One of the great pleasures of listening to evening radio in the UK back in the 1970s was stumbling across a track or a session by John Martyn. Blessed with a late-night voice whose smoky insouciance, cured and tanned by years of bar-room reverie when combined with his unique brand of dream-laden guitar, provided a perfect fit for those evening airwaves, he guaranteed to warm away the wintry chills.
Primarily a folk artist, Martyn was also a serious space cadet making liberal use of devices such as the Echoplex, with which he converted rock licks into moibus strips of stellar sound, and numerous distortion pedals to help him on such trippy excursions. In full flight he was able to make a glorious multi-layered racket as “Eibhli Ghail Chiuin Ni Chearbhail” - notwithstanding its slightly scary resemblance to “Mull of Kintyre” - demonstrates.
Listening to the loop-propelled “Devil Get My Woman” and “Inside” you’d have to have cloth ears not to conclude that Martyn’s experiments went beyond the confines of the folk world and into the stadiums inhabited by the likes of a heyday Simple Minds or The Edge’s shimmering lines in U2.
Long-time collaborator Danny Thompson adds sinuous ripples of agile Double Bass on “Make No Mistake”. Together they were an amazing team able to blur the boundaries between folk, jazz and rock to make a rewarding brew of style and substance.
Though his famously slurred voice may suggest a laissez-faire approach “May You Never”, “Spencer The Rover” and “The Message” show Martyn’s command and precision when it comes to his playing. However it's the sublime electric guitar and the eight and half minute "Small Hours" from his criminally under-valued One World album that really steals the set, capturing Martyn's uncanny knack of bearing his soul without any histrionics.
Recorded between 1973 and 1978 this is John Martyn BC (Before [Phil] Collins) and thus at the very height of his powers. It's an irresistible combination of writing, playing and performance. Though several of these tunes previously appeared as bonus tracks spread across Universal’s 2005 remastering of Martyn’s Island catalogue, gathered here in one place they make a near perfect introduction to a remarkable musician.
At a time when the numbers of guitars being sold has never been higher, and the media is teeming with growing numbers of earnest looking young men singing meaningful songs, sporting guitars and even beards (a sure sign that they want to be taken seriously), this collection seems timely indeed.
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