By Des Cowley
Beeswing By Richard Thompson (Faber / Allen & Unwin, h/b)
T
he music of British folk-rock scene of the late sixties and early seventies rarely caused a stir on the UK singles charts, aside from perhaps Steeleye Span’s all-too-catchy ‘All Around My Hat’. But it’s clear, with hindsight, that the best of it has stood the test of time. What more evidence do we need than the never-ending stream of historical releases and box sets that periodically surface? Their continued arrival corroborates a simple truth: the leading bands of the period – Fairport Convention, Pentangle, the Incredible String Band – remain beloved by a coterie of die-hard fans. Richard Thompson’s memoir Beeswing is subtitled ‘Fairport, folk rock and finding my voice’. All up, it accounts for just eight years of the singer’s life, from the birth of Fairport Convention through to his earliest recordings with wife Linda. The fact that it leaves out the succeeding four decades – and some thirty albums – is beside the point. The years 1967-1975 were the formative chapter of Thompson’s career, during which time he went from shy and awkward schoolkid to leading guitarist, singer, and songwriter. What struck me reading Thompson’s account is how easily things fell into place at the outset. He met bassist Ashley Hutchings and guitarist Simon Nichol in his final year at school. After adding drummer Shaun Frater (soon to be replaced by Martin Lamble) and singer Judy Dyble, the newly formed Fairport Convention began working up a repertoire of covers, chief among them hits by The Byrds and Lovin’ Spoonful. Barely four weeks in, they were booked to play the famed UFO Club, opening for Pink Floyd. Within two months, they were offered a record deal. That’s some career trajectory. Although the band’s debut release predominantly adopted an American west coast sound – even embracing several Joni Mitchell covers – a new direction was ushered in when singer Sandy Denny was brought onboard to replace Judy Dyble. Fairport began to increasingly add more folk songs to its repertoire. The rationale made sense: instead of relying on American influences, why not instead tap into the rich traditions of British folklore. After all, the band had been stopped in its tracks upon first hearing The Band’s Music From Big Pink, which fused ‘rock and roll, country, gospel, Appalachian, soul, jazz and blues’. Could Fairport achieve something of the same by digging into their own roots? Fairport’s 1969 albums What We Did On Our Holidays and Unhalfbricking flagged where they were headed, boasting both originals, such as Denny’s ‘Fotheringay’ and Thompson’s ‘Meet Me on the Ledge’, as well as traditional songs, like the eleven-minute opus ‘A Sailor’s Life’. Even before Unhalfbricking was released, however, disaster struck when the band’s van, returning from a gig in Birmingham, ran off the road, killing drummer Martin Lamble and Thompson’s girlfriend Jeannie Franklyn. It was a harrowing incident – detailed in the memoir – that left deep scars on Thompson, still only nineteen, and the rest of the band. No longer wanting to perform the songs associated with Martin, Fairport threw themselves wholly into their new direction, intent on making an entire album of traditional music. The result was Liege & Lief, for many their masterpiece, arguably the definitive statement of the British folk-rock scene. It was just as well they gave it their all. Liege would be Sandy’s last album with the band, before leaving to front Fotheringay. Founding member Ashley Hutchings, likewise, left to form Steeleye Span. Richard Thompson, it transpired, had just one more album in him, prior to announcing his own departure in 1970, after recording Full House. Fairport Convention would roll on for years, but Thompson’s critical role in the band was over.
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Without a plan, and for the first time unemployed, Thompson threw himself into session work. As a veritable hired gun, he took whatever work came his way: Sandy Denny’s first solo album, recordings with Gary Farr, Iain Matthews, John Martyn, Badfinger and others. He sums up the experience thus: ‘I did so many recording sessions in 1971 that memories of them blur and overlap, or seem to form one long, confused hallucination’. At the same time, Thompson ‘found time to write and develop the strange, surreal songs I was collecting in my notebooks’. These would form the basis of his first solo album Henry the Human Fly, released, as he says, to ‘universal indifference’. Thompson first met Linda Peters during the Liege & Lief sessions. By 1972, they were living together (they would eventually marry), and regularly playing the small folk clubs that had sprouted up all over the country. As much as he enjoyed the experience, he admits to being on a downward career trajectory. A year on, he engaged manager Jo Lustig, headed into the Sound Techniques studio with Linda, and cut I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight. Staggering as it seems, he delivered Joe Boyd’s Hannibal label a genuine masterpiece for just £2,500. Throughout Beeswing, Thompson comes across as a congenial character, modest to boot, emanating goodwill and positive spirit. He writes generously about those he has known, whether Sandy Denny or Nick Drake. His book touches upon his growing interest in Sufi practice, including a pilgrimage to Mecca. For a year, he ran an antiques store. And although he elects to bring down the shutters in 1975, the year he and Linda recorded Hokey Pokey and Pour Down Like Silver, a brief coda projects ahead to the end of his marriage, which coincided with 1982’s remarkable Shoot Out the Lights. Since then, Thompson has carved out a singular career, recording prolifically, and touring a few months out of each year, either solo or with his trio, dipping into his vast back catalogue. In this, he resembles nothing so much as the ancient troubadours, as they travelled from village to village, entertaining folk, singing songs, and telling stories. Nearly half-a-century on from the period he writes about, he shows no signs
