Davy Graham
Folk, Blues And Beyond

I'll skip the introduction; let's get straight to the music: track no.1, "Leavin Blues". It's not a blues, but it's almost certainly the best way to start a record: a nice fast-paced swing rhythm, energetic voice, a straightforward 5-note double bass riff. Dum-du-duu-duu-duu, Dum-du-duu-duu-duu... We're almost at the third minute of the record and "Cocaine Blues" comes in, which has nothing to do with Clapton's version, just to be clear. It's a reinterpretation of a traditional song, born among American soldiers sent to Europe during the great war, when the army provided them cocaine as an antidepressant and stimulant: naturally, the effects of the drug were still little known, and the soldiers would get hooked and keep snorting like elves even after getting discharged (“cocaine, cocaine/ they say it kills you but they don’t say when/ cocaine/ all around my brain”). There are several versions of this song, differing both in melody and lyrics, but almost all the covers made after this album are inspired by Graham's version. And from here on, it's all a back-and-forth of folk-jazz, oriental melodies, and acrobatic arpeggios. "Rock Me Baby" is a 12-bar blues, but with a swinging rhythm section and a jazzy guitar that have little to do with the classic rural 12-bar-blues. Seven Gypsies is a medieval tale, a ballad for guitar and voice. "Maajun" is very reminiscent of Jimmy Page's "White Summer": pentatonic scales, raga rhythm, sitar-like arpeggios, and tablas. And so on. A fluid, lively, multifaceted record. A brilliant record.
Yeah, but who is this Davy Graham? Unfortunately, some of you are surely asking. And unfortunately, history is full of forgotten geniuses and celebrated fools. Serious innovators who received rightful recognition can be counted on the fingers of one hand. And Davy Graham is not one of them.
He is credited (rightly so, and without forgetting Sandy Bull) with a fundamental role in the spread of world music, folk jazz, raga rock. Among music lovers, he is known as “the-one-who-invented-world-music”. This means that people like Nick Drake, Van “the man” Morrison, and Buckley Sr. have heavily borrowed from him, and listening to their records proves it. Not to mention the various English folk-rock-psychedelic bands that cropped up like mushrooms starting from '66/67 (Pentangle, Fairport Convention...). Guitarists like Jimmy Page, Bert Jansch, Mike Bloomfield, and Peter Green should at least buy him a beer. And surely they would have gladly done so if they had the opportunity.

But then why is Davy Graham talked about so little? Don't ask me. And yet in the '60s, he certainly wasn't locked away in a closet: he was one of S.M. Alexis Korner's favorite grandchildren (the Mailsdavis of blues), and in two years he turned out two records like "Folk Roots New Routes" and this one. Not beans and rinds. Someone like that should have made it big, unlike Nick Drake (well, he made it big in a different way), but nothing: after the '60s, Davy disappears, exits the scene. Sure, he continues to play, even with very respectable musicians (Duck Baker). He records little, though, and without adequate promotion. Slowly, he is forgotten. He becomes a "cult artist". Nice. For what it's worth to him, I think he would prefer to have Jimmy Page's bank account. When we're broke, we're all poets, but try asking Woody Guthrie if he wouldn't have traded credit cards with Bob Dylan...
Satana: “would you really give up being a cult songwriter for a couple of billion? ”
Woody: “shut up and cut it...”
S.: “are you sure? there's no going back”
W.: “yes, yes, hurry, the grocer is closing. ...Yes Edna, I'm coming! Come on...”
S.: “[cuts the check] Here you go. You owe me a soul...”
W.: “Screw you.”

Maybe I got a bit carried away, but that's how things go, at least I think so. Resisting the smell of money is not easy. Those who succeed may gain in glory and legend after death, but they lead a crappy life. And so the dilemma is always the same: a bit like Achilles, to understand. Perhaps the only fault of Devigràam was not dying in '71, like other rock legends who weren't given the time to either confirm or ruin their reputation. Davy Graham chose a life in the shadows: he never revisited his old glories, he never claimed the parentage -legitimately or otherwise- of this or that note (who hasn't thought of Macca, raise your hand). I don't know if he didn't want to or couldn't, that's his business. For sure, though, his music remains, and that's not an opinion.

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John Fahey, “Fare Forward Voyagers” (1973). Genre: unclassifiable. It's the Koln Concert of the six-string. For those who believe that listening to more than half an hour of solo acoustic guitar improvisation is impossible. To be heard at high volume.