“He Was a Friend of Mine”

A good friend died last week.

In fact, he was the oldest friend I had. When I was a child, my family moved around a lot. But, we finally settled down. I was in seventh grade and it was March and once again I was in a new school. I was put in a class and sat next to a boy named John. We became good friends and stayed that way for nearly 60 years.

His death was not expected, and it hit me hard.

At the time I had been reading a book about Greenwhich Village. Towards the end the book described the tribute service for the folk singer, Phil Ochs. At it, Dave Van Ronk sang the song “He Was a Friend of Mine,” a song that had long been associated with him and which was a regular part of his repertoire. Yet, he did not write the song–he thought Bob Dylan wrote it and listed him as the writer on his first recording of it. But Dylan didn’t write it.

Dylan had recorded “He was a Friend of Mine” to appear on his first album but it was not selected. Later, Van Ronk recorded it for his first album and credited Dylan as the songwriter, as many of those that followed also did. But Dylan had heard it on a record by Rolf Cahn and Erich von Schmidt who had arranged a traditional folk song first recorded in 1939. Later The Byrds recorded it but changed the words to make the song about JFK after his assassination. Soon other singers/bands would adapt the song to reference anyone who might be dear to them.

Anyway, here’s my version. I haven’t changed or adapted anything that I’m aware of. Enjoy.

“MotorPsycho Nightmare”

Being scared is not an emotion I enjoy. I don’t movies that deal with horror, with psychological trauma, with evil. I don’t even like films with flying monkeys! So suffice it to say, I have not seen many Alfred Hitchcock movies. In fact, The Birds is the only one I have seen. But I do know a lot about them: Hitchcock’s films are part of our zeitgeist, part of our shared cultural heritage. And perhaps none more so than “Psycho.” Even if we have never seen the movie, we know about the Bates Motel, the rocking chair mother, and the shower scene. The tropes of the film are everywhere. And so in 1963/64, Dylan played with the tropes of the film and created a fun song…with a slight political point to make.

Book Review: Beeswing–Losing My Way and Finding My Voice 1967-1975 by Richard Thompson

fullsizeoutput_431 Richard Thompson  (© by jpbohannon 2018)

Beeswing: Losing My Way and Finding My Voice 1967-1975
Algonquin Books, 2001

At the beginning of the pandemic, in late March 2020, Bob Dylan released a near 17-minute song, “Murder Most Foul.” Among the many, various reviews, one of the most consistent comments was on Dylan’s encyclopedic knowledge of music. The song references scores and scores of songs, familiar and un.

Well, anyone who reads Richard Thompson’s new memoir of his formative years (1967-1975) will likely also be amazed at the range of music that Thompson cites as influences. From French jazz to American blues, from Highland traditional songs to African rhythms, from classical music to British music halls, Thompson seems to have absorbed it all and writes intelligently and knowledgeably about them.

From early on, Thompson and his mates seemed to have had a vision and knew what they, as Fairport Convention, wanted and did not want. They did not want to be like the earlier “British Invasion” bands that were exploring and copying American blues and R&B and often bringing that music back to America. They wanted to use native British themes and rhythms taken from centuries-old British traditions and meld it with rock-and-roll. And thus, Fairport Convention gave birth to what became known as British folk-rock.

While admittedly influenced by Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and other American singer-songwriters and American forms (Thompson claims that what The Band did for “Americana” music with Music from Big Pink was essential in confirming what they wanted to do with British traditional music), Fairport Convention took what it learned and applied it to British themes. For example Thompson took a 15th-century British poem, married it to a 19th century Appalachian tune and electrified it (“Matty Groves”). “Matty Groves” was one of five “reworked” traditional tunes–along with three originals–that appeared on the Liege and Lief album (1969), which is unarguably considered the beginning (and high point) of British folk rock. The claim that Fairport Convention “invented” the form can be appreciated by considering the bands later begun by former members: Pentangle, Frothingay, Steeleye Span.

But Beeswing is more than a musical history. If it were only about music, its appeal would be limited. Richard Thompson’s story is a testament of persistence, resilience and a search for peace, a cultural memoir of the zeitgeist of London and the music world in those frantic years. Its focus on music arises from the fact that after leaving school, Thompson never worked at anything else but as a working musician.

And his is a story that has an almost Shakespearean plot arc.

There is much tragedy: early on, when the band is on the rise and returning from a gig, their van goes off the road killing their driver/roadie, their drummer, and Thompson’s girlfriend. Thompson himself spent a good while in hospital.  At another time, a truck missed a sharp turn and plowed through the second floor rooms where he and fiddle-player, David Swarbrick, were living. There were firings–how do you fire Sandy Denny, the greatest vocalist of the day–and there were leavings. Thompson left Fairport Convention to tour with his wife as Richard and Linda Thompson. And then there was the fiery divorce that colored their North American tour.

But there is also–not so much redemption, for he was no more lost than anyone else at that time–but a sense of achieved contentment, of understanding. Much of that is due to his discovery of Sufism, which for Thompson has a “nobility of being … it seem[s] like the way human being should be.”

Richard_Thompson Photo_by_Anthony_Pepitone

             photo © 2007 by Anthony Pepiton

Anyone who has seen Richard Thompson in the past 20 years know him to be a gentle, humorous, friendly performer. (He is, by the way, also considered one of the finest guitarists in the world. The L.A. Times calls him “the finest rock songwriter after Dylan” and “the best electric guitarist since Hendrix.” And anyone who has attempted to emulate his acoustic guitar playing is often quickly daunted.) Whether playing with the excellent musicians he surrounds himself with or performing solo, Thompson regularly puts on shows that always leave the audience with the feeling that they have just seen/heard something memorable and remarkable.

And it is this genial manner that one observes on stage that
informs the tone and pacing of his memoir.

Richard Thompson seems very much at peace with himself–perhaps this is where the “finding my voice” in the subtitle comes from–and this feeling of contentment permeates his memoir. Although Beeswing deals with a mere nine years–from the time he was 18 years old to when he was 27–they were nine years that helped form one of the trailblazers and icons of modern music.