Bert Jansch
Birthday Blues

In a "kaleidoscopic" site like this (where music enthusiasts of all kinds flock), it's surprising to note the shortage of reviews regarding the discography of a certain Bert Jansch. A rough and generous Scotsman, a virtuoso of the acoustic guitar, an impassioned and sensitive singer-songwriter, but above all, an artist of the body and soul in his most inspired moments. A pillar, alongside Davy Graham and Anne Briggs (I think imasoulman will confirm this assertion of mine), of the "folk revival" in the land of Albion in the second half of the '60s. A revival that was not a pedantic celebratory exhumation but a contamination among distant musical cultures. The "traditional music" of England, the United States, and (why not) India meet, giving birth to something new. Without Jansch (that is, without his guitar style and passionate pursuit), evident disciples more singer-songwriter-like such as Nick Drake, Roy Harper, and John Martyn are inconceivable, as well as all that psycho-folk undergrowth that has in Comus its craziest spark and even those brash plunderers of tradition (or rather, of those attempting to renew it) of Led Zeppelin.

Now let's move on to the facts concerning this review. Jansch begins solo with a self-titled work (1965) that it's reluctant to define epochal. Nothing more than a voice and a guitar expressing themselves in a dense concentrate of instrumentals that, indeed, renew the tradition thanks to the Scotsman's unique "touch" and songs that can be as light as feathers but, when needed, transform into javelins capable of piercing an oak (ah "Needle of Death"... ah "I Have no Time"...). The journey proceeds impetuous in its coherence and inspiration up to "Nicola" (1967). In Jansch, the guitar is an extension of the body and thus of the soul (ladies and gentlemen, I swear it's not a cliché!). Therefore, drowning (in some songs) that essential and perfect union of voice and guitar in an excess of brass and strings means obscuring the essence of the artist. In short, "Nicola" suffers a fate similar to "Bryter Lyter": an album not devoid of inspiration, but that "sounds" less personal. It is succeeded by "Birthday Blues," the subject of my review. It is published in 1969, with a Jansch who, in the meantime, has founded with his "guitaristic alter ego," John Renbourn, the Pentangle. Perhaps this step is crucial in finding a balance that risked being lost in his solo career. It is no longer just a guitar-and-voice album like the very first ones; the instrumentation is a bit broader and aims specifically to give more shades of sounds and "colors" to the pieces.

I won't do as in other reviews of mine (which indeed date back many years): I won't illustrate the album track-by-track pedantically. This is an album that doesn't deserve pedantry, as the inspiration and intensity are vividly present everywhere. In the lolling blues of "Promised Land" and "I've Got a Woman," with the harmonica and/or the saxophone marking the territory (how can one not imagine, on the other side of the ocean, a Townes Van Zandt taking notes...). In the serenade soaked in raga named "A Woman Like You" (which will also enter the Pentangle's repertoire... as I stated at the beginning, Jansch, behind the gruff character tied to the alcoholic vice, was generous...). In "I am Lonely" and "Tree Song," with that exotic flute opening up fairy-tale landscapes and softening deep melancholies. In the suspended "Wishing Well," written together with Briggs, which (in my opinion) outshines a Donovan and foreshadows much of Roy Harper's production in the years to come. In the titular succinct instrumental piece, both pastoral and psychedelic watercolor at the same time. In "Poison" (the least "folk" and the most "rock" of the lot), with the ensemble of voice and instruments proceeding so sternly and hypnotically that it shakes you inside like a dusty mat. Finally, how not to mention "Bright New Year," a lilting, poignant, and very brief dedication to his own mother.

Jansch will continue for a few years with the Pentangle (until their breakup in 1973), who will produce substantial albums structured, indeed, more like suites (where folk, jazz, blues, psychedelia, and hints of raga fluidly intermingle) rather than as sequences of mere songs. As a solo artist throughout the '70s, he will continue to release classy works that, to my ears, sound a bit "mannered." In that they lack that magic capable of transforming a pin into a weapon capable of piercing an oak. Wait a moment, but didn't I say javelin...

...oh, dear music, your absence has been very onerous... perhaps it's better I never abandon you again...