Bridget St. John
Thank You For...

The name Bridget St. John might, unfortunately, sound new to you. Let me tell you: you are definitely missing out on something. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that Bridget St. John, at the moment, is one of the most underrated female figures in the music world. The sweet London muse indeed possesses an indisputably adorable velvety voice, capable of warming you to the core even on the most infamous winter nights.

Bridget St. John was born in 1946 into a well-to-do family in the London suburb of East Sheen, and as a teenager, she bought her first guitar (presumably acoustic) and began setting her always-written poems to music. But if not for her encounter with John Martyn during a university exchange in Aix En Provence in 1967, it would have been difficult to see Bridget St. John performing in front of a real audience. “I liked playing and singing, but I was terribly shy. And I couldn't imagine pursuing a career in music because I was often unaware of what I was creating or playing, I was simply expressing myself through sounds I liked.” John Martyn opened the doors to a new world of unconventional tunings and guitar styles, and Bridget St. John never looked back, still citing John Martyn as her musical mentor.

From the friendship with John Martyn, there are many points of connection between Bridget St. John and her contemporary and fellow countryman Nick Drake. The warm and subdued voice, the unusual guitar style with open tunings and iridescent arpeggios, the presumably similar musical influences, the reserve and introversion that have always been both a curse and a blessing for countless artists. I can't explain, like so many others, how it was possible that their records were met with such an unbearable indifference at the time. Bridget St. John, in fact, never achieved absolute success and is considered by most as one of the many semi-essential figures of early '70s Folk/Rock. Yet even today, Bridget St. John is capable of mesmerizing a considerable fanbase and has been the subject of a slow but steady rediscovery even among younger generations.

The fact remains that in the late '60s, Bridget St. John began to get noticed, managed to insert herself into the chaotic British music scene, regularly performed at colleges and in the folk festival circuit. Between 1969 and 1972, she recorded three albums for John Peel's “Dandelion” label, performed multiple times for BBC radio, and participated in the popular broadcasts of John Peel himself, who coincidentally also hosted Nick Drake during those years. In 1974, Bridget St. John ranked fifth in the list of the best female vocals of that year chosen by Melody Maker readers. And it is no coincidence, in fact, that John Peel often described her as “the best British songwriter”. Speaking of our Bridget's radio appearances, it should be noted that a splendid record containing a good number of sessions recorded by the BBC during those years has recently been released, which I unfortunately have not yet been able to get my hands on.

“Thank You For...,” dated 1972, is the third and last album recorded by Bridget St. John for the “Dandelion” label and contains many, precious surprises. In fact, if the first two delicate songs "Nice" and "Thank You For" risk passing smoothly and unnoticed (with all due respect), the same cannot be said for the third track of the album. In "Lazarus," our Bridget employs all the secret nuances of her voice to offer us a spectral and demonic version of the famous traditional. The result is an incredibly evocative and overwhelming musical fresco that seems to come from the depths and can hardly be associated with the delicate creature depicted on the cover. The work done with “Lazarus” by Bridget St. John is comparable to the spell with which Hendrix transformed Dylan's “All Along The Watchtower,” rendering it as the incredible sonic orgasm we all know. The comparison, which may seem daring, perfectly conveys the idea of what it means to take a song and completely own it, revisiting it and bringing it new life. Bridget St. John indeed literally takes possession of the song, completely identifying with the characters, chewing it up and presenting it completely new, putting herself in the shoes of an improbable, hapless street chronicler as she tells us the story of poor Lazarus. Then as if nothing happened, she suddenly brings us back to her delicate and introspective atmospheres. “Goodbaby Goodbye” and “Silver Coin” are covers performed with absolutely uncommon elegance and refinement. “Silver Coin” in particular, written by Terry Hiscock (leader of Hunter Muskett), undergoes the same treatment as “Lazarus,” though in a completely different way. Bridget takes complete possession of it; she makes it her own, bringing new life to a song that could have been considered “finished” and offering it to us as a small jewel of delicacy and reflection. Between “Goodbaby Goodbye” and “Silver Coin,” there's also room for Dylan's “Love Minus/Zero No Limit,” which is duly warmed and rejuvenated by St. John's warm and silky voice. Three more original tracks of rare beauty follow: “Happy Day,” “Fly High,” and “To Leave Your Cover”; characterized by introspective lyrics and deep, expansive melodies. “To Leave Your Cover” is a small gem of female songwriting, and demonstrates that Bridget St. John is not just a great interpreter, but also a mature composer capable of standing on her own two feet. Before the small concluding song “A Song Is As Long As It Wants To Go On,” there's also room for “Every Day,” a tribute to Buddy Holly that, being slightly out of place, certainly doesn't represent one of the album's highest points.

The album was re-released on CD in 1995 with the pleasant addition of eight live tracks recorded (presumably in France) in 1972. These bonus tracks are yet another surprise. They indeed show us the portrait of a very delicate and insecure girl, who nevertheless manages to reach perfection even on stage, hypnotizing and seducing the lucky audience. Among the eight tracks offered, “Silver Coin,” “Lazarus,” and the confidential “Ask Me No Questions” from the debut album of the same name, which could easily serve as the calling card of our unflappable muse, stand out. The affectionate applause that starts before the end of the song is the deserved recognition for a performance that undoubtedly did not go unnoticed, even if it was characterized simply by the most intense and restrained elegance.

“Thank You For...” is an intimate, velvety album rich with memorable highlights. It is not a work that changed the history of music, and it never will, but it can offer pleasant suggestions and moments of reflection, accompanied by one of the most distinctive and profound female voices of English folk.

“Ask me no questions, tell me no lies if you don't mind, come with me...”