John Martyn - guest post by Matthew Robertson. As the resident John Martyn afficionado from 403 Broadway days, I can understand why Curtis asked me to review this record. And as a point-of-entry for the uninitiated, this album serves as a logical if ultimately unsatisfying sample of John Martyn’s unique gifts. Cameos by Phil Collins and Eric Clapton lend the album star power and a striving-for-commerial-success glossiness. It is exactly this overwrought studio ministration, courtesy of producer Phil Collins that robs John’s voice of its raw power. Still, I won’t discourage you from giving this album a listen. Nobody ever growled, whispered or pleaded more convincingly than John Martyn, who managed to avoid both easy categorization and the popularity his enormous talent warranted during a long career. You will get a taste of that. Hungry for more? Give Grace and Danger a listen, considered by many to be John’s masterpiece. Some people are crazy about this album. Released in 1980 and featuring a more restrained assist by Phil Collins, the back story is that John was in the process of a painful divorce during the making of this album, as was Collins. Polished but never to the point of slick, I predict this album will make you a true believer. In fact, I guarantee it. Now you’re ready for the main course. Pour yourself a tall scotch and settle in to enjoy Solid Air, which captures the essence of John’s earlier groundbreaking work. How can something so melancholy be so achingly beautiful? This is the artist at the height of his powers, redefining folk music, or British acoustic blues, or whatever the hell he is supposed to be playing. Sadly John is no longer with us. I like to picture him in a grungy pub somewhere with Nick Drake and Jeff Buckley, making a beautiful racket.
Thanks Matt...
the fleming arms in biggar was a favourite of John's
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