Roy Harper
Man & Myth

Roy Harper is undoubtedly one of the most interesting and at the same time eccentric figures in the history of Anglo-Saxon songwriting. Roy Harper, in fact, was a Jehovah's Witness and a cadet in the Royal Army, and yet, at the same time, he was never any of these three things. During his youth, he underwent electroshock treatments following nervous breakdowns, but his songs, especially in his youthful years, characterized by his unique and otherworldly way of singing, as well as sophisticated arrangements imbued with an almost "baroque" style, have always been lucid, attentive, and punctual examinations of society and the world around us. So much so that he has always been closer to Tim Buckley, perhaps Syd Barrett, at least as far as vocal usage is concerned; rather than David Peel or even Marc Bolan.

For at least a year and a half, one of the most debated topics in our country, also capable of garnering consensus among the population and public opinion in general, is that of “rottamazione” (scrapping). This term, although unpleasant and introduced at the time when his figure rose to the forefront of journalistic chronicles, by the current President of the Council of Ministers, Matteo Renzi, eventually became widely used practically by everyone and by all political forces, assuming an indefinite connotation. Moreover, Matteo Renzi himself would not have resolved this conflict within his own party, which we could primarily define as generational; where he is still opposed by “those who,” in his party, “were there before.” And they are still here. In essence, however, this term was supposed to initially refer to a renewal of the political class of our country and a general renewal in ways of doing politics. Except, then, it took on a broader meaning, extending its roots to every sector of social, public, and private life in our country.

But let's be honest: deep down we are all tired of these old folks and all this old stuff. The blame, if everything has gone to pot in this country and more generally in the whole world, surely isn’t ours. I mean, how could it be our generation's fault? Personally, I was born in the early '80s, and by the time I turned six, the die was already cast: the Berlin Wall had fallen; the Cold War had ended; all the ideals our parents would have transmitted to us when we were just kids had become pure utopia even before we could reach adulthood and long before we had the necessary awareness to decide, to form our own opinion on all things. And those who killed all these ideals, all the dreams that cradled us when we were young, were they: the old folks, “those there” from the previous generation.

So let’s scrap them. Why not? Have you seen The Tenth Victim by Elio Petri? The film is based on the short story The Seventh Victim by the great science fiction writer Robert Sheckley and is set in a very pop-art Rome where Marcello Mastroianni and Ursula Andress chase each other, in the broader context of an international competition organized for the purpose of eliminating each other, killing each other reciprocally. In the end, as often is inevitable in the eternal city, or in The Great Beauty (just throwing it out there, just to stir up a bit of controversy, which haters always seem to enjoy…), the two end up falling hopelessly in love. Anyway, in the film, in the sci-fi and then futuristic society depicted in the film, the old folks, at a certain age, were eliminated. At a certain point, they were simply disposed of. They were scrapped. More or less the same thing happens in Soylent Green by Richard Fleischer. There, however, it was the old folks who eventually let themselves die, terrified of the world they themselves had helped to create. Their bodies were then recycled into so-called soylent green and distributed to feed the populace. But I'm digressing now…

If, instead, you have read Soul On Ice by Eldridge Cleaver, you probably know “The Story of Yacub,” the myth of the creation of the white man. According to this myth, according to this story, around 6,300 years ago the Earth was inhabited solely by black men. They lived their lives on the island of Patmos, where a mad scientist, Yacub indeed, hatched an evil scheme to graft white onto the skin color of the Earth's population. The island's population was 59,999 inhabitants, and whenever a couple intended to marry, they were granted this possibility only if there were differences in their skin tone: for example, a black person could only pair with a woman whose skin was lighter, brown in color. The entire process would last hundreds of years, but, in the end, Yacub, a sort of mythological Methuselah, would achieve his goal: to generate a white man with eyes of the deathly color blue.

Now, you see, beyond strictly racial issues, Roy Harper hated, has always hated throughout his entire life the white man, and very likely still hates him, aware that there is a white man in each one of us. That this white man is the worst part of us. The part that he too has tried in some way to exorcise, to obliterate over the course of his adventurous life and in the span of his now forty-year musical career, inevitably characterized by ups and downs.

Ups and downs, we were saying; thus, this latest album, Man & The Myth, is perhaps far from the standard that was that of masterpieces in music history such as Flat Baroque & Berserk (1970) and Stormcock (1971), yet it somehow resumes, if not in full, the themes. The fact is that this inner conflict, the one against the white man, appears still unresolved today and far from dissolving. The same Roy Harper appears today perhaps less troubled than in the past, but rather than having resolved his inner conflict, he is inevitably tired, as all old men might be who, during their lives, have fought against the myth of the worst part of themselves.

Why, then, listen to the album of an old and tired man like Roy Harper might be? Firstly, because this is his first release after about fifteen years and because the artistic and musical production is by that great psychedelic traveler who goes by the name of Jonathan Wilson, who also actively contributes to the album's arrangements and music. Secondly, because Roy Harper, despite everything, still demonstrates on this occasion that he can write good songs and, where some might appear tired, too standard, in the arrangements (e.g., “Cloud Cuckoo Land”), others seem to revive with the same strength, that same brightness that was typical of Harper's best works. These songs (“The Enemy”, “Heaven Is Here”, “The Exile”) are long journeys of introspection and somehow communion with the emotions and thoughts of the artist and man Roy Harper.

At this point, it is clear that listening to a Roy Harper album today still has its own reason. It has its raison d'être, where our society does not seem to be radically different from what it was in the past. Paradoxically, today, the youth population is divided between a romantic and utterly illusory vision of the past world, thus renouncing what would be their own generation and the world in which they live; another part, more substantial, according to our country, has now taken an attitude of total rupture with the past and with their parents, with the past generation, which, in fact, "must" necessarily be scrapped. Where perhaps what should be scrapped, fought, annihilated in the end are these very “white men,” the worst part of ourselves, these ghosts that invade and aggressively inhabit our souls and often easily end up taking control of our lives and our actions. A few days ago, I wrote that, “being against everything and everyone, for a youngster, is a duty; for an adult, a luxury; for an old man, it is inevitable.” But records like Man & The Myth, in their way, break these generational barriers and invite us all to engage individually and then all together as a society. After all, it is probably his best record in forty years, and, in its way, a message to the new generations, but also a conduit, a bridge with those past.