Roy Harper
Flat Baroque and Berserk

Roy Harper was, undoubtedly, one of the most distinctive British singer-songwriters of his generation. A "sophisticated wanderer" outside the box, idiosyncratic towards fame, reluctant to compromise with the music industry, esteemed by the greatest names in English rock music, yet a "niche" figure from a purely commercial perspective. The musical offering, the product of a troubled youth filled with dramatic events and revealed from the original debut (a "raw" folk faintly tinged with psychedelia), has refined from album to album ever more, with a quick maturation driven by the thinly veiled and ambitious desire to expand the temporal and spatial "boundaries" of folk music. Alongside this increasingly effective "compositional focus" of his own inner movements lies a delirious and instinctive singing style, a "convergence point," in my humble opinion, between the nasal declamation of the early Dylan and the melisma and extended forays into the falsetto of Tim Buckley. "Flat Baroque and Berserk," released in 1970, is his first masterpiece and contains the insights that will make "Stormcock" an even more brilliant masterpiece (released in 1971 and considered by myself as one of the most beautiful "singer-songwriter" albums of the '70s). With this work, Harper dispels any doubt that he possesses superior talent compared to most of his contemporaries and makes a considerable step forward from "Folkjokeopus" (an album that, to be fair, contains an enveloping and not at all verbose "stream of consciousness" like "McGoohan's Blues," a hypnotic instrumental in the vein of Davy Graham, such as "One For All," and finally, the two whimsical introductory jewels, namely "Sgt. Sunshine" and "She's The One," but which is weakened by pleasant yet "stereotypical" sketches aimed merely at venting his own eccentricity). Harper makes the "winning move," increasing the "instinctive" emphasis of the vocals (in short, the shy voice of "Sophisticated Beggar" is a remote past...), relatable to a fragile and "disturbed" emotionality, but at the same time, proud, and he moves through three specific "creative gestures": the torrential invective, which yields the wonderful "I Hate The White Man" where our hero's clear and tormented singing crowns an anti-imperialist and colonialist ballad full of intensity, "Don't You Grieve" and "How Does It Feel?" which bear the influence of the minstrel from Duluth; the idyll on the brink of emotional stasis, a thread to which "Goodbye" and "Tom Tiddler's Ground" belong; the enchanted sketch suspended between reality and dream, which betrays the influence of Donovan and to which all the other episodes belong, except for the blues-rock of "Hell's Angels," which stands out on its own in the album, where the Nice with Keith Emerson collaborate. Worthy of more than a mention is the song that proves to be the classic cherry on top of this splendid work (it's no coincidence that many covers will abound): "Another Day." A beautiful melody, centered on the slow "strumming" of the acoustic guitar and the gentle "melodic" decorations of the strings. Harper's voice, narrating the end of a love, sounds faint, distant, marked by a slight tremor. Less than three minutes in which the listener's senses are detached from this world. If, by chance, you have already "savoured" the dreamlike and mystical splendor of "Stormcock," you are warmly invited to also pass by these parts.