Gerry Rafferty
City to City

THE REVIEW

We won't start from a song this time, but from a name: Raphael "Raf" Ravenscroft. A superb saxophonist, a semi-hidden figure in many British productions since the '70s. Not many will remember him, but if you (like me) have the habit of combing through the credits of all the albums you come across, you can be sure that you've encountered his name more than once. The first (time) for me was on the back of Alberto Fortis' "Fragole Infinite".

Well, this man played one of the most famous and most heard sax solos of all time. So famous that even if it escapes you now, you'd remember it from the first note. The solo from "Baker Street", the epic and super-famous "Baker Street" by Gerry Rafferty. Don't know "Baker Street"? But of course, you do. Almost everyone has heard it, even if just in passing on TV or radio. Even if you didn't think it was that song, even if you don't currently associate that title with that music. Yes, it's exactly that one.

Gerry Rafferty. He was great, and it's a shame to have to speak of him in the past tense. But above all, he was a "rolling stone" (to use the words from the song) in that troubled period following the painful separation from his lifelong friend Joe Egan. Both Scotsmen, and both went down to London to end up in Stealers Wheel, a piece of British '70s history that deserves far better recognition than what it mostly received in later years—except for that "Stuck In The Middle With You", well-known perhaps also because it was revived in the well-known soundtrack of a well-known film twenty years later...? Perhaps.

An adventure ended. And like every story of (dis)love that ends, destined to drag on—controversial aftermath and legal citations, needless to say. And for a period, old Gerry had his mind on everything but music. Tossed from one train to another (and between one bottle and another), shuttling between his Glasgow and London, he found his only solace in a friend living—wouldn't you know it—on Baker Street, in the capital. And while waiting to take the train back to Scotland, that apartment on Baker Street eventually became his second home. The place to "forget about everything", to clear the mind and unplug...

...as well as the inspiration for the lead piece of his 1978 album (which was NOT his solo debut, as is often thought), a Classic that has aged like fine wine. Because if Stealers Wheel wasn't just "Stuck In The Middle" (thanks to Tarantino, and an earful from Joe Egan's solo debut is enough...), Gerry Rafferty wasn't just "Baker Street". Though, the day he left, he was simply remembered as "THE ONE from 'Baker Street'".

But you were much more, Gerry. You knew that embracing the Dylan-esque phraseology didn't mean abandoning your Celtic roots, and starting this album with that masterful fresco "The Ark" was the most eloquent answer you could give on that score. Violins, harpsichords, the strings of a mandolin—and electric guitar, because it had to be rock: great Authorial Rock that at the time wasn't embarrassed to be called POP.

And a McCartney wouldn't have disdained the title track "City To City" among the grooves of his record, the perfect "railroad song" capable of uniting American prairies and the moorlands of Albion to the sound of violin (again) and harmonica, because those who grind against the rails have the Blues just like those who grind miles of asphalt.

But you needed few instruments, when it was about letting the feelings speak their language, simple by definition. "Whatever's Written In Your Heart" - "that's all that matters": and it's over 6 minutes of gospel for piano, voice, and choir. Nothing else was needed.

And if "Mattie's Rag", "Home & Dry", and "Waiting For The Day" are much more than mere details in a songbook perfect in itself (how many craftsmen of the seven notes would pay to have just one of those inspirations...), "Island" dispenses an elegance worthy of albums like "Siren" by Roxy Music—perhaps thanks to that Sax...? Here Mr. Ravenscroft wasn't that far from the sensitivity of an Andy Mackay. That which is innate and not learned.

Like the innate ability to write about love in Songs like "Right Down The Line"—and in "Stealin' Time", my personal Masterpiece. One might think that an electric piano and a steel guitar are more than enough to reach the depths of the soul. Well, they aren't. Or at least, it's only part of the truth. The essence is that the ingredients are exalted only when the hand that measures them is superb, and words sound sincere only if genuinely written in total sincerity. And Gerry, I believe, gets inside you because he is among Those who have achieved it. Like the Lennon of the "Lost Weekend", the one from "Walls & Bridges". The Lennon with his tiredness and weaknesses, the fragile Lennon with the damn fear of losing everything, the one that resonates with me the most. And that I found behind Gerry's glasses.

"So goodnight, yeah goodnight, goodnight train is gonna carry me home..."