‘Unhalfbricking’: Fairport Convention covers Dylan with Percy’s Song

By Tony Atwood

Ask anyone who has performed a song on stage which has multiple repeated lines: it is much harder to pull off than a song with ever changing words.  You have to do something to those endless repeats in order to take the audience with you, but it is so easy to go over the top when you sing the same line for the sixth time or more.

If you want a perfect example of how to carry it off, then the 1963 Carnegie Hall recording of Percy’s Song is it.  You never get tired of the repeated lines, you are utterly spellbound by the story, and its journey.

I think Dylan’s personal journey to this song is, for me (if for no one else) directly connected to Ballad for a Friend.  The recordings of Percy’s Song comes from 1963.  Ballad for a Friend which deals with an actual motor crash was recorded the year before.  A song that is reportedly related to the accident of Bob’s friend Larry Kegan accident which left him in a wheelchair.

If this is so, consciously or sub-consciously, then it is a remarkable journey for Dylan, for in Ballad for a Friend he is saying goodbye to a dear friend seriously injured in a car crash, (in the song the character actually dies) while in Percy’s Song he is pleading against the disproportionate sentence of man-slaughter for a man whose driving has killed four.

The song itself comes from the English ballad of the 17th century “The Twa Sisters” in which a girl drowned by her sister – a song which quickly became transmuted into “The Wind and Rain” and many other versions – which is where Dylan’s phrase comes from.

But it is not the question of how original this song is as a Dylan song that fascinates me, but the beauty of the rendition in the Carnegie Hall version.

It is all so astoundingly simple

Bad news, bad news
Come to me where I sleep
Turn, turn, turn again
Sayin’ one of your friends
Is in trouble deep
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind

and yet verse after verse Dylan pulls it off.

As I say, it is all so simple, so low key, and that is what makes it work so well, for what is resting on the story is the life of a man – a man who is imprisoned for 99 years.

Listening to the song again today I suddenly thought also of the Drifter’s Escape, perhaps for no reason than that too is a dead simple song and it has a judge in it.  But there the judge is sympathetic to the accused – it is the jury who gets it all wrong.  One way or another though, Dylan is never a fan of the legal system.

I am not saying Dylan thought of one song as he composed another, rather it is probably just Dylan working out themes over time in different ways.  But even so somehow I find this connection between these simple songs delivered with such power and assuredness, each in a different form, each with the legal incidents being seen from three different angles with three different outcomes, to be completely fascinating.

Percy’s song revolves around the life imprisonment, in the Drifter’s Escape there is the walking out of the courtroom following the lightening strike, and in Ballad of a Friend the death of the man hit by the truck.

And so Percy’s Song ends

And I played my guitar
Through the night to the day
Turn, turn, turn again
And the only tune
My guitar could play
Was, “Oh the Cruel Rain
And the Wind”

One interesting point about the music – at the end of each verse it doesn’t get back to the key chord, the tonic, around which the song is focussed, but ends on the dominant at the end of each verse, preparing us for another verse and another and another as the story continues.

Which I guess is in keeping with the outcome of the tale – the man in imprisoned for the rest of his life.

However…

what disturbs me with this song is that the essence of the singer’s plea is that “he didn’t mean it.”  Is this a valid defence or not?

When I learned to drive a car (and of course I learned in England, not in the US) I was taught that part of the essence of driving was that one had to expect the unexpected.  You have to drive with caution.

Now of course most of us don’t much of the time, but that is what the basic law of the road in the UK requires.  You don’t have to be ready to avoid a sheep suddenly walking into your lane on a motorway while you drive at 70mph, but in an urban area with a pavement and shops next to the road one has to drive with the awareness that a pedestrian might do something silly and step out into the road.

We don’t do 99 year sentences for manslaughter in England, but I don’t think we let people off on the grounds that they didn’t mean it, either.

And so at this point, somehow the transmutation of the song from its early origins into the modern day breaks down for me.  To enjoy the song I must forget the meaning and listen to the music and the voice (without a focus on the words) it is awe-inspiring and other worldly.  With the meaning, I feel uncomfortable in a way that I never am with Ballad of a Friend – and yet knowing that Dylan wrote Ballad of a Friend from point of the victim’s friend, and then Percy’s Song from the point of the guilty man’s friend, just one year apart is, well, strange.

But no one else ever seems to have mentioned it, so I guess it is just me.

Source: Untold Dylan

The Weird & Wonderful World Of Tunng

Tunng have built one of the most unique catalogues in modern British music. Folk meets electronic, their other-worldly charms are at once permanent and

Tunng have built one of the most unique catalogues in modern British music. Folk meets electronic, their other-worldly charms are at once permanent and traditional, but also questing, forever reaching to the unknown.

Debut album ‘Mother’s Daughter And Other Songs’ emerged from ad hoc shows around London, late night recording sessions in borrowed spaces, and endless conversation, with friendship at the heart of the band’s progress.

As it happens, Tunng are ready to toast 20 years of that release with something new – out now, ‘Love You All Over Again’ underlines their status as devoutly independent creators, working totally outside time and trend.

Tunng co-founders Sam Genders and Mike Lindsay map out the band’s unique universe in this special guide for CLASH readers.

‘Tale From Black’

Sam: Mike was listening to a lot of English folk guitarists like Davy Graham and Bert Jansch as well as lots of non-vocal electronica from the record label next door to his studio – Expanding Records.

I turned up at the studio one day – which was under a ladies clothes shop in Soho… you literally had to walk through the back of the changing cubicle Narnia-style to reach the staircase down into the dark windowless box beneath… anyway… I turned up one day and he’d written ‘Tale From Black’ – everything apart from the lyrics and melody. I started playing about with these odd dark words inspired I think by The Wicker Man soundtrack which Mike had recently played me..and Mike loved them and that was that and I remember after that something clicked for us about the kinds of music we might be able to write together.

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Breaking The Waves: An Interview with Brìghde Chaimbeul

By Christine Costello

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Off the back of playing Glastonbury, and the release of her thrilling new album Carry Them With Us, Christine Costello speaks with acclaimed smallpipes player Brìghde Chaimbeul about the sounds and inspirations behind her singular craft

Photos by Monika Ruman 

Carry Them With Us is Brìghde Chaimbeul’s second solo album and features a combination of original compositions and songs inspired by Gaelic folklore and archive recordings. The album is as dark as it is whimsical from the soaring lilts of ‘Banish the Giant’ to weighted tragedies of ‘Oran an Eich Uisge’.

Chaimbeul’s rich understanding of her instrument adds a new layer of depth to these old tunes, injecting them with an infectious modernity that invites audiences to explore the history of the Highlands, all without losing the enigmatic charm of their origins. 

Despite the Scottish roots and heavy Scottish influence in her music, Chaimbeul’s unprecedented popularity with Irish audiences continues to grow. While currently residing in Northern Ireland and a frequent collaborator with Irish musicians such as Radie Peat of Lankum, she believes there’s an added explanation for this resonance: “A lot of what I play is rooted in traditional music and although a lot of the material is Scottish, there’s a strong connection between Scottish and Irish traditions, not just in the language, but the songs as well.” 

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The Big Yin visits his fav London guitar shop

Frailers couldn’t be more tucked away, but it is a favourite of Billy Connolly, the man known by his Scots nickname the Big Yin (“the Big One”)

 

By Jonathan Blackburn

It seems an unlikely place to find Billy Connolly’s favourite banjo shop, which couldn’t be more tucked away.

The term ‘hidden gem’ is overused, but if ever it were apt, Frailers is the place. On a quiet street lined by takeaways in the small industrial town of Runcorn, Cheshire, Frailers has had a host of famous faces come through the door.

The shop seems to go back forever, with rows upon rows of shimmering guitars and banjos, music memorabilia and photos of the many stars who have visited Frailers since it opened in 1979.

Photograph: Brian Smith / The Guardian

Glasgow’s favourite son has made six visits to Frailers, staying for hours at a time, according to Frank Murphy, 82, who opened the shop more than half a century ago and can still be found behind the counter six days a week. A signed picture of Billy takes pride of place on the wall, showing the the Big Yin strumming away in the shop’s banjo room, past shimmering rows of guitars.

Frank says Billy first visited the shop more than 25 years ago to have his famous banjo repaired at the recommendation of folk singer Mike Harding. Frank said: ”Billy came in and I thought, ‘I know this face.’

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