeks. This is, in my interpretation at least, why the song can be seen simultaneously as by Richard Thompson and "not by" Richard Thompson. It is here that he is expressing his own deepest yearnings, while acknowledging his own limitations. Perhaps the secret key that the singer has yet to grasp is that it is in the search for the divine that it is discovered - where it is only partially, if at all, realized.<br /><br />"Streets of Paradise" is a masterful, powerful introduction to an often painful world of searching. Unlike many other statements of religious conversion, Pour Down Like Silver eschews dogmatism and the usual facile convictions that its spokesman is the possessor of unassailable truth. In contrast, Thompson’s religious vision is thoroughly human, filled with a sense of respectful awe and humility. His compassionate humanism will not allow him to be truly disdainful, as he acknowledges his own (along with everyone else’s) limitations.<br /><br />It is this attitude and sentiment that make <em>Silver</em> such compelling listening even to doubters. For Thompson seems to insist that doubt is at the absolute essence and core of faith - which it most certainly is to any thoughtfully honest person.<br /><br />"Streets of Paradise" is an incomparably beautiful song. Simple, straightforward in its construction, yet bold in its presentation, it hovers somewhere between the traditional folk rock that is Thompson’s chief metier (gorgeously adorned throughout by John Kirkpatrick’s delectable concertina) and a desert chant towards Mecca. On the simple, yet gut-wrenching refrain, Richard is joined by Linda, making this work a tandem statement.<br /><br />On the front cover of the album, Richard appears in a simple close-up shot wearing a turban. Linda, on the back cover, smiles simply with the devotional headpiece and scarf of the traditional Islamic world. This is a metamorphosis that they have entered into together, and this will be unquestionably a "Richard and Linda Thompson" album in more ways than one.<br /><br />But despite these clear-cut images, any path involving Richard Thompson is not going to be straight and simple, as the majestic "Streets of Paradise" pointedly make clear at the outset.<br /><br /><strong>"For Shame of Doing Wrong"</strong> - The second song is given over to Linda, and it is quickly another classic of infinite simplicity and beauty. Backed with only electric guitar, concertina, bass and drums, Linda chants a litany of regret for leaving her lover. Is it her husband? Is it her God? There is, within the Sufi song tradition, a practice of composing love odes which have as their ultimate reference, the divine, rather than the human. Is this the case here? Though the song can certainly be read that way, its power does not lie on its subject, but with the emotional realm of the singer.<br /><br />The regret and shame of faithlessness come back to haunt the ex-lover who sings of her emptiness and desire to be re-united with her love. For in rejecting that in whom she had been bonded, she has done the most violence to her own soul, and is now cast adrift.<br /><br />The remarkably poignant refrain is purely Thompsonian in its seeming contradictions: "I wish I was a fool for you again." Here, a "fool" can be interpreted in just as many ways that the word "fool" suggests. And if one is a "fool," in a negative sense, the desire for that condition is an explicit recognition that there is a compensatory reward that far outweighs "foolishness." Here, it is, ironically, in the loss of self that the individual finds her true meaning and ultimate completion.<br /><br />There is a definite sense of responsibility in this context of the definition of love. Could love be love without it? If love is ultimately conditional, is it really love at all, in the truest sense? Were love a mere choice or preference, one would not "hang my head in shame for doing wrong." The singer accuses herself of being a "restless thief," one that placed her passion and commitment somewhere other than its rightful place, be it in a man or in God. Love comes with a moral imperative that is, to some degree, self-negating.<br /><br />There is a hope of reconciliation, however. As the singer prays to her beloved:<br /><br />Please don’t make me pay for my deceiving heart,<br />Just turn up your lamp and let me in.<br /><br />This certainly sounds like a repentant sinner returning to a faithful, loving God. But it also reminds one of a contrite wanderer in a country & western ballad. The phrase "deceiving heart" can’t help but conjure up thoughts of Hank Williams’ "Cheating Heart," and reminds us that in that tradition, as well as in the more exotic world of the Sufi, the sentiment is precisely the same thing.<br /><br />Linda sings the line, "I wish I was a fool for you again," over and over, as if it was mystical Koranic chant, while Richard repeats her words antiphonally, until the song fades into the distance. Is the reconciliation actually accomplished? We do not know. We only know that it is prayed for with a contrite and sincere heart, and we hope that somehow the plea will be answered.<br /><br />Now, if there is intended irony in this song, I fail to see it. That there is a biographical irony is certain, as in so many other songs by this pair of real and earthly lovers. We will inevitably encounter that as the story of Richard and Linda Thompson reaches its powerful climax. Let us only note here that these are the words here of a human being - a fallible human being who confesses in his own language that he cannot achieve the ideal. Let us rest with that thought for now and not let it trouble us further in examining the remainder of the album.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson: "For Shame of Doing Wrong"</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=2cM6gez2-Uc">http://youtube.com/watch?v=2cM6gez2-Uc</a><br /><p><strong>The Poor Boy Is Taken Away"</strong> - Here is another acoustic song in very slowly, stately tempo, this one a dirge-like waltz. This aching, empty song of loss is sung very simply, deeply and beautifully by Linda, to the accompaniment of Richard on guitar and mandolin.<br /><br />The narrative is one of loss, ostensibly for a dead lover. I presume he has died, given that he has been "taken away." Of course, he could have been stolen by another woman, but the fact that he is referred to as "the poor boy" makes this unlikely.<br /><br />At any rate, the song is one of utter desolation and loss ("The world has no comfort to bring.") Memories are insufficient, and there is no offer of possible consolation with another love. This is one of Thompson’s best efforts purely in the style of an old English ballad.<br /><br />Keeping in mind of the theme of the album, however, where a sense of loss is appropriate as the counterpoint to mystical union, "The Poor Boy," simply interpreted, is thematically relevant and adds poignancy to the record as a whole.<br /><br />One might argue, however, that the song could be interpreted as being seen from the perspective of God, who is saddened and disconsolate at the losing of an earthly soul from His love. That such a person, turning away from the divine, could be utterly "lost" without his primal connection is a very interesting and deeply felt perspective - and certainly not one that is heard very often, even in liturgical music.<br /><br />Considered in this sense, there is certainly a new depth added to the spirituality of the album. In Sufi tradition, God is seen as analogous to a lover. That God should feel the loss as powerfully, if not more, than the lover is presumed in a good deal of Sufi poetry. Interpreted this way, "The Poor Boy" makes a beautiful counterpart to the preceding perspective of the repentant lover in "For Shame of Doing Wrong."<br /><br />However one prefers to interpret it, "The Poor Boy Is Taken Away" is a sweetly melancholy addition to the lineup of songs on Pour Down Like Silver, deepening and sustaining the mood in a very subtle, yet powerful way.<br /><br /><strong>"Night Comes In"</strong> - This, the centerpiece of the album, is a fearless, slow-droning chant of love. What could be a tiresome, repetitive excursion is transformed, in a powerfully hypnotic performance by Richard into a wholly convincing, moving, and finally, fully transcendent hymn of divine love.<br /><br />There is an oddly ominous quality to the song - just as in "Calvary Cross," the chords, set in a minor mode, repeat endlessly, but to quite different effect. Whereas on the previous song, we found a musical depiction of hell, here we have quite the reverse. If this is not heaven, it is the sound of the soul’s yearning for it.<br /><br />Richard starts with unadorned electric guitar, running patient, simple lines that simultaneously seduce and strike a kind of hushed awe in the listener. He is soon joined by bass guitar, and when his vocal finally enters, it is a stark and naked thing - humbled and humbling and downright chilling in their authentic call for grace:<br /><br />Night comes in<br />Like some cool river,<br />How can there be another day?<br />Take my hand,<br />Oh, real companion,<br />And we’ll dance,<br />Dance ‘til we fade away.<br /><br />Sufi dancing is a mystical tradition in which the spirit of God enters the petitioner’s body, and they unite and become one in an ecstasy of joy. The dance is not done for God, but with God, as the two dissolve and become one. The music itself becomes divine - the "songs pour down like silver." In the middle of the second verse, a slow, simple drumbeat is added which, given its long delay, pushes the song forward, effortlessly into an entirely new realm of movement and revelation.<br /><br />Finally, and quite unexpectedly, the chords change into the chorus, where Richard, joined now by Linda, passionately intones:<br /><br />Dancing ‘til my feet don’t touch the ground,<br />I lose my mind and dance forever,<br />Lose my mind and dance forever,<br />Turn my world around,<br />Turn my world around.<br /><br />Rarely has this kind of simplicity been so artfully employed to build to this kind of ecstatic release. As the pair sings, the electrified music vibrates along with them, and the listener is carried into another realm. No matter what one’s perspective on religion, one cannot help but feel the intensity of Thompson’s passion, and the listener is taken up, away with him into an almost purely transcendent realm.<br /><br />I say this, knowing full well that some listeners may remain unmoved by what I find one of the most extraordinarily passionate moments in rock music. But many fail to be swept away by such intense declarations as The Who’s "Bargain," or the self-destroying, all-absorbing power of the repeated choruses that end "Hey Jude." What can I say? When all is said and done, transcendence is a very personal affair. All a loving listener can do is to point out that it is there for those who can perceive it.<br /><br />Is it not then, everywhere? In a sense, yes. But it takes a special kind of sensitivity to life to be able to transform all of the mundane world into a spiritual experience, a sensitivity that can only come to the most gifted, or to those who have been most inwardly transformed by some sort of inner revelation. For the rest of us, many of us can find it here, specifically in musical/emotional moments like these, where our minds and hearts are led by great artistry, taken to a point far away from the ordinary, and lead us to a point in the wilderness where the rest of the world hushes as we can listen to the eternal within our lives, and within ourselves.<br /><br />That Richard Thompson can achieve such a moment here is testimony not only to his greatness as an artist, but to the possibility of shared insights between human beings. It is often said that a mystical experience cannot be communicated. Music consistently proves this adage patently untrue. For in the words of Frank Zappa, "Music is the only religion that really delivers the goods."<br /><br />Finally, in the end, it is not what is being communicated, in terms of its content. It really matters not if a listener shares Richard Thompson’s convictions about God. What ultimately matters is that whatever unique connection is made between artist and listener is made at all. In the end, the content is finally inexpressible. It can only be felt and understood in the content of itself.<br />Fascinatingly, this is exactly what "Night Comes In" is about. It is a song about the entry of this spirit into the willing participant, and in so describing the effect, the song almost magically produces the result in transmission of its concept. This is the very definition of the "holy song" - the hymn, the chant, the resolute, impassioned thrall of the pounding of the village drums. It’s all here.<br /><br />Finally, the words give out, and Thompson rides out the rest of the way on his beautiful electric guitar lines. But, virtuoso though he is, he does not show off, but holds his restraint, in keeping with the holy conjuring of the piece, holds his ego in abatement, producing beauty without showing off.<br /><br />We reach a climactic moment, where the beat goes into double time, Thompson adds a second electric guitar, almost imperceptibly, and the two identical instruments take up a kind of dance with one another, emulating the dance of the lover and his beloved, the faithful petitioner and his God.<br /><br />This instrumental extension - I would not call it a coda, for it is a natural part and parcel of the song itself - goes on for several minutes, until it becomes gradually more soft, quiet and subdued, like two lovers in the afterglow. And then, very simply, it ends, as does the first side of the album, in a reflected light of silent peace.<br /><br />When all’s said and done, "Night Comes In" is, regardless of religious perspective, one of the most passionate songs of love ever put down on vinyl. And in those wonderful days of long-playing records, it quite definitively ends side one.<br /><br /><strong>"Jet Plane in a Rocking Chair"</strong> - Side two begins with this rollicking little number harmonized entirely by both Richard and Linda. Returning to a more basic British folk-rock feel, Jet Plane capers nimbly with fiddle accompaniment. It is yet another love song that is basically directed to God. As the title suggests, and the rest of the lyrics illustrate, the singers are turning their backs on false claimants for the "real" object of devotional love.<br /><br />Interestingly, while the lyrics speak of the denial of false promises, one can quite easily re-interpret the images as metaphors for achievement of transcendence through the mundane. If one’s heart is truly changed, as proclaimed in the song, one could, indeed, ride a jet plane in a rocking chair. But that does not seem to be the song’s intent, as Verse 4 proclaims, "I’m a fool with a size one head."<br /><br />The notion is reinforced with the chorus, so beautifully and simply sung:<br /><br />Here comes the real thing<br />I’ve been waiting for so long,<br />For so long<br />I’ve been waiting for a love like you.<br /><br />Ultimately, the song proves un-complex, which is a bit of a pity, as Richard Thompson’s spirituality would later prove so broad and inclusive of human experience. But here there is the suggestion of the orthodox valuation of a true choice set against a false one.<br /><br />I suppose that he could perform this song today, however, with overtones of a broader palate of comprehension - for in recognition of the source of transcendent love, God, and informed with this knowledge, all types of mundane human adventures could be validated through their investiture of their source.<br /><br />The song could be heard ironically as well, as could many of these songs, as I’m realizing. If the singer(s) has become so enamoured of the source of life and love that he can miss the Blakean adventure of a "Sea cruise in a diving bell," or could not "Run a mile in a wishing well," perhaps he is missing the gifts that life truly has to offer.<br /><br />However one wishes to take the song, it seems to work best, quite straight-forwardly, with its humble, glowing sense of simple joy - a joy that is all to often absent from Thompson’s world perspective, and serves so effectively here as a content respite from the extremes of even his devotional music.<br /><br />It’s really a lovely, pretty song, and seemingly heartfelt. It’s short, to the point, and is probably best enjoyed for exactly what it seems to be - a happy little personal hymn. (After all, this isn’t "Wall of Death," even though the roller coaster "rolls nowhere.")<br /><br /><strong>"Beat the Retreat"</strong> - This, the simplest of songs on the album, feels like its emotional climax. Basically three acoustic guitar chords, played quite slowly, to the accompaniment of what is basically an unadorned chant, there are no doubt listeners who will find "Beat the Retreat" tedious and pointless. Like much of the album, this song will cause divisions. But I find the simple repetition to be essential to the song’s power. This calm exclamation of surrender suggests the soul at absolute peace, and the martial movement of the beat, combined with Richard’s heartfelt commitment to his beautiful, sparse melody, makes this one of the most moving pieces in his entire repertoire.<br /><br />It is, indeed, another love song, and once again the lover can be seen as God. Or not - one of the nice things about the songs on Silver is their lack of insistence upon their subject. One can take the content as far as one chooses, and apply it to whatever degree one can about a love object, be it human or divine - or as with with the other songs on the album, ultimately both.<br /><br />Richard plays an open-tuned 12-string guitar, to the accompaniment of bass and flute. As in "Night Comes In," the drum enters here in the second verse, but driving the song with more allusory suggestiveness, as the weary, defeated soldier marches back home to his lover. His resignation, however, is not sad, but joyous:<br /><br />I’ll follow the drum<br />Back home to you.<br />I’ll follow the drum<br />Back home to you.<br />There was no sense in my leaving.<br />There was no sense in my leaving.<br />There was no sense in my leaving.<br />I’m running back home to you.<br /><br />I feel nothing but pity for those who cannot share in the deep, hopeful humble march of this joyous retreat. Its earnestness and simple acknowledgement of human limitation is one of the most sublimely real moments ever put to record - a moment that we can all share, whatever our conviction of religious or metaphysical truth. It is a great moment of the human heart, that personal acknowledgement that "a heart needs a home."<br /><br /><strong>"Hard Luck Stories"</strong> - After all the faithful devotion and emotional regret, this harsh little scolding seems to have dropped out of the sky, accidently falling into this album from a completely different record.<br /><br />A sly combination of Brit-folk and country & western, snidely sung by Linda, it is vicious little diatribe against an annoying person, essentially telling them to bugger off.<br />In Richard Thompson’s abrupt return to darkly comic wordplay, we get treated to a nasty diatribe:<br /><br />They say running into you is like running into trouble,<br />You bend my ear and I see double,<br />You’re everybody’s idea of a waste of time.<br />You still come around ‘cos I used to listen,<br />But I run a steamship, I don’t run a mission,<br />Don’t be mistaken in thinking you’re a friend of mine.<br />Those hard luck stories,<br />It’s all I ever get from you . . .<br /><br />Like so many other of Thompson’s songs of personal disdain, the humor and intensity of the vituperative undermines the effectiveness of the dressing down, and the words are thrown back on the singer, revealing him (or her, in this case) to being an insensitive asshole.<br />No doubt that we all have acquaintances whose "poor me" discourses make us want to drive them out of our sights, but this snarly lack of empathy is so particularly nasty that it cannot be taken seriously, can it?<br /><br />Richard’s electric guitar solo uses slides effectively to make mock tears and taunt the poor subject of the song. The verbal attack is simply relentless - it just never lets up, and finally it becomes universalized:<br /><br />Why don’t you grow up, why don’t you settle down,<br />Why don’t you get a job, why don’t you leave town?<br />Even a chicken has to do what it has to do.<br />You don’t like one thing, you don’t like another,<br />You don’t like anything that looks like bother,<br />Everybody don’t like something, and we all don’t like you.<br /><br />The effect of this hilarious assault may indeed hit the mark for some, but something in us tells us that the song simply goes too far. If we identify with the singer, as we are likely to do, since we’d rather be on the giving than the receiving end of this one, even though the song is funny, and may hold some truth for us, we don’t like going quite this far - the fear of being a total jerk alienates us from the singer’s position. Now turn the perspectives around. The song is addressed to the listener, after all, and as such, we’ve got to immediately object. How does it feel to have one’s faults taken and amplified to such a pitch that one is the object of the entire world’s derision? Not very good, does it?<br /><br />This is one of Thompson’s double-edged songs in which we can simply find no peaceful resting point. And for some reason, its apparently unwieldily inclusion in this suite of faith and love not only provides a relief-filled respite from the sonorous intonations of the rest of the album, but provides a much-charged register of suggestion from its realm of the opposite.<br /><br />Somehow, "Hear Luck Stories" help makes the picture complete. In a world full of human disdain and highly contingent relationships, it throws the helplessness and "alone-ness" of the individual into strikingly high relief. Shown what the stakes truly are, the stirring ending of the album, which is just about to come, can be felt with much more poignancy and empathy.<br />"Hard Luck Stories" is exactly the right song to come along right in the nick of time before <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> reaches for its shimmering, heartfelt conclusion.<br /><br /><strong>"Dimming of the Day" / "Dargai"</strong> - Linda sings this plaintive, elegiac hymn of love with such an open, beautiful voice as to bring tears to the hardest of hearts. Such an honest confession of the need to be loved, the need to be known and accepted is a worthy tribute of a pure heart longing for either earthly lover or transcendent God.<br /><br />With simple, open-tuned acoustic guitar and light banjo picking for accompaniment, Linda opens up her heart through Richard’s gorgeously simple melody and lyrics:<br /><br />This old house is falling down around my ears,<br />I’m drowning in the river of my tears.<br />When all my will is gone you hold the sway,<br />I need you at the dimming of the day.<br /><br />The Brit-folk feel of this simple ballad gives it a timeless quality - nothing about it seems forced or contrived. This has to be one of the starkest, most beautiful love songs ever put down on record.<br /><br />The theme of past inconstancy returns, but is dismissed quickly. The singer’s need is urged in terms as elegantly equivalent to nature’s designs ("You pulled me like the moon pulls on the tide"). And it is in the finality of night and rest where need is most fully realized. At the end of a day, or at the end of a life, the seeker must find rest with her beloved. Together, alone in the dark, they are as one. </p><p><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson: "Dimming of the Day"</em></strong></p><p><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4j_RBpvDqw&NR=1">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4j_RBpvDqw&NR=1</a><br /><br />Immediately, after the song concludes, Richard picks up its continuation on his spare acoustic guitar, both in answer and in fulfillment of Linda’s pleas. "Dargai," an instrumental credited to J. Scott Skinner (and arranged by Thompson), effectively serves as a meditational finale to "Dimming." There is no break, and the two meld into one, as lovers entwined slip silently into one another’s spirits as in dreams.<br /><br />Although I do not know the source and purpose of this tune, "Dargai" is the name of a mountain peak in Pakistan. On October 20, 1897, George Findlater, a 25-year-old piper in the British army, played as his regiment advanced an assault on the mountain. According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, "at the front of the charge Piper Findlanter was shot twice, and his pipes were partially shot away also. But he continued playing until losing consciousness." He survived, and his company won the day.<br /><br />What made Thompson select this particular ode to the musical/military tenacity of this young piper as a conclusion to this album is unclear. Perhaps it set in his mind as a metaphor of constancy, even in the face of death and disaster. Of course it is just as possible that the tune was chosen simply for its plaintive melody.<br /><br />At any event, "Dargai" eloquently serves as a beautiful coda to an album of romantic and devotional surrender. Elegantly plucked in open tuning, the simple ballad features lovely flourishes from Richard which are never showy or detract from the simplicity of the song, but rather enhance its sense of serenity.<br /><br />If "Dargai" is a recognizably English folk tune, it is also played with a slight sense of Eastern exoticism that suggests meditational devotion. In its pauses and silences, its slow forward motion, its gentle, unforced trills and ornaments, one can feel the peaceful majesty of the setting sun. "Dargai" is a fulfillment, a communion made with a self joined at peace forever with another spirit.<br /><br />Even in the unheralded world of Richard Thompson, <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> stands alone as a shimmering, beautiful, unknown masterpiece. Those canny enough to know and love <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> and <em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> need desperately to add this stark, mystical vision to their music collection today.<br /><br /><strong><em>Bonus Tracks</em></strong><br />Island’s 2004 CD re-release includes a bounty of extra tracks that feature live versions of several of Pour Down Like Silver’s songs, giving them an added dimension and power.<br /><br /><strong>"Streets of Paradise"</strong> - This version goes back to the Roundhouse performance on September 7, 1975 that was featured on the Bright Lights and Hokey Pokey re-releases. Huge, stately and ominous, this is a magnificently fresh recording of this classic song, featuring the beautiful ornamentations of John Kirkpatrick, as well as one of Richard’s most impassioned vocals recorded to date.<br /><br />Revisiting this song, it has resonances that vibrate far beyond my original interpretations, and the more I listen to it, the more ambiguous it becomes. If I had not known of the Thompson’s conversion to Sufiism and heard this song afresh in the context of Richard’s previous work, it would appear to me to be wholly delusional and cynical. This is the very crux of Richard Thompson - the idealistic misanthrope caught between two worlds, the cynical and the divine. It is a dichotomy that defines the man as an artist, and it will ever remain the great source of tension within his songs that will continually drive him to produce his greatest works.<br /><br /><strong>"Night Comes In"</strong> - This live version of "Night Comes In" is most welcome, as it was originally released on the now-deleted (guitar, vocal) compilation album (1976). Clocking in at over 12 minutes, Richard pours his soul into two separate, searing, searching guitar solos that define his heart more than display his technique (though there is technique aplenty). Just an absolutely essential addition to what is already a magnificent disc. Recorded November 27, 1975 at Oxford Polytechnic.<br /><br /><strong>"Dark End of the Street"</strong> - This song, also previously available only on (guitar, vocal), was recorded live at Queen Elizabeth Hall, London, on April 25, 1975. This song of hiding adultery was written by Dan Penn and Chips Moman, which became a soul hit in 1967 for vocalist James Carr. It has been recorded many times since, notably as a country duet by Archie Campbell and Lorene Mann (and later by Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner.)<br /><br />The universality of the song is captured in this close, intimate acoustic performance, sung with great sensitive understatement by Linda, with Richard on guitar and backing vocals on the chorus, completing the picture of the love-doomed cheating duo. Magnificently haunting, the Thompsons display once again a thorough understanding of their musical sources, bringing incredible drama and pathos to this ballad. Richard’s guitar is very simple strumming, until a solo section allows him to deftly display his remarkably imaginative, versatile finger-picking style. This is a perfect place to mount this remarkable gem.<br /><br /><strong>"Beat the Retreat"</strong> - Recorded the same night and place as the previous song, this version is previously unreleased. Starkly performed solo by Richard, with just his acoustic guitar, this simple hymn for deliverance relies entirely on the soulful conviction of the singer’s shaky voice and his absolute trust that the urgings of his soul will resonate with his audience. It does, and it is the perfect way to end this expanded edition of the album.<br /><br />Unlike many other releases with bonus cuts, these do not seem tacked on after the fact, divorced from their main material. Manifestations of the same spirit that created this superb album, recorded at the same time, they are a welcome addendum that plays perfectly into the original record proper. All taken, Pour Down Like Silver in this format, is a timeless listening experience of a kind that is quite different to match anywhere, and finds Richard and Linda Thompson (temporarily, at least) in loving harmony and peace, perfectly united and reflecting the peaceful love of the rays of eternal bliss.</p>Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-68632906293812745402007-09-19T14:06:00.000-07:002007-10-24T13:48:43.125-07:00Hokey Pokey (Part 3)<strong><em>"The Sun Never Shines on the Poor"</em></strong> - This breezy, waltz-tempo ballad is reminiscent of a Brecht/Weil song, or perhaps better, Jaques Brel. Richard sings the verses, all dedicated to pictures of poverty, with Linda joining in on the choruses. It’s perhaps the least convincing song on the album, but it still offers an enjoyable pastiche. Marxian sing-a-longs are always a welcome, and the dizzying, carnival-esque acoustic guitars give this one a buoyant, exotic flavor of indeterminable ethnicity.<br /><br />Doubtless, the sentiments are correct, and the lyrics are twistingly vivid in a Dickensian way ("The urchins are writhing around in the mud/Like eels playing tag in a barrel"). "Ting-a-ling," goes the chorus, giving this dance of poverty the sense of eternality that its subject deserves.<br /><br /><strong><em>"A Heart Needs a Home"</em></strong> - This is Richard Thompson’s greatest song to date, and by all rights should be regarded as a classic. Had Linda Rondstadt (or some other contemporary diva) issued this tune as a single, it would have broken records (and hearts) and would be a standard in the classic-rock, folk-rock, country-rock or any-rock category - not to mention "beyond-rock," <em>a la</em> The Beatles’ "Yesterday." But certainly no version could be more effectively sung than by Linda Thompson.<br /><br />The haunting, simple melody is so incredibly unaffected, shifting from major to minor quietly, with broad pools of modal phrasings reminiscent of some of the best Joni Mitchell of the period. The instrumentation is simple, led by a harp and supporting guitars. Linda sings this in her open, unemotional, straightforward style with incredible restraint.<br /><br />The lyrics represent Richard at his best, as the song is capable of being taken straightforwardly or ironically. This is the statement of a basic human truth, and if it is rooted in self delusion or psychological dependency, well that is simply the nature of the human animal.<br /><br />The singer speaks succinctly and eloquently of her lover:<br /><br />I know the way<br />That I feel about you.<br />I’m never going to run away,<br />I’m never going to run away.<br /><br />She contrasts her current state with her loneliness before:<br /><br />I came to you<br />When no one could hear me.<br />I’m sick and weary<br />Of being alone . . .<br />The world’s no place<br />When you’re on your own.<br />A heart needs a home.<br /><br />These five words sum up so perfectly, so poetically, the core of why people all over the earth suffer such ravaging relationships and suffer such pain from one another. We are born with an inward yearning to share, and the loneliness of isolation makes any love match preferable to loneliness. Even the singer concedes:<br /><br />Some people say<br />That I should forget you.<br />I’m never going to be a fool,<br />I’m never going to be a fool.<br />A better life they say,<br />If I’d never met you.<br />I’m never going to be a fool . . .<br /><br />Clearly, there must be some obvious problems here. Her friends are urging her to get out of what clearly appears to them some self-destructive relationship. The singer is not going to listen. To leave would to "be a fool."<br /><br />Being a "fool" here is ambiguous. Would it be foolish for her to leave because she knows in her heart that this is the right relationship for her? Or is it because of fear of being alone - that anything is better than that?<br /><br />Obviously, she has experienced the alternatives and knows better than to be looking out among the crowd. She clearly does not trust the world:<br /><br />Tongues talk fire and<br />Eyes cry rivers,<br />Indian givers,<br />Hearts of stone."<br /><br />No matter what else can be said about her love, she is safe from fear and loneliness. He has constancy, and whatever else, his devotion gives her strength.<br /><br />What makes the song so powerful, of course, is what it does not say, but only implies. We can imagine the best to worst about her lover and their relationship - it could be anything from simply dull to emotionally and physically dangerous. We simply do not know. And this is what makes the song all the more poignant - no matter what the situation, the basic human condition remains unchanged.<br /><br />"A Heart Needs a Home" can be seen and sung as a simple love song. It could simply reflect a matter of heart, a conquest of substance over style. Her lover could really be the ideal. What does it matter what her friends say? Surely they could be wrong, could they not? This could be interpreted as humility in the face of true love, validating constancy as a supreme value.<br /><br />Or it could be another nightmare, another delusional hell. We cannot know from the text of the song itself. What does remain constant, however, is the universality of the condition of dependency, no matter how happy or sad the ultimate outcome.<br /><br />This is an absolutely beautiful song - a masterpiece that should be as widely known as any love song from the pop era.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard & Linda Thompson - "A Heart Needs a Home"</em></strong><br /><p><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=5upiUrUw0Jk">http://youtube.com/watch?v=5upiUrUw0Jk</a></p><p><br /><strong><em>"A Mole in a Hole"</em></strong> - <em>Hokey Pokey</em> closes with a breezy version of this Sam Waterson song, leader of the 1960s British folk group, the Watersons. Its title and sentiment seems to hearken back to an old song by the legendary "Minstrel of the Appelations," Bascom Lamar Lunsford, whose "I Wish I Was a Mole in the Ground" (compiled in Harry Smith’s classic anthology, Anthology of American Folk Music. I point out the Lunsford song because of Greil Marcus’ analysis of it as a confounding, nihilistic classic.<br /><br />(There is possibly a relationship to another song by a 1950s-era British folk group, "I Am a Mole and I Live in a Hole," but I am not sure of this. It’s funny how this "mole" theme gets around, though.)<br /><br />In true Thompson fashion, it contradicts the previous song, by demanding freedom, albeit of a strange kind. Sung by Linda, the self-proclaimed "refugee," with a kind of liberating (yet still ironic) glee, she happily annunciates her humble desires:<br /><br />‘Wanna be a mole in a hole,<br />Diggin’ low and slow,<br />‘Wanna be a fly flying high in the sky.<br /><br />The singer has lost her only friend to Jesus, and she has no interest in following. Another had such wisdom that he is now dead. Isolation, in a naturalistic setting, is the only thing that’s going to suit her, and she does not exhibit any despair.<br /><br />In a sense, the song is no more than convincing in its sentiments than Thompson’s own declaration of independence, "When I Get to the Border," which kicked off I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight. Both songs are the [word] imaginings of would-be refugees, hopelessly seeking a way out of the whole mess we call life.<br /><br />"A Mole in a Whole" is infectiously fun, however, despite (or perhaps because) of its ironies, and is delivered with gusto in a ‘round-the-campfire style that balances the opening song and is a fitting way to conclude the whole of <em>Hokey Pokey</em> itself.<br /><br /><strong><em>BONUS TRACKS</em></strong><br /><strong><em>"Wishing"</em></strong> - The first of five bonus cuts on the Island (British) re-release of Hokey Pokey is a BBC recording for the John Peel show in February 1975. I had always thought that these BBC recordings were done "live" in the studio, but this cut is obviously a studio recording, as evidenced by Linda’s double-tracked vocal.<br /><br />"Wishing" is an absolutely gorgeous Buddy Holly song with which I was previously unfamiliar. Thank goodness it’s preserved here, in the Thompson’s rendition, which is both joyous and wistful. The band settles into the groove and lets Holly’s transcendence carry the day, with Linda’s open, heartfelt vocal. Richard takes a minimalist Holly-respectful solo with just a hint of his sliding acrobatics as a signature.<br /><br />I can’t help but think again how much this sounds like some big contemporary acts - particularly here like Fleetwood Mac. I’ve got to stop asking why the Thompsons weren’t famous. God, this is gorgeous, though.<br /><br /><strong><em>"I’m Turning Off a Memory"</em></strong> - Another BBC recording from the same date, here Linda Takes on the cruel honky-tonk blues of Merle Haggard, and she pulls it off effortlessly. Here, she feels much more comfortable with delivering country nuances (though there are a few Brit-folk mannerisms thrown in for charming effect) than she did with "Together Again," and the emotional commitment is pure and affecting.<br /><br />What a voice! It’s wonderful to have these recordings, not only for themselves, but to hear some of the deep-felt sources of the Thompson’s emotionally charged material.<br /><br /><strong><em>"A Heart Needs a Home"</em></strong> - The last of the three BBC recordings here, coming off the heels of the first two, demonstrate aptly Richard Thompson’s debt to American music, and country music in particular, for both its form and depth. What can we say about this song that we haven’t before? Sheer perfection.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Hokey Pokey"</em></strong> - This roadhouse-raucous version of "Hokey Pokey" was recorded at the Roundhouse, London, September 7, 1975. Let’s just say that it kicks ass, with the band chomping in a hip-swaggering form that "nasties up" the original. Richard’s sly and raunchy solos interweave with Linda’s verses for some real fun. No question what this one’s about here.<br /><br /><strong><em>"It’ll Be Me"</em></strong> - This has always been one of my favorite old rockers. Written by producer/engineer Jack Clement for Jerry Lee Lewis, it has an insanely obsessive style that the Thompsons take on at a less frantic pace than the Killer, but with just as much unbridled enthusiasm. (Oddly, the sound of this one is reminiscent of the way that John Doe and Exene Cervenka would recast oldies and project them into the contemporary punk of the early 1980s - a process that is no way a copy of Richard & Linda, but more an observation that like experiments can produce like results.) Richard sounds just as crazy singing these words as his own, and his guitar solos, while not reaching the heights they later would, wrap barbed-wire riffs around every turn.<br /><br />The band is the perfect R&L band: John Fitzpatrick (accordian), Dave Pegg (bass), Dave Mattocks (drums). Oh, to have been so lucky to see this group in a club back in 1975! Who would have guessed that the material in their songbook would reach so deep and make so many connections with their original material? These are great add-ons that produce a more rounded picture.<br /><br />Altogether, the duo’s follow-up to <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> does not match the fearsome intensity of that debut - and that’s a good thing. The Thompsons stretch out more here, cover more musical and emotional territory, and more importantly, begin to sound like a genuine, singular unit of expression. While Light had the great songs, along with the primal shock of revelation, it still felt a bit cobbled together - You’re my wife, you’re a singer, I’m a writer, let’s work together. Here, Richard and Linda Thompson seem to merge together, two voices with one vision - or better, one voice with two tonal ranges. It’s a good name for a marvelous album by two people in the prime of their lives. Richard and Linda play <em>Hokey Pokey</em> together all through the record - and will continue to do so down to the bitter end.</p>Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-1778921930426024572007-08-21T13:26:00.000-07:002007-10-24T13:13:53.904-07:00I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight (Part 2)<strong><em>"Down Where the Drunkards Roll"</em></strong> - The implicit theme of "Bright Lights" is carried over and made explicit here in this soft ballad sung by Linda. In sensibility, it seems somewhat repetitive and obvious after the triumphant irony of the previous song, but in listening, its simple, sad plaintiveness is an elegiac contrast and a sombre meditation, fit perfectly to close side one of the album. Linda’s vocals are once again, remote, distant and unjudgemntal. The sole accompaniment is acoustic guitar and a quiet Fender Rhodes piano. The lyrics tell make their point easily, without constraint:<br /><br />You can be a gambler<br />Who never drew a hand.<br />You can be a sailor<br />Who never left dry land.<br />You can be Lord Jesus,<br />All the world will understand -<br />Down where the drunkards roll,<br />Down where the drunkards roll.<br /><br />The theme of replacement or delusion for that which is unattainable in life is spoken once again, softly and with a curious kind of acceptful grace.<br /><br /><strong><em>Video - Richard Thompson performing "Down Where the Drunkards Roll"</em></strong><br /><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=arqRV1RWXGI">http://youtube.com/watch?v=arqRV1RWXGI</a><br /><br /><strong><em>"We Sing Hallelujah"</em></strong> - Side two kicks off with this stately, sarcastic hymn about the miserable state of mankind. Sung by Richard in a voice not quite so raw as his Henry the Human Fly persona, it makes a kind of cheery, celebratory mockery that would be suitable to that album. Linda, among others, join in on the sarcastic, bible-thumping chorus:<br /><br />And we sing hallelujah<br />At the turning of the year,<br />And we work all day in the old-fashioned way<br />‘Till the shining star appears.<br /><br />A kind of kindred to "Down Where the Drunkards Roll," the song really does not advance any new ground in terms of epiphanous discovery. Largely speaking, these two songs together, are weaker than the other songs on the album, serving largely as book-ending placeholders in the center of the record as such. However, they are enjoyably misanthropic, providing the similarly dispossessed listener with communal sing-a-longs for communion with his fellow sufferers.<br />There is a special, formal kind of quality to "Hallelujah," similar to the joyfully cathartic Irish drinking songs that seem to banish despair by celebrating it. ("Always remember the longer you live,/the sooner you’ll bloody well die" comes immediately to mind.) The interesting question posed by such songs in this context is whether they fulfill their traditional function of "mastery by mocking" of such deep existential fears, or rather - are they doubly ironic in themselves? In the light of the sheer bleakness of what has come before on this album ("The Cavalry Cross," "Withered and Died," "Bright Lights"), and what is to come, can the artificial mirth be really taken seriously?<br /><br />The real question for such a song as "Hallelujah" in the context of such a deeply unsettling album as <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> is whether it is itself a kind of decoy, a subtle psychological attack on the morbid humor that humans use to get by in the everyday world? Is it rather not, a "set-up" - a chance for the listener to build his or her defenses up before savagely, ruthlessly knocking them back down again?<br /><br />I cannot know if Richard Thompson was thinking in terms such as these when he laid these tracks down, but as the album proceeds, the complete structure of the album, as well as its individual songs, seems so carefully, so artfully constructed, that it is difficult not to suspect ironic, even demonic motives here.<br /><br />In his subsequent work, especially in his solo career, Thompson will constantly utilize dark humor as an essential ingredient of his craft. The point will always be able to be called into question whether these jokes do not indeed have two edges, and the truth is that what we are laughing at is precisely what will doom us without our actually suspecting it.<br /><br />This cuts straight to the heart of Thompson’s art. He is a mordant human being, yes. He is a funny human being as well. In juxtaposing those perspectives, does he grant us the tools for dealing with life’s insurmountable problems, or is he masochistically taunting us with weapons that will eventually prove of no force? Are we, quote, "laughing ourselves right into hell?" That is a question that becomes increasingly difficult to disentangle. My suspicion is that whenever Thompson makes us pose this question, he is simultaneously posing it to himself.<br /><br />This is not the time for any grand conclusions or summations, but it is becoming apparent that at least part of Richard Thompson’s artistic programme is to develop possible strategies for escaping the inescapable. If humor works, well, he’ll try humor. If the proper therapeutic seems to call for "reality immersion," or a complete confrontation with horror, he will try that as well. We can’t call him truly fearless, because the basic problem remains how to escape the inescapable. What makes him heroic is his willingness to face the problems head on, without distorting or minimizing them. What makes him a great artist is his unwillingness to abandon the search out - even if the only way is simple acceptance.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-1895836727562447402007-10-17T12:38:00.000-07:002007-10-17T12:49:35.916-07:00Back From the RetreatAfter nearly three years of religious sabbatical, Richard and Linda Thompson returned to the recording studio, having signed a deal with the Chrysalis label (of Jethro Tull fame), and completed two albums: <em>First Light </em>(1978) and <em>Sunnyvista</em> (1979). Unlike the first three albums from the duet, these releases got decidedly more mixed reviews. Unfortunately, neither of them are available for appraisal today. Hopefully, sometime in the near future, someone will make the decision to re-release these albums. Not only will we then be able to fill in some essential knowledge about the duo’s late-’70s, pre-<em>Shoot Out the Lights</em> work, but we may also find ample space for re-appraisal of this material.<br /><br /><strong>Richard & Linda Thompson: <em>First Light </em>[October 1978]</strong><br />According to the article in Wikipedia, First Light “is dominated by spiritual songs, some of them direct translations of Sufi and Koranic texts.”<br /><br />The only song I possess from the album is called “Strange Affair,” and it appears on the 1993 Richard Thompson box set collection, <em>Watching the Dark</em>. Naturally, I can’t reconstruct an album from one song, but at least we have something here.<br /><br /><em><strong>“Strange Affair” - </strong></em>This is a slow, brooding ballad sung by Linda. It is a portrait of an old person, looking about to find her family and friends gone, her youthful dreams dissipated, now cast adrift, alone. The unstated religious implication is lack of focus on the divine has left all transient things slip by, with nothing constant to cling to. It is a portrait of a life lived in the absence of God.<br /><br />The singer asks:<br /><br />And what do sleepers do make them listen,<br />Why do they need more proof?<br /><br />Well, why indeed? Without a center, life can indeed seem to be a long series of fleeting good times, all succeeded by loss, and eventually capped by death. The absence of the assertion of what is missing makes the song more potent and universal than if it preached of any specific answer.<br /><br />This is a lovely song, nicely textured, and Linda sings it with great sensitivity. The impression is given that most of the album is given over to soft, spiritual ponderings.<br /><br /><strong>Richard & Linda Thompson: <em>Sunnyvista </em>[October 1979]</strong><br /><br />States Wikipedia:<br /><br />“<em>Sunnyvista </em>is a curate’s egg of an album in terms of its mood. Stylistically it covers wide ground and includes some of Thompson’s most overtly rocking songs - possibly reflecting pressure from the record company to deliver a big-selling album.”<br /><br />As with <em>First Light</em>, the <em>Watching the Dark </em>collection contains only one song from <em>Sunnyvista</em>:<br /><br /><em><strong>“Borrowed Time” - </strong></em>This one is a paranoid rocker in a minor key that uses outlaw imagery to express a sense of persecution for freedom:<br /><br />They hunt you down ‘cos you dare to tell the truth,<br />A man ain’t safe today under his own roof.<br />But you can’t live your life under no man’s thumb,<br />They’ll all pay double for what they’ve done,<br />Our day’s coming but their day’s come.<br />Living on borrowed time.<br /><br />It’s not a <em>great </em>song, perhaps, but it does have some interest and excitement, and Richard plays lots of stinging electric guitar.<br /><br />The overall impression is that this is one stylistic example of a very eclectically fashioned record.<br /><br />Both of these albums need to be heard, and it is a pity that no one is currently printing or distributing them. It does a great disservice to the Thompson’s fans and anyone interested in RT’s development. Hopefully, this is a situation that will be rectified soon.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-89457150363945972832007-10-16T13:58:00.000-07:002007-10-16T14:06:30.559-07:00InerregnumAfter 1975, Richard and Linda Thompson more or less withdrew from the music world, moving into a Sufi commune in East Anglia, England. If that had been the end of the pair’s musical career, they had already left a most impressive legacy. Richard’s first album, <em>Henry the Human Fly</em> had introduced an important new songwriting voice and method of composition. Then, joining together with his new wife, Linda, they proceeded to make three of the most striking, distinctive albums of the 1970s. <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em>, <em>Hokey Pokey</em>, and <em>Pour Down Like Silver</em> may not have seen much in the way of sales (and were practically invisible in the U.S.), but this trio of albums left an extraordinary legacy that would be hard to be matched by any of their contemporaries in such a short frame of time. Had neither recorded ever again, it is fascinating to muse upon what the effect (if any) of later rediscovery of this body of work would have affected upon the music world.<br /><br />Of course, there might never have been any impact at all. Aside from the likelihood of the albums simply being deleted into obscurity, any picking up from adventurous musicians to affect later musical directions is impossible to say. As things stand, it is remarkably difficult to assess the duo’s impact as it stands, as well as Richard Thompson’s in general, chiefly due to the still-relative obscurity of Thompson in general. Presumably, he has had impact on such post-punk/Brit-folk rockers as the Pogues, as well as direct effects on other, more traditionalist folk artists in Britain.<br /><br />It is in the realm of folk/pop composition in general that it is especially difficult to gauge influence. Writer/performers of great renown, such as Joni Mitchell, Neil Young and Van Morrison have been known admirers, if not directly influenced. Musicians in the wide and varied folk environments have no doubt been influenced the most, as have countless so-called "alternative rock" groups. But no one has come along to follow identifiably in the complex paradigm that Thompson has sketched out over his long career.<br /><br />Of course, we will be looking at Richard Thompson’s subsequent career in great detail, but it behoves us here to take a closer look at the influence and impact of Linda Thompson, both as an individual, as well as contributor to the duo.<br /><br />It is obviously too easy to dismiss Linda as merely a mouthpiece for Richard’s songwriting. Although she wrote no material of her own - as to this point - there is no question that Linda’s vocalizations were not only absolutely beautiful on their own, but altered and augmented Richard’s songs to such a degree that the effect upon them is incalculable. And to the degree that she inspired, suggested, or gave uncredited assistance or suggestions, this will never be known.<br /><br />Songs as diverse and beautiful as "Withered and Died," "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight," "The Great Valerio," "Never Again," "A Heart Needs a Home," "For Shame of Doing Wrong," and "Dimming of the Day" are simply unimaginable without the depth of interpretation that Linda’s magnificent interpretation lends to them. They remain great songs, of course, without her, and Richard has continued to sing many of them. But they in no way carry the deep emotional resonance that is carried, not only by her stunningly beautiful voice, but by her superbly insightful penetration into the meanings of the songs.<br /><br />Linda Thompson has proven, and remains, one of the great female interpreters of song of her age. And as for her mastery of the Richard Thompson song, she simply has no peer. Her tonality and delivery, her precise and intricate balance of emotional tenor and conceptual, psychological perception, gives these songs layers of resonances of meaning that no one else could have mined, and when she sings them, she imbues them with a life that is all her own.<br /><br />Of course, being married to Richard Thompson put her in a remarkably unique perspective into his songs, and there is no question but a spouse can see multiple meanings in their partner’s statements, whether musical or not, that none, not even he, might suspect were there. In just that sense alone, Linda’s presence on these records are remarkably inseparable from their greatness.<br /><br />Considered as a duo, however, Richard and Linda Thompson prove a bit more problematic to interpret. Yes, we have the obvious contrast, not only between the female and male voice, but between the sublimely shaped, traditionally "beautiful," and the rough, course, direct-to-the-bone delivery of someone who is not naturally a singer. This is not to say that Richard is not a good singer - he is, indeed a truly great singer, but in an entirely different mode - closer to the rough-hewn voices of backwoods folk howling (whether of Celtic or Zydeco origin) that had been pioneered in pop by Bob Dylan.<br /><br />It is in the blend and alternation of these two voices that gives the duo’s albums so much of their variety and depth. But can one identify a specific character that comes from the mixing of these two personalities into a distinct unit that transcends the admixture of two individuals? In other words, is there a group identity to Richard and Linda Thompson that fully distinguishes them from Thompson alone (as the group identity of The Beatles transcends the individuals in the group?)<br /><br />I find this a very difficult question to answer, particularly to this group of albums. There seems to me a very limited sense in which Richard and Linda are greater than the sum of the two, creating a new, larger identity. They contrast and complement each other beautifully, but in essence, despite the power that her voice and character brings to the songs, she seems to me to be more an element of expression for Richard than in providing any sort of dialectic that creates a greater synthesis.<br /><br />This will decidedly change on their last album together, although even there, as we shall see, the problem of perception tends to muddle and confuse their relationship between one two the other. Here, we find in the duo more of a complementary collaboration of unequal parts - similar, say to Simon & Garfunkel, but with its own unique dynamic.<br /><br /><br /><strong>COLLECTIONS</strong><br /><strong><br />Richard Thompson: <em>(guitar, vocal)</em> [May 1976]<br /><br /></strong>To fill in the gap left by the Thompson’s semi-retirement, Island released this compilation of live recordings and alternate takes, from the Fairport Convention days up to live recordings from 1975. A number of these tracks have shown up as bonus tracks, including several live cuts, on the Island re-issues of the original albums. There are also two new recordings (live, presumably Richard on acoustic guitar) from 1976. Since many of the most interesting tracks are readily available, the deletion of this collection from Thompson’s back catalogue is not catastrophic, but it would be pleasant for completists like myself to listen to this as a kind of back-door summation of odds and ends.<br /></strong><br /><strong>Richard Thompson: <em>Live! (more or less)</em> [1976]</strong><br /><br />This U.S.A.-only release is a double album, the first record of which consists of the entirety of <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em>. The second record is a selection of cuts from the U.K. compilation, <em>(guitar, vocal) </em>above. I wonder how many people bought this or heard it as their first RT experience? Probably not many. It is thoughtfully deleted today.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-80019652009104976022007-09-12T14:14:00.000-07:002007-09-12T14:18:23.683-07:00Hokey Pokey (Part 2)<strong><em>"The Egypt Room" -</em></strong> This charming little grotesquerie is the kind of seedy portraiture that Thompson would come to excel at. The scene is a quasi-exotic nightclub full of romantic dreamers and a "princess" who dances with a majestically alluring style. Of course, it’s actually a seedy little strip club, probably with some Egyptian motif in its shabby decor.<br /><br />The song is mockingly mysterious and brooding, led by faux-Egyptian modalities played on electric guitar and accordion. You can just imagine the "princess" undergoing her undulations in in a pathetic parody of Oriental ritual.<br /><br />Richard sings with an air of both desire and sarcasm. As pitiful as this portrait is, it’s impossible not to be empathetic to the denizens of this bizarre little bazaar, as it seems that this is the only enchantment that life has left to them.<br /><br />There are wonderful, brief descriptions of characters here (Hobnail Kelly and the Beefcake Kid, the "man in the cane with Italian shoes"), but it’s clearly the dancer who is the center of activity and attraction. How does she view herself? Do her erotic writhings that cause such excitement in the customers give her a sense of self, of identity? And if all this this tawdry make believe is unseemly, Thompson leaves his judgement totally ambivalent in the gorgeous repeated refrain of "Don’t be late." If this is the promise of a kind of paradise for some, well what of it?<br /><br />I hope he’s not just being a bald-faced mocker here. If Thompson’s point is, as so often, the difficulty of authentic human feelings and relationships, we can find that for sure down at the Egypt Room. I hope he’s not pretending that these low-end delusionalists are any more sad than anything you would find in a more refined setting. And judging from the rest of his output, he’s not.<br /><br />The song sounds fabulous, though - the music mocks the cheesy pretensions of exoticism, while adding a genuine sense of wondrous allure. Priceless.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Never Again"</em></strong> - This is an absolutely beautiful, simple acoustic ballad, in the traditional British style, sung with great sadness, focus and control by Linda. The lyrics seem to suggest a kind of wistful questioning for the abiding of love and joy. The answer is connected to the final verse, which looks at the conditions of old age:<br /><br />Old man how you tarry, old man how you weep,<br />The trinkets you carry and the garlands you keep.<br />For the salt tears of lovers and the whispers of friends<br />Come never, O never, O never again.<br /><br />This bittersweet peon to ephemerality is short and sounds heartbreakingly real. It closes the first side of the album with a sombre, restless note.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Georgie on a Spree" -</em></strong> Side two opens in high spirits again, as Linda sings this exuberant little confection with girlish glee. In a kind of cross between a music hall number and country & western song, the narrator tells of her seemingly perfect relationship with the well-to-do, well-heeled "Georgie." The kind of extravagant time that Georgie provides is certainly enough to turn any young lady’s addled head:<br /><br />When Georgie’s on a spree<br />All the girls are jealous of me.<br />‘Cause I’m the one he spends his money on,<br />We spend it, one, two three.<br />Driving in his Chevrolet,<br />I’m perfect company.<br />He’s the king and I’m his queen<br />When Georgie’s on a spree.<br /><br />This is a nice counter-balance to "The Egypt Room," where we have lovely imagery of the rich and facile. With the warning of "Never Again" still echoing in our heads, we watch this girl carelessly entranced by being used by this rich boy. Of course, it’s good - and it’s good enough for her. We simply know that such things have no stability or permanence, and cannot last. Georgie leaves her, but promises to return. Of course he won’t - why would he? We experience the song as the prelude to a long adulthood of loneliness and disappointment.<br />Yet at the same time, who would deny her this fun? And which one of us wouldn’t welcome it for ourselves, in one form or another?<br /><br /><strong><em>"Old Man Inside a Young Man" -</em></strong> It’s Richard’s turn again, and here we get the flip side of "Georgie on a Spree." This ponderous lament by one Billy could very well come from "Georgie" after a couple of spree-filled years. It speaks of the cultural imperative for youth to grab everything all at once. Now, with all pleasure spent, the young man is bored and tired to death of life:<br /><br />I’m an old man inside a young man,<br />You’ve got to take it while you can.<br />I’m just an old man inside a young man,<br />Take a heart and break it while you can.<br /><br />This motto has brought about his early rot. Using up life, using women, using sensations - never establishing meaningful relations or endeavors, he has, in essence, used himself up:<br /><br />There’s not one thing on earth<br />That I’m not through with.<br />What can I do with<br />The rest of my life?<br /><br />And he fears the rest of his life may be short. His wealth has brought to him a sense of paranoia that he’s being followed by would-be killers who are after his "fancy clothes." So he deigns this empty life to a close, but is always on the run, always on the escape from himself.<br /><br />Oddly, the "old man" of Billy’s vision brings nothing with him of the wisdom of age. For wisdom requires waiting, persistence and sacrifice. His view of age is, therefore distorted. He is a casualty of easy success and the cultural imperative to grab. He is a walking ghost, and he fades away down the street as the song fades out.<br /><br />Musically, and in its movement, this song is once again reminiscent of <em>Harvest</em>-era Neil Young, but with Thompson’s unique British tonalities. The song moves in slow, ominous steps, and Richard delivers a short but blistering electric guitar solo to underscore the sense of epic tragedy that this song both suggests and parodies.<br /><br />Unquestionably, this is one of the best songs on an album that is rapidly filling with colorful, memorable and deeply felt moments.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-71574249924838277702007-09-11T16:28:00.000-07:002007-09-11T17:11:14.911-07:00Hokey Pokey (Part 1)<strong><em>Richard and Linda Thompson: Hokey Pokey</em></strong> [April 1975]<br /><br />While not an about face, the pair’s follow-up to Bright Lights is a quite different album, both in sound and tone. While keeping to the basics of British folk-rock, for the most part, the Thompsons bring in a larger palette of textures and attitudes. Hokey Pokey is not so grim and awe-imposing as I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight, and it is obvious from the start that this is quite intentional. Though not lacking in depth, the album largely takes a lighter approach, and the sound is generally more pop oriented - in a good way - than anything Thompson has done before.<br /><br />This is not to suggest in the slightest that Hokey Pokey is in any way a commercial retreat or a sell-out - all the ironies remain intact. But this is a more welcoming, come-hither approach that invites the listener in to explore the multi-faceted perspectives and textures of Richard Thompson’s twisted world.<br /><br />Released in the mid-seventies atmosphere of such zillion-selling artists as the new Fleetwood Mac, one cannot help noticing certain similarities of sound and approach, and wonder why the hell Warner Brothers (their American distributor, as well as Mac’s) did not push the Thompsons harder. Many of these songs would not be out of place at all on car radios of the mid-1970s, their oddities notwithstanding. But oddities were still tolerated (as Joni Mitchell and Randy Newman attest), and sometimes even prized. Sometimes I wish that the Thompsons had made it truly big on the charts during these years - if for no other reason than that I would not have to attempt to explain to everyone I meet just who Richard Thompson is before going on to describe or discuss aspects of his work.<br /><br />Of course, if the duo had enjoyed massive commercial success, any subsequent history (and therefore output) would inevitably have been quite different. Not that it would have been necessarily inferior, but the experience of discovery - for both artist and audience - would have been one of a radically different dynamic. For cultic artists, their message always seems to their initiates to be of more valuable and honest coin than the big stars of the airwaves, with whom they serve as an ongoing contrast and dialectic. One feels more personally bound to one’s private heroes in many ways.<br /><br />Nevertheless, part of the fascination, for me at least, of listening to Hokey Pokey is in imagining what it might have been like if such singular, beautiful art had merged with the commercial machine at such a propitious moment in history. How would the world be different? Or would it?<br /><br /><strong><em>"Hokey Pokey (The Ice Cream Song)" -</em></strong> The song begins teasingly with a repeating little fiddle figure that tricks us into thinking we’re about to get some Fairport-esqe excursion, which is blown away quickly by the churning back and forth of the electric guitars, bass and drums. "Hokey Pokey" is a child-like rocker that Linda sings with a true visceral glee. After each couple of verses, Richard enters with his hard electric guitar solo, adding increasingly ironic commentary (and wizardry). Now this should have been a hit.<br /><br />It’s nice to hear some humor reappearing in Thompson’s songs, and the inclusion of this song at the beginning of the album (not to mention as the title of the record itself) sets a strong, upbeat mood that will be held, more or less, throughout the disc. That is not to say that the song is bereft of the trademark Thompson "doom and gloom," as the sarcastic nature of the lyrics walk a neat knife’s edge between celebration and condemnation.<br /><br />For hokey-pokey, the "ice cream" of childhood metamorphoses as its verses unfold into the joys of sex. The contrasting parallelism between the childhood love of a treat and the adult’s equivalent pleasure can be taken in manifold ways. Does the treatment of sex as purely a pleasure device devalue it or the individual? The song is ruthlessly non committal on this question. As the images unfold, however, the oddity of the sexual context increases: a prisoner’s sexual fantasies help to keep him alive, a gangster is threatened with death, which is equated with the end of sex. And finally, we are presented with the image of what must be the contemporaneous "glam rockers" of Britain, all tarted up in an alleyway, completely engulfed by their obsessions.<br /><br />The fun feeling never leaves the song, however, which is brilliant in its simple construction and genuine sense of enthusiasm. Is "Hokey Pokey" a song of "guilty pleasure" only? Does it justify man (and woman’s) sexual nature? Or is it taking a "poke" at such activity as banal, childish and trivializing?<br /><br />But as the song admits:<br /><br />Everybody runs for hokey pokey,<br />It’s the natural thing to do.<br /><br />Sex, however you wish to look at it, is a part of human nature and an inescapable fact of life. The true feeling of the song seems to me to be a humorous acknowledgement of that fact, as well as the inevitability that it will take many forms. I don’t really see the song as disapproving of sexuality - except insofar as taken by itself that it manifests itself into fetishes and patterns of life that may be seen as inauthentic. But ultimately, this is not a harsh song. "Hokey Pokey" seems more generous than many of Thompson’s songs in this regard - it’s partly celebration, partly satire. And it’s object is you, me, him, and her - all of us. We can’t resist the allure of sex any more than a kid can resist ice cream.<br /><br />And once again, Linda’s delivery is absolutely delicious.<br /><br /><strong><em>"I’ll Regret It All in the Morning" -</em></strong> If there’s any question at all about Thompson’s misanthropic, fatalistic point of view, however, it’s quickly dissolved by this weary acoustic ballad, in which he sings of the need for quite a bit of whisky to get him through the night with his lover. Bitterness and self loathing flow everywhere in what is genuinely a lovely, though doom-laden song.<br /><br />If this is a sub-species of "hokey pokey," it is a particularly pathetic one. The narrator does not explain why he remains entangled with this woman, but there is a tangible sense of entrapment. Perhaps he has married her, perhaps they even have children - and he’s stuck in his unhappy situation. But there are no outside references to the narrator’s prison, and they seem to be voluntarily imposed. In a way, the song seems more a sequel to "Cavalry Cross" than the opening number. Something within her keeps something within him self crucified - and that condition is somehow part of human nature as well as desire.<br /><br />I’ll regret it in the morning<br />When I see your smiling face -<br />I’d rather be any place but here.<br /><br />Thompson cleverly, devilishly, inverts cliches and plays joyously with language, but once again his protagonist is in a self-constructed hell.<br /><br />Usually thought of, the phrase "I’ll regret it in the morning" implies that one might do something under the influence of drink - sexual or otherwise - that one would ordinarily not have done, usually with a stranger or an acquaintance that one wishes to keep at a certain distance. Here, drinking is just the medicine required to keep an already established - and unwanted - relationship intact. That the situation seems beyond the singer’s control is much more pathetic than any single, impudent act of self indulgence could ever be.<br /><br /><strong><em>"Smiffy’s Glass Eye"</em></strong> - This oddball tale is reminiscent of one of the more vaudevillian songs of the Kinks or perhaps even the Who - in fact it’s more reminiscent of a John Entwistle song than any I’ve perhaps ever heard. The story is of a boy whose eye is knocked out by a schoolmate’s slingshot, and his subsequent replacement eye causes him to be the constant object of derision.<br /><br />The song is sung blankly by Linda in a lower register, with double tracking. There is a conspicuous lack of emotion, which of course she does well, and the folksy setting of what is basically an English music hall type of construction, makes the whole affair totally lacking in sentiment. The playful nature of the melody and accompaniment implies a joke, but it’s hard to be unmoved at Smiffy’s plight - his life is actually ruined, and he will never know a normal life or experience love.<br /><br />The song ends in absolute disaster:<br />Nobody cried when his world fell apart<br />And poor Smiffy died of a broken heart.<br />You have to turn a blind eye to that sort of thing,<br />Smiffy with his glass eye glittering.<br /><br />The pun cruelly distances the singer from the subject, and this jaunty little ditty has become a true nightmare. Of course the tragic aspect of the song is its shoddy treatment of a poor little boy, whose deformity caused a like reaction from his peers. On the other hand, in his most slyly, skilfully ironic way, Thompson confirms the point that we really have to keep emotional distance from all kinds of suffering just to maintain emotional balance. That we are equipped to do this - from childhood - with playful mockery, is not something we should feel particularly good about.<br />Once again, we see that the act of being human requires skills at inhumanity, which is yet another variation on the great large theme of the great universe of compromises required to keep us alive and functioning.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-80446216663986284622007-08-28T13:47:00.000-07:002007-09-11T17:09:09.210-07:00I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight (Part 5)Of course, this begs the question of why someone would want to produce an album of doom, paranoia and fear - even if it is a masterpiece?<br /><br />This has been, and will always remain (to one degree or another) Richard Thompson’s metier. As I have mentioned before, humor is also crucial to his work. Thompson remains good natured about his melancholy, and jokes about it - his special compilations for his fan clubs he has called <em>Doom and Gloom from the Tomb</em>.<br /><br />One can always speculate about Thompson’s character and biography. This is always a tricky business with a creative writer in any idiom. Reviews about Thompson often trickle into his personal life - his loss of his young lover in the tragic Fairport van wreck, his later breakup with Linda, etc., all serve as fodder for personal readings of his songs. Thompson is always quick to point out that all such speculation is irrelevant rubbish, and that in his songwriting, he is always looking for a larger, more universal meaning.<br /><br />I completely buy his argument. Beginning with Fairport Convention’s transition to British folk rock, Thompson has been enamoured with traditional songs - especially ballads. That the subject-matter and tone of much of this material is "dark" is unquestionable. There seems to be a constant in folk material that retains an obsession with death, murder, broken hearts, and the elusiveness of love that suggests that they are human constants. And of course they are. Why should they not be the source of much folk music that functions as an ongoing catharsis for the common people as did the ritualized Greek tragedy of Athens?<br /><br />I belive that it is precisely in this vein that Thompson operates, where he feels the greatest sympathy for his particular muse. His debut incarnation as <em>Henry the Human Fly</em> took this perspective to a logical conclusion, where Thompson donned his mask to present a kind of universal persona. It was a brave, triumphant (though a commercial disaster) attempt at taking up a modern-day persona of the universal misanthrope/outcast who can observe the world’s tragedies more fully and completely than an active participant in society.<br /><br />Stepping forward with his next project, with his new wife Linda, he seems to have dropped the necessity for hiding his identity behind such a character. But now, who is he? It appears to me that Thompson has merely moved outward, and begun shifting his personas to adjust to individual songs. The mordant narrator of "Calvary Cross" or "The End of the Rainbow" is not to be perceived as the real Richard Thompson than Henry was. Thompson is a creative artist, and in his songs, he creates dramatic personae to express the perspective of the narrator. Here, he has added his wife Linda as another voice that has the extraordinary ability of adopting the wider range of personas he creates. Is Linda Thompson the pathetic creature of "Has He Got a Friend for Me?" I don’t believe this is the natural stance of a woman of her beauty, talent and, presumably, confidence, any more than she is the saucy, vituperative "Little Beggar Girl." The Thompsons are clearly busy at playing theatre.<br /><br />Still, why produce a nightmare album such as <em>Bright Lights</em>? Personally, I believe the world desperately needs nightmare albums. In such a context of the post-counterculture vacuum of 1974, with its inane commercial transposition of art into pure product, the one thing the record world needed most was someone to put some real horror and pain into it - if for no reason than to re-inject the sense of the real human against all the glitzy backdrop of what had become pure showbiz and saccharine idealizations.<br /><br />It is in this cultural context that punk rock would soon emerge, bringing all its furious anger and promise of apocalypse down on the smug scene of the day. It was a necessary correction of course, a cultural god-send. Here, Richard and Linda Thompson delivered that threatening message a couple of years in advance. The style was much different from what punk would be, but its essence remains just as challenging. <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> is both a masterpiece of a singular vision, come of age through the experience of one young man, born out of the broken community of the late 1960s, informed by centuries of empathy, and set squarely, almost as a weapon (as much as a warning) against the complacent mood of his more laid-back, self-satisfied contemporaries. It also stands as a fulfilled prophecy of the chaos that was to come.<br /><br />This approach - the full-fledged, muti-personaed figure of Richard Thompson as gloom-master, ironist and poet of the outrageous and dispossessed would remain constant up until the present day. This album is one of his earliest and greatest triumphs.<br /><br />The significance of the presence (and equal billing) of Linda Thompson cannot be underestimated here. The vast new panoramas of human expression that opened up for Richard’s songwriting through the addition of the perspective of the female sex is incalculable. There is a new universality in this work, filled with a teeming cosmos of possibilities heretofore unconsidered. As an influence, Linda must have served, at the very least, as a very powerful muse, driving Richard to new depths of feeling and understanding. Whatever else specifically she contributed, we cannot know, other than the effect of her stunning voice.<br /><br />For in the end, Richard and Linda Thompson, a mythical artistic continuum of two opposites, carries much more authority and power than one single voice could ever bring. It’s not just so much that there is greater contrast in sound and perspective - it is the power of the presentation of man and wife as joint presenters, partners in this bleak vision that makes it all the more scarifyingly real.<br /><br />Ultimately, what makes <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> so unsettling and yet so appealing, is that underneath all the pain and fear, one can palpably sense the love between these two people and the singularity of their mission together. The fact that they are presented as co-equals, bonded by love both personal and social, is strange kind of challenge in itself - a challenge to the listener in the context of his or her own relationships. If these two are so seemingly at one together, why is it that they each sound so desperately alone?<br /><br />This is a drama that we shall follow for the next few years. Its greatest irony is that this remarkable duo did not receive much critical and public attention until the relationship between them ruptured irretrievably. Because of this foreknowledge, it is impossible for us to view the Richard & Linda albums objectively - they seem so full of self-fulfilling prophecy. That should not be a fetish or a facile romanticization of their work. If anything, it is a challenge to the listener to (as Richard Thompson insists), to drive the biographical references out of our minds.<br />It is a mental act of attempted separation that we must undergo to listen to any Richard Thompson - and to some degree it is impossible. But active listening is part of the creative process. The dialectic between the songs and the creators/performers are part of a fuzzy blurr that is the essence of all mimetic art. How close is the mirror being held up to nature? More importantly, how much of ourselves can we see in that reflection?<br /><br /><strong>BONUS TRACKS</strong><br />The British Import version of <em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em> on the Island label (the original label on which the album was released) includes three bonus tracks - live cuts of the Richard & Linda Thompson band (featuring John Kirkpatrick, Pat Donaldson and Dave Mattacks) was recorded at The Roundhouse in London, September 7, 1975. The recording quality is extraordinarily good, and the cuts give a hungry fan a sense of what it might have been like to see this incredible duo in their glory days - particularly in a small venue. One can only call out for "more, more, more, . . ."<br /><br />"<strong><em>I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight</em></strong>" - This is a nice, raw, kick-ass version of the song, which is the way it should be. Matthews’ drums are propulsive as hell, as is Richard’s hot Strat. The magic of Kirkpatrick’s accordian swirls all around the proceedings. One really wishes for a guitar solo that will push the song further, but Linda carries the day with a tough vocal that does not sacrifice any of the pathos of the original.<br /><br />"<strong><em>Together Again</em></strong>" - "This is an old Buck Owens song that’s called "Together Again." Or Untogether Again." We finally get to hear the country & western influence on Richard Thompson directly. The attack is aggressive, huge and authentically affectionate. Linda gives it her best Patsy Cline here, but comes off sounding a bit tentative. Not so for Richard, who delivers a massive, mind-blowing solo that would have certainly got him ridden out of Nashville on a rail. (By the way, mentioning country music, what was that we were asking about why anyone would produce morose songs . . . .?)<br /><br />"<strong><em>Calvary Cross</em></strong>" - Well, this just blows the album version right out of the water. This song was made for the stage. On the studio version, Richard knows that he’s written something exceptional, and you can hear him struggling to find it, to get it down on tape. Here, live, he discovers it, almost ready-made. He sings it like he inhabits it. The spare, brutal instrumentation is direct and effective. And most importantly, the end leads to a long guitar solo that pushes the meaning of the song to a sense of non-conclusion that words will forever escape. This is our first exposure, I think, to Richard’s soloing at length. Appropriate to both the theme and the structure, he plays and repeats simple figures, leaning over them to inspect them, stuck as they are in the repetition and grind of the chords. He tries different variations, but nothing seems to evolve. Finally, at a seeming point of desperation, he launches into a massive series of running, charging notes that are seemingly fighting their way out of the song, but keep being driven back by the confining structure. He retreats, attacks another way, takes another route, attacking the borders of the repeating harmony with frightening rapidity and odd turns and twists. Although their styles differ dramatically, I can think of no other guitarists to compare this to than a kind of cross between the bleak expressionism of Neil Young with the twisted, unending logic of Frank Zappa. In other words, he sounds like no one else but Richard Thompson, and what has hitherto been somewhat subdued is made manifest: here is one of the great masters of the electric guitar - and he is <em>unleashed</em>.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-40880965766529601802007-08-27T14:19:00.000-07:002007-09-11T17:08:35.757-07:00I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight (Part 4)<strong><em>"The End of the Rainbow"</em></strong> - Alright, my first reaction to this song was, "This has just gone too far." Taking misanthropy and projecting it on a baby and claiming "There’s nothing to grow up for any more" seemed to me to unjustifiable, and just plain mean for mean’s sake. A declaration of universal suffering and nihilism for the human race is not an altogether unadmirable exercise, but unlike the other songs on the album, this one did not seem to contain any built-in paradox of specificity to point to in order to dramatize its point. A lullaby chanting the pointlessness of life to an infant seems a cheap shot, and all its points seemed unearned. The song seems to conjure misery simply for its own sake.<br /><br />I was ready to write this one off as a misfire, but after several listenings, I seem to be getting caught up in the beauty of the melody, and the melancholy of the singer (Richard) seemed so genuine, that it suddenly struck me that the source of sadness in "The End of the Rainbow" lies not in the song but with the singer. It is the narrator’s pathetic prediction of pointlessness that is the true sadness and tragedy here. This child might grow up happy, healthy and prosperous, but it is the singer himself, with his total incapacity to imagine anything but sorrow and defeat that is the real casualty here. How crushed and embittered can a man be but to predict nothing but failure for an infant? How much has the world ground him down that he cannot see anything without such a fatalistically jaundiced eye.<br /><br />I hear the song differently now. Its irony resides in Richard’s creation of the character of his singer who diverts the listener’s attention from subject matter to narrator. For this sleight of hand is done very unobtrusively and skillfully. A kinship relates to this and the narrator of "Withered and Died," but while the latter is being introspectively sorrowful, the former is projecting his utter disillusionment outward, blaming all his disappointments on the outside world.<br /><br />The effect is absolutely devastating in its sadness, in its pathos. The song is a cry from the unredeemable, the permanently damaged psyche. In the end, this song is indeed the ultimate in bleakness - but not because its observations are true. It’s absolutely hopeless because of the individual’s vision of total defeat.<br /><br />Beautifully simple and artlessly sung, "The End of the Rainbow" is perhaps this album of "doom and gloom’s" ultimate nadir of despair. And it is heartbreaking.<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>"The Great Valerio"</em></strong> -<br /><br />High up above the crowd,<br />The Great Valerio is walking.<br />The rope seems hung from cloud to cloud,<br />And time stands still while he is walking.<br />His eye is steady on the target,<br />His foot is sure upon the rope.<br />Alone and peaceful as a mountain,<br />And certain as the mountain slope.<br /><br />These words are placed together with great precision and delicate balance. Linda Thompson sings them exactly as measured and carefully as the acrobat who carefully puts one foot in front of the other, focusing in full measure to keep from falling. The melody is nearly monolodic, the movements away from the central tonic brief and rare, but in an odd modality that emphasis the vision’s strangeness and utter need for concentration.<br /><br />Right from the beginning, "The Great Valerio," the album’s final song, achieves an extraordinary blend of action and sound that are inseparable - and mesmerizing. It is Linda’s greatest triumph as a vocalist - clear, emotionless, hauntingly deep, yet hopelessly empty - the amazing resonance of her voice becomes perfect projection for the song’s images and sense of emotional fragility. Richard’s acoustic accompaniment is likewise spare and simple, seemingly forming the rope on which her voice is walking, punctuated only occasionally by single bass notes that suggest a strange sense of fatality, and inevitability.<br /><br />Fatalism itself, is the subject of the song, which by extension, the sum theme of I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight. As the metaphor of the acrobat is extended to the collective "we" of the audience - that is all of us - we move forward implacably, paradoxically knowing that even if we make it across the wire this time, who knows where we will be? The human condition does not allow for any assurance of destination, and the threat of tumbling remains a constant.<br />Yet still we move on. Why? Well, what is the alternative? This is all we can know how to do:<br />But we learn to watch together:<br /><br />And feed on what we see above,<br />‘Till our hearts turn like the seasons,<br />And we are acrobats of love.<br /><br />In relationships, as in the rest of life, we depend upon an unjustifiable sense of faith, even though we know that all around us is a void into which we may topple at any time. And if we read beyond the text, trusting in the logic of the situation (as well as the fatalism of the momentum of the music) in fact, inevitably, topple we must, past the wire of mortality.<br /><br />Linda’s wide, broad voice reflects an awed, clear-eyed vision of this reality, this certainty. But we are not Valerio. We are "watchers." It is through imitation that we hope to negotiate with his skill. But even the greatest of rope-walkers may fall, and we fall far short of "the great hero." But for all of the attention given to him, "Who will help the tightrope walker/When he tumbles to the net?" Nobody - he’s on his own.<br /><br />For in the last analysis, we can count on nobody. The Thompsons make this point crystal clear, as the final judgement is placed in Linda’s mouth, the putative voice of the observer/identifier:<br /><br />I’m your friend until you use me,<br />And then be sure I won’t be there.<br /><br />I won’t linger on any sense of prophecy in these words, as that is quite beside the point.<br />The point is in the understanding of the conditional nature of both love and life.<br /><br />As Linda’s vocal ends, the great acrobat, who finally is oneself, is left dangling all alone and Richard repeatedly picks an indeterminate guitar figure until the song fades away, bringing a breathtaking ending to this, his greatest song so far, and thus to the end of this remarkable masterpiece of an album of doom, paranoia and fear.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4760564993957586912.post-30514087751718352442007-08-22T13:27:00.000-07:002007-09-11T17:07:52.520-07:00I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight (Part 3)<strong><em>"Has He Got a Friend for Me"</em></strong> - This is another acoustic ballad, an achingly beautiful, sparse song, sung by Linda with heartbreaking control. The addition of Linda Thompson to Richard’s textural and emotional palette becomes continues to extend the remarkable range of the album. The song avoids the maudlin with careful choices of words, and Linda’s remarkable beauty and restraint make the performance utterly convincing. Lyrics like, "And nobody wants to know somebody lonely like me," put the matter of loneliness on a different level. Transcending just a mood, this is a song of negative self-definition. Of course, anyone living at this pathetic level of self-perception is going to ensure a life of loneliness. How could anyone get to this point of self-deprecation? The song does not tell us, but we know such people exist, and dwell at least partially, periodically within all (or rather most) of us.<br /><br />The sad refrain of the title offers no hope. For if there was a "friend" for her, she would almost certainly doom any potential for a relationship by her self-negativity. Also, what would amount to a "pity date" would undoubtedly lower her self-esteem even further. Besides, her romanticization of her friend’s boyfriend displays the true level of her desire and secret expectation. Her misery becomes, in essence, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Once again, there is no way out.<br /><br />Beautiful melody, beautiful execution - and once again another perfect portrait of hell.<br /><br /><strong><em>"The Little Beggar Girl"</em></strong> - This reeling, sarcastic portraiture is one of the great highlights of the album. Here, it is Linda, uncharacteristically adopting a "Human Fly" perspective and singing in the broad, lower-class English dialect that Richard had adopted for his previous album. This caricature gives the Thompson’s not only a wider wider range for the album, but a larger gallery of perspectives that deepen and enrich the vision.<br /><br />What’s so fabulous about the track is the effulgence of the singing, and thus the character of the "poor little beggar girl." Her joy and satisfaction may be delusional, but her spirits burst with energy (and spite) that gives real bite to the song. "I’ll dance with my peg leg a-wiggling at the knee" may be a pathetic image, but from her perspective, she’s not nearly as miserable a sight as the spectator - ahem, make that the listener - from whose guilt she earns her living.<br /><br />The little girl is quite conscious of this: "’Cause I love taking money off a snob like you," is the way she sums it up. The absence of self-pity from such a "pitiable" creature is a wonderful contrast with the obsessed singer of "Has He Got a Friend for Me."<br /><br />This is one of Linda Thompson’s great, shining moments, as she transforms her beautiful voice into the insouciant character of this little waif - she is utterly convincing and shocking.<br />The song itself is a very traditionally styled British street stomp, accompanied by Richard’s sharp electric guitar, plus John Kirkpatrick’s beautifully played accordion. Brief excursions into traditional reels between choruses add an edge of verisimilitude and crisp urgency to the song.<br /><br />The ironic high point of the song is the little girl’s rationalization of her condition:<br /><br />Oh the poor they will be rich, and the rich they will be poor,<br />That’s according to Saul when he wrote it on the law,<br />And I’d much rather be rich after than before . . . "<br /><br />This justification of her position is, of course, delusional, and if it is indeed the essence of her stance, the character, in all her wonder and glory, is finally tragicomical. And of course she is - I’m sure Richard Thompson would see to that. It is chiefly through Linda’s audacious vocals that allow "the little beggar girl" to emerge so triumphantly in her condition and state. She is indeed "richer," and more fully alive than any of the wretched, moneyed suckers gathered around to guiltily watch and listen to her song.<br /><br />Simply amazing, this remarkable song is pulled off at what seems to be a punchy, artless (in the best sense) wollop that it simply leaves the listener stunned.Pete Goochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10684320116862419265noreply@blogger.com0