ROCK SCULLY - Living with The Dead

I never met Rock Scully. One Saturday afternoon early in September 1974 I turned up at a large house on the King's Road to interview the Grateful Dead's Phil Lesh - one of the more memorable chats I had in my short career as editor of Zigzag. The house apparently belonged to a character named Tom Salter - "a middle-aged Cockney suffering from cocaine dementia' - according to Scully in his supremely entertaining but, I would hope and guess, unreliable memoir Living With The Dead. Various people drifted in and out of the room as Lesh and I discussed the details of dissonant counterpoint but regrettably I don't remember Rock Scully being one of them. And now, at the age of 73, Scully has passed away, nearly twenty years after Jerry Garcia whose own demise in a drug-addled mess some hold Scully partly responsible for. And reading Living With The Dead it would be easy to draw that conclusion. A trustworthy history of the Grateful Dead it is not, but as an account of the gigantic and startling amount of drug use that went on, primarily involving Garcia, and the logistical mayhem it caused, it is in turns eye-watering, miserable, and very amusing. It contains the most evocative description of the Acid Tests that I've read anywhere and is particularly revealing about the band's relationship with LSD supremo Owsley Stanley. In the obituary in the New York Times Douglas Martin states that in recent years Scully, drug and alcohol-free, had settled in Carmel to look after his mother, paint houses and involve himself in civic issues. That he lived as long as he did is probably some sort of miracle given the horrendous volume of mind-boggling chemicals that passed through his body but I for one will sing along to Uncle John's Band today in his memory.

My Books Of The Year

In no particular order the ten best books I've read this year are :

Pereira Maintains by Antonio Tabucchi
Burial Rites by Hannah Kent
The five Patrick Melrose novels by Edward St.Aubyn (I count these as one book as I read them all back to back in one week)
Harvest by Jim Crace
H Is For Hawk by Helen MacDonald (for once all the acclaim is completely justified)
Quiet by Susan Cain
The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber
Godfrey's Ghost by Nicolas Ridley (thank you Andrew Weatherell for the recommendation)
Travels With Epicurus by Daniel Klein
Water & Sky by Neil Sentance

As usual, I wish I'd had time to read more and write this blog more regularly. The pile of unread books continues to grow but I've decided there's nothing I can do about that except sleep less.

A WEEK IN BOOKS

A lot of my time last week was, happily, dominated by things bookish and literary. The now annual Taunton Literary Festival, miraculously organised almost single-handedly by Lionel Ward, proprietor of our local independent book shop Brendon Books, began last week and I went along to one of the first events – an appearance by David Mitchell (not the comedian) at the Castle Hotel on Tuesday morning. Succumbing to the relentless twitter campaign prior to its publication I read The Bone Clocks and thoroughly enjoyed most of it. It has several intriguing storylines and characters, is well-paced and easy to read and promised, if not a profound conclusion, then at least a memorable twist or unexpected outcome. But around three-quarters of the way through the book the supernatural, time-travelling, fantasy element of the story that was always lurking in the background suddenly kicked in with a vengeance and I was immediately and completely lost. Lost and uninterested I'm afraid. So much so that I really didn't much care how it all ended. Reviews of The Bone Clocks have been predictably favourable but the only notice that rang true for me was Kate Saunders' in The Literary Review and I quote : 

 “The publisher's blurb describes 'The Bone Clocks' as a 'metaphysical thriller' and I don't know what this means, unless it's 'Harry Potter for grown-ups'. Sorry if this sounds unkind, but grown-up novels that deal in supernatural jiggery-pokery are hard to take seriously as works of art, so it's best to just lighten up. 'Cloud Atlas' missed the Booker in 2004 but it did win the Richard and Judy Best Read of the Year and it was made into a film – which only goes to show how brilliantly entertaining David Mitchell's writing can be. 'The Bone Clocks' is the kind of delicious, intricate nonsense that cries out to be read at leisure beside a fire”.  

So I was interested to find out whether Mr.Mitchell would be able to elucidate on the more fanciful aspects of his book and explain what it's all about. Unfortunately though he just read a passage from the book (which wouldn't have had any meaning if you didn't vaguely know the plot) and then answered questions from the ever-so-slightly fawning audience. Mr.Mitchell was terribly polite, humble and well, very nice. But it also all seemed a little lightweight and insubstantial. I was hoping I might come away with the intention of re-reading The Bone Clocks to discover what I might have missed first time around but with all the other books I just have to read I don't think there's time.

And on the subject of book acquisitions, the last couple of weeks have been particularly fruitful especially as some of them were birthday presents. Here's my haul :

Legend Of A Suicide by David Vann (£2.49 Phoenix Books, Crewkerne)

The Disappearance by Derek Marlow (£1.25 Phoenix Books, Crewkerne)

Hard Travellin' by Kenneth Allsop (£1.25 Phoenix Books, Crewkerne)

Empires of The Dead by David Crane

Walking The Woods and the Water by Nick Hunt

A Spy Among Friends by Ben MacIntyre

Modernity Britain : A Shake of The Dice 1959-62 by David Kynaston

Ulverton by Adam Thorpe

Travels With Epicurus by Daniel Klein

The Galapagos by Henry Nicholls

Christmas 1914 by John Hudson

Whoops! By John Lanchester

The week ended with a real highlight – a talk by Nicolas Ridley, son of Arnold Ridley (Godfrey from Dad's Army) about Arnold's life with special emphasis on his experiences as a soldier in the First World War. It took place at the Museum of Somerset in Taunton as part of their season of events to commemorate the beginning of the Great War. Nicolas Ridley has written a wonderful book – Godfrey's Ghost : From Father To Son, which is really an extended letter to Nicolas' son Christopher that is intended to ensure that he appreciates the full life and character of the grandfather he didn't know. Doddery old Godfrey was but a small, if not insignificant, episode in Arnold Ridley's life and Nicolas has done a marvellous job in expanding our knowledge and appreciation of this colourful man's rich, and turbulent, life. Bizarrely enough I first heard of the book when DJ Andrew Weatherall recommended it in an interview he gave. I sought it out, read it and was entranced, both by the book's content and its style. Nicolas Ridley was a thoroughly charming, amusing speaker who talked affectionately about his father and, refreshingly, quite critically about the ways in which the horrors of the Great War were being 'celebrated' in some quarters. Definitely one of the best volumes of biography/memoir that I've read for a while. Perhaps a future Slightly Foxed edition?

NICK DRAKE - Remembered For A While

I am fortunate enough to be in possession of a copy of this superb-looking book on Nick Drake, published today by John Murray. I'm reviewing it for Caught By The River and have yet to finish reading it, but such is its sumptuous design and lay-out that I can't help periodically flicking through the pages, looking at the photos, scrapbook press cuttings and copious illustrations. One segment in particular though caught my attention. Extracts from Rodney Drake's diaries dated March 1972 to November 1974 are reprinted, and as a loving and concerned father seeing his son in such torment, they are unbearably poignant to read. What stopped me in my tracks though was the entry for Wed 26 June 1974 where Rodney relates how Nick gave him a copy of Zigzag magazine "which had a long and interesting article about himself". Rodney read the article to his wife Molly and later they both had what Rodney describes as "quite an animated talk" with Nick. "It seemed clear that the article had given him a boost and we talked about how he could get over his difficulty in talking to people". Also printed on the same page is the cover image of that copy of Zigzag - the first, and probably best, edition of that magazine that I edited. The article in question - In Search Of Nick Drake - was written by Connor McKinight, my predecessor at Zigzag and a fellow who didn't write as much as he should have. What he did write though was always worth reading. But the thought that, at the time, our humble mag helped brighten Nick Drake's day up is strangely heart-warming.

ROBERT WYATT : Different Every Time

This week a long overdue authorised biography of one of music's most revered musicians is published by Serpents Tail. Different Every Time tells the story of Robert Wyatt, from his liberatingly bohemian childhood and youth through his groups - the Wilde Flowers, Soft Machine, Matching Mole, to his unique and substantial body of solo work and the many fruitful associations that pepper his career. There is of course tragedy and drama along the way with enough high and low points to ensure that Robert's story reads every bit as enthrallingly as that of the most feted rock star, but in essence it's a sympathetically-told tale of a very gifted man, his special music, his political beliefs and his relationship with his wife Alfie, herself a distinguished artist of some reknown.

It has been my privilege to have known and worked with both Robert and Alfie over the years, first at Rough Trade and then again a few years later when I signed Robert to Rykodisc where, dare I say it, we helped rejuvenate his career by releasing Shleep, Cuckooland and re-releasing most of his back catalogue. I can vividly remember the excitement in the office as I played the initial tracks from Shleep that Alfie brought in one day. Our press officer, Pat Naylor, who did such a marvellous job promoting the albums, and my co-conspirator Alison Wilshaw were particularly enthralled and after we'd managed to persuade our U.S. parent company (who were really only interested in an artist if their past sales figures looked good) that we just HAD to sign Robert (thanks to Joe Boyd who insisted that Robert's records be released on his Hannibal imprint) we embarked on an extended relationship that I still regard as the most satisfying and enjoyable that I had in my long music biz career. Our beloved Rykodisc eventually fell into the hands of a hedge-fund shark who made a lot of money on it when he sold it to the hapless Warner Music who, despite promises to the contrary, decimated it. I could go on. But I won't. Happily, when the axe fell I was able to ensure that Robert and his music found a good home at Domino Records where Laurence Bell and Jonny Bradshaw in particular have continued to give Robert and Alfie the support and freedom to continue making music on their own terms.

Musician (one half of Grasscut) and writer Marcus Odair has performed an exemplary job in writing this book so sensitively and passionately. His research was obviously diligent and far-reaching and his assessment and knowledge of Robert's music have given the book a dimension that so many lesser music biographies lack. I can't recommend it highly enough. Also, around the same time, Domino are releasing a double CD compilation with the same title which I helped compile. One disc will feature a selection of tracks covering Robert's early years and solo work and the other disc contains a diverse and revealing set of collaborations between Robert and artists ranging from John Cage to Bjork. It's the perfect accompaniment to this very fine book.

An Evening With Michel Faber

 Tuesday Oct 21 2014

To Bath to hear Michel Faber talk about his new, and supposedly last, novel The Book Of Strange New Things. Bath is blessed with two superb independent bookstores – Topping & Co., who also host the Bath Autumn Book Festival, and the splendidly named Mr.B's Emporium Of Reading Delights who staged this event (check out their excellent web-site) that was held at the Bath Royal Literary & Scientific Institute. In the wake of the recent film adaptation of Under The Skin (a film I'm afraid I found impenetrable) and two radio adaptations ahead of publication date, Faber's book has been hotly anticipated and very well promoted (at least via Twitter anyway) by Canongate. Having managed to miss out somehow on The Crimson Petal And The White and his earlier work, my initial introduction to Faber's writing was with the wonderful short story collection The Fahrenheit Twins. The title story was made available as a magazine give-away CD which had Faber reading it over a suitably icy ambient soundtrack written and performed by Brian Eno, and as I had managed to persuade Eno to release his then current album Another Day On Earth on the record label I ran at the time I was keen to make this unique collaboration commercially available as well. Lunch with Canongate boss Jamie Byng and Eno's manager Jane Geerts generated much enthusiasm but alas, for reasons I can't fully remember but probably have more to do with my failure to convince my sceptical bosses of its commercial value than anything else, the idea never materialised and the CD remains, I suspect, something of a collectors item.

However my interest in Faber and his work was kindled and although it's been a long time since then, the arrival of a new book is genuinely exciting. The circumstances under which The Book Of Strange New Things was written has already been quite well documented. Tragically, Faber's second wife Eva, who worked closely with him on his writing and seems to have been an invaluable source of inspiration, was diagnosed with terminal cancer and died last July after the book was completed. In this, one of several select appearances he's making to promote the book, Faber, a man known to be private and almost reclusive, talked openly about his wife's illness, the effect it had on the way the book was written (at her insistence he wrote six lines a day while he was caring for her) and indeed the content of the book. Unlike The Crimson Petal, which he said was meticulously planned from beginning to end before he even started writing it, Strange New Things was an adventure for him in that he had no clear idea of where and how it would end when he started out. Clearly I haven't read it yet (my signed first edition rests invitingly on my desk as I write this) but, like all of Faber's books it apparently avoids any attempt to be labelled genre fiction. From what I can gather it's essentially about faith and relationships but, like Under The Skin, it has a science fiction element (there are aliens) that hopefully won't deter people who are averse to that possibly intimidating genre. Like all of Faber's books that I have so far read it promises to deliver, amidst a fantastical and other-worldly setting, more perceptive wisdom on the human condition. Prompted by a chap from Mr.B's who looked disarmingly like the actor Hugh Laurie and was a really excellent interviewer, Faber's confident and well-measured conversation ranged beyond the subject of the new book and at one point he declared, surprisingly, that he hardly reads at all these days. His life, it seems, is consumed by music. He spends a lot of time with his record collection and plays music all the time. “There is no way I'm going to read the Booker Proze shortlist for instance. Why would I read when I could be listening to Hungarian prog-rock?” This is obviously not a new obsession either as he said that when he was a struggling novice writer in Australia, before the days of computers and without a typewriter, he rejected the idea of hiring a typist at $1.50 a page because he could buy a second-hand LP for that! In the audience Q&A that followed I asked him if music inspired him in his writing and whether he listened to music when he wrote. He said that music didn't inspire his work and that he listened to (non-vocal) music all the time when he worked but music that definitely did not complement the mood or setting of what he was writing. Miles Davis and Krautrock seemed to be current favourites. He also said that even though his fiction-writing days were over (“I've written all I have to say; I don't want to repeat myself”) he was contemplating a book on music (“which only 180 people will probably want to read”). But underlying everything he talked about was the sense of loss that he obviously feels so acutely with the death of his wife, and it was to this theme that he turned again to complete the evening when he read five or six startling poems (which may or may not be published eventually) – some angy, some almost unbearably poignant, all of them raw and scalpel sharp. It was an extraordinary performance from such a reticent character. We were witnessing a sort of catharsis that was both unnerving and profoundly moving. If The Book Of Strange New Things carries anywhere near such an emotional punch then it will be a truly memorable read.

Quiet Please!

Like a lot of people preoccupied with books I suppose, I would be described as an introvert - someone who instinctively shuns large crowds, noisy gatherings, ostentatious behaviour of any kind, and would rather be out of the limelight (whatever that is) than in it. As a result it's easy sometimes to feel marginalised from daily public discourse, to feel ignored and overwhelmed by the barrage of noisy people with often little of interest to say. And you're more likely to be treated with suspicion if you're naturally quiet - perhaps you're harbouring a secret or witholding information that everybody else feels they have the right to be party to? The infamous spy Kim Philby was the opposite - an extrovert - and hardly anyone suspected him of anything for decades. One of the world's great bluffers. As social networking becomes more popular and you're made to feel hopelessly adrift if you don't at least have a twitter account and a facebook page, and as vacuous celebrity culture continues to obsess the popular media to distraction, it's not surprising that introverts feel increasingly disengaged from society today. Susan Cain makes this point much more eloquently and at greater length in her wonderful book Quiet : The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking (Penguin paperback). I've just finished reading it and already I feel more re-assured about the value of my natural temperament, more confident about my (quiet) ability to make my point (I have this blog! Blogs are a Godsend to introverts!), and more optimistic that eventually enlightened thinking in business, politics, the media etc will start to listen to quiet people more often and more intently. I would hope that Susan Cain's book becomes required reading on any respectable 'management course' and in all responsible boardrooms in the country. She has drawn on a lot of evidence from trials, tests, surveys as well as anecdotal evidence to construct her basic argument that the world would be a better place if introverts were given more opportunity for their voices to be heard and to have their ideas more readily assimilated in public life. The book is not a tirade against extroverts though. Cain is very clear on the idea that extroverts also often have important things to say and that both ends of the temperament spectrum have a lot to offer each other. One of the most interesting things about this book is in fact the way that Cain decribes the differing relationships between introverted and extrovert behaviour - in marriage, business, etc. Perhaps unusually for an introvert (or maybe not - Cain also revealingly and subtly challenges the rigidity of such definitions) I am a football fan. An Arsenal fan to be precise. And one of the enjoyable benefits of reading Quiet is to be able to look at certain people in the public gaze and re-evaluate their behaviour and personality. Last summer Arsenal signed Mesut Özil, a world-class footballer so unlike any other player, temperamentally, at that level of the game that some vociferous voices in football who should know better have actually vilified him for some perceived character flaw that doesn't compel him to behave like a demented, hysterical, headless chicken when he's playing football. They don't trust him! Absurd and dispiriting. Ian Williams highlights the problem very well here : http://www.pastemagazine.com/articles/2014/08/arsenal-mesut-ozil-silent-gunner.html? Özil was in the German team that won the World Cup. Anyone who still can't appreciate his qualities after that definitely needs to read this book.

HOLIDAY READING

Another long gap between posts I'm afraid. I'm still working on trying to achieve a balance between reading and writing and have been doing much more of the former rather than the latter these past weeks. And I have taken an early summer holiday as well. A week away was just enough time to consume the five Edward St Aubyn 'Melrose' novels which I've somehow missed until now - Melvyn Bragg alerted me to their existence in one of his 'In Our Time' newsletters. They are all completely compelling books that really have to be read in sequence and preferably with a stiff drink to hand. If your idea of a good novel is one in which you can feel empathy with the characters these books are, unless you're a conceited, arrogant, spineless sadist, probably not for you. If beautifully written prose, witty, quasi-philosophical dialogue and superb characterisation are your criteria however then I recommend them without reservation. All five books - Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, Mother's Milk and At Last are heavily autobiographical which renders the early, odious incident that overshadows almost the entire narrative even more shocking. For an excellent, detailed account of St Aubyn's life to date and a critique of these haunting books read Ian Parker's long piece Inheritance in this week's New Yorker.

JESSE WINCHESTER

No blogs for over a month and then an old piece, not about books but about a songwriter! But a pretty great songwriter, one who wrote literate, poignant songs that mostly describe an America that is disappearing before our eyes. I was particularly saddened to hear of the passing of the great Jesse Winchester last week not only because his songs provided so much enjoyment and enrichment, but because he was a thoroughly charming and kind gentleman who gave of his time and talent so generously. It was my very great honour to meet and interview him when he made an all-too-brief visit to this country in 1976 and I also went to see him perform at a noisy and poser-ridden Dingwalls in London. Unfortunately I don't remember too much about the gig but I have very fond memories of the couple of hours I spent in his company discussing his albums (of which he signed my copy of his classic debut). With additional material from the late Giovanni Dadomo who also interviewed Jesse for Sounds, here is a slightly edited version of the piece I wrote for Zigzag in November of that year.

Jesse Winchester was born in Shreveport, Louisiana in 1945, and spent most of his childhood in Memphis where his early interest in music was quickly nurtured. By the time he was six years old he'd been given the standard piano lessons, at age twelve he was playing the organ in church, and by fourteen he’d discovered the guitar and rock 'n' roll.

"The sort of music that I liked then was 'Shake Rattle & Roll', Hank Williams stuff, and any funky music that you could find… there wasn't much of it until Elvis came along."

After a short stint as guitarist in a friend's band, Jesse went to Massachusetts…"They sent me north to give me an education — a gentleman's education"… and somehow or other he ended up in Munich on the pretense of studying German and Philosophy, but in actual fact spent most of his time playing in a band…" just a bar band, a little group. They were all German guys, I was the only American. That was about 1965/66. I came back and finished my last year at school and then I went back down to Memphis and played piano in a cocktail lounge for a while, just treading water really".

The above facts, however, pale in comparison to the next event in Jesse's life, one that changed and re-shaped his career completely. He received his draft papers from Mr. Nixon… and that meant a long Cong-hunting holiday in Vietnam — something that Jesse didn't really fancy, to say the least. He decided instead, on moral grounds, to evade bayonetting courses, and fled to Canada.

"It wasn't an immediate decision; I thought about it awhile, but it didn't take me too long to decide. I asked the advice of people I respected and I'd say it took me two weeks to come to a decision. I didn't know anything about Canada, so I looked it up in reference books to find out which were the large cities and how many provinces there were, and so forth, and in this book it said that Montreal was the largest city, so I went there. Anyway, it sounded like the most cosmopolitan, and it is."

Jesse's first musical venture in Montreal was to join a French-Canadian dance group, a short-lived but interesting collaboration. "Well, I tried to find a straight job at first but I couldn't, so I answered an advertisement in the paper saying that a guitar player was needed — simple as that. It was a good job too — steady; I got $100 a week every week, which was a godsend. I was with them about six months, during which time I learnt to speak French — ostensibly because none of the guys could speak a word of English, so it was pretty good in that way too."

"The band played some real peculiar gigs… boy, did I see the wilds! I suppose it was good in a way, but I got awfully depressed. Our name was the Astronauts, by the way, and I left because the manager wanted us to dress up in leotards with silver lame, a bikini thing, and a kind of football helmet with antennae. So, in my newly adopted tongue, I bade them 'au revoir'.

"While I was with that band, however, I met loads of other musicians, which was another fringe benefit, and we got together another kind of R&B band, and this was actually a nice little band called the John Cold Water Group. We played a little too jazzy and a little too loud for the commercial jobs that we got, though, and finally had to break up because we couldn't make any money on it. We played rhythm 'n' blues, y'know, Sam & Dave, Otis Redding and Ray Charles. I was singing and playing guitar, and we had some really good musicians in that band, all of whom are still making good music. Anyway, after that I went on my own, because I was so fed up with the strictures of life in a band."

It had been in Canada that Jesse first started to write his own material, and his decision to go solo game him the chance to play it. An introduction to Robbie Robertson of the Band, and a subsequent record contract followed with smooth inevitability.

"I met Robbie Robertson in about 1969, I think, in Ottawa. At that point I had written some songs and this friend of mine, who was a deserter from the American army, brought this two-track Ampex recorder up from the States, and we were making a demo tape in the basement of this church. Well, a guy named Gordon Shepherd who was a friend of the guy I was living with, brought Robbie down. The Band had just recorded Big Pink so I was really impressed. Well, anyway, he suggested I make a demo tape, which he would take to Albert Grossman… and that's what happened".

The results of all this was Jesse Winchester's debut album, just titled Jesse Winchester, released in 1970 on the Ampex label, produced by Robbie Robertson and engineered by studio wizard Todd Rundgren.

"We did about ten days to two weeks of recording, then we took the tapes home, listened to them, decided what we liked and what we didn't like, and then came back and did about three more days of revisions and additions. Then Robbie and Todd mixed it — I don’t know where they mixed it — I think it was New York. I wasn't in on the mix."

Debut albums often number among the best of any month's record releases, but Jesse Winchester's first has got to be among the most beautifully poignant, warm and inspiring debuts I've ever heard. Ed Ward in Rolling Stone wrote ecstatically about it, saying that "every patriotic American should listen to Jesse Winchester, the man who loved it and left it, because his songs transcend all barriers with the exception of one: art." Melody Maker's Richard Williams was about the first journalist over here to discover him, predicting that "if his first album is anything to go by, Winchester will be a giant before long." (It didn't get released over here until very recently, by the way). Our man Dadomo has discussed the album, along with the two subsequent releases, at great length in a previous Zigzag article, and as I agree almost totally with his sentiments I will dwell on this most exquisite of albums no longer, except to say that the opening track on side two, 'Yankee Lady', reduces me to warm jelly and leaves me grinning like an idiot.

Winchester's next album, Third Down, 110 To Go, arrived approximately two years later, apparently having taken most of that time to make. It's produced by Jesse himself except for three tracks which come from an earlier session produced by Todd Rundgren.

"We tried to make an album, Todd and me. And we did make an album, but it just didn't really work apart from the three tracks I used. Todd comes from a sort of Who tradition, if there is a tradition there, and I'm older than that, and it just didn't work that well. But I think the world of Todd — he's gotta be one of the most talented people I know. So it's no kind of bad reflection on him, it’s just the combination."

The critics went suitably potty about the album, which unlike its predecessor did get a fairly immediate release over here. It didn't really move in vast quantities, although in the States it's supposed to have sold more than 100,000 copies. Jesse is, of course, unable to risk returning to the States for fear of being thrown in the draft dodgers’ penitentiary, so he's never had the opportunity to play there on his own and capitalize on his fairly substantial cult figure status.

By way of digression (for all you sports fans), the title Third Down 110 To Go concerns Canadian football. "The title plays on the difference between Canadian and American football. In American football the field is 100 yards long and in Canadian football it's 110. And in American football you get four chances, or four downs, to move the ball ten yards, whereby you earn another four downs to move another ten yards, and so on. In Canadian football you only have three downs to make ten yards, so if it's third down 110 to go, it means you're all the way up the other end of the field and it's your last chance. So it's sort of a desperate situation. If you were in America playing American football you'd be behind your own goal-line". So much for the theories about the title being a reference to the third album having been recorded (the second being the abortive attempt with Rundgren), leaving only 110 to go before the expiry of his contract!

Two other points of interest concerning Third Down. Firstly, it contains the legendary 'Midnight Bus' mentioned at the beginning of this article, and secondly it features the exemplary guitar work of Amos Garrett, for whom Jesse (and every knowledgeable guitar freak I know) holds the highest regard.

"Todd brought him along to some of those sessions we did; that's how I met him. I don't know what to say about Amos' playing, it's just… the best. A musician's musician, as they say."

In between albums, Jesse continued his modest career of gigging around Canada either alone or with small groups, the most notable of which was a trio called Jesse Winchester and the Rhythm Aces — consisting of drummer Butch McDade and bassist Jeff Davis. When they finally parted company with Jesse they became the Amazing Rhythm Aces along with Barry 'Byrd' Burton, Billy Earhart, James Hooker and Russell Smith, and if you remember, they had a rather large hit in America last year with a song written by Russell Smith called 'Third Rate Romance'. Smith is the group's principal songwriter (and a very good one at that), and through his association with McDade and Davis, Jesse became aware of him and recorded two of his songs on his own third album Learn To Love It.

One of the songs was 'Third Rate Romance'… and while another Winchester album rode waves of critical acclaim that seemed to work in inverse proportion to sales figures, Jesse sat back and watched, with a wry smile, as the Amazing Rhythm Aces' version of 'Third Rate Romance' sailed into the charts approximately one year later. One suspects that his total lack of commercial success doesn't worry Winchester that much (although he says it would enable him to live more comfortably and be able to buy some much needed recording equipment); he's not exactly a prolific writer and four albums in over six years, however good, are hardly enough to keep one bubbling in publicity.

"I'm really slow. I'm naturally lazy, plus I haven't been tremendously successful in financial terms, so there's not an awful lot of pressure from the company for me to produce more records… and without that pressure I don't do anything, I just sit around."

So Jesse Winchester cruises along… doing very little except making fabulous records, as his new one (again two years after its predecessor) proves convincingly. Titled Let The Rough Side Drag, it consists of eleven Winchester originals plus a Hill/Schroeder song called 'It Takes More Than A Hammer And Nails To Make A House A Home'. There's the typical mixture of beautifully controlled rock numbers, interspersed with the more characteristic ballads that Jesse is such a craftsman at writing and performing. 'Lay Down The Burden', 'Blow On, Chilly Wind', 'How About You' and 'As Soon As I Get On My Feet' are exceptionally good songs bearing all the Winchester trademarks of unpretentiousness, earthiness, simplicity, warmth and genuine poignancy. It is definitely a superior album and one that will remain a favorite of mine for a long time. A fair number of local Montreal musicians were used on the album, including the three people who are currently in his band and accompanied him over here earlier this year: Marty Harris (bass), Chris Castle (drums) and Bobby Cohen (guitar).

"Marty and I have been together for about a year, and the other two guys came along last November. This is by far the best band that I've had, and they all have their own musical lives, so I imagine that it'll be the longest lasting. I have no intention of changing. They all write music themselves and they play with other people, so they're not gonna get bored."

And that really is basically the Jesse Winchester story to date. Apart from the draft-dodging episode, his career has been fairly unspectacular even though his work has been of the highest calibre. Songs such as 'Yankee Lady', ‘The Brand New Tennessee Waltz’ and 'Biloxi' are surely destined to become standards having already been admired and covered by people like Tim Hardin and Brewer & Shipley ('Yankee Lady'); The Everly Brothers and Joan Baez ('The Brand New Tennessee Waltz'); and Tom Rush and Ian Matthews ('Biloxi'). Also, none other than Wilson Pickett recorded a Jesse Winchester song called 'Isn't That So'.

True, his enforced exile from his own country has given him a perspective on America that few writers possess and even now it still gives him a identity that adds fuel to his cult figure status. As of 1972 he became a Canadian citizen, and he now considers Canada his home.

"You become a character or something, you know, and people hang all these concepts on you. But in reality I'm not weeping over Mississippi or anything like that. I don't have any more nostalgia for my old hometown than you do for yours, it's just the same thing; you can't go back to your childhood, no-one can. Even though I'm legally constrained from going back to the United States, it really doesn't make that much difference to me, thank God. The way the Lord gives us this selective amnesia, it's really a blessing."

© Andy Childs, 1976

The Oxford American

If you haven't discovered the Oxford American magazine yet (its annual music issue is essential reading) here's a link to a recent essay by John Jeremiah Sullivan that will give you an example of the quality of writing that it represents : http://www.oxfordamerican.org/articles/2014/feb/18/chop-upbeat/.

Book of the Week : Tenth of December by George Saunders (Bloomsbury pbk)

Long-time New Yorker readers will be well-familiar with the stories of George Saunders and his black-humoured dystopian take on a near-future America and, by natural extension, the rest of the modern world. If the worlds that Saunders writes about are fairly scary in their creeping idiocy and totalitarianism his characters are nevertheless recognisably human and essentially good people, battling against seemingly impossible odds to maintain their dignity and optimism. His stories are also very, very funny. The Tenth of December is not his first collection of short stories but it may well be his best. There are ten pieces here, the pick of which for me are The Semplica Girl Diaries and My Chivalric Fiasco. They are not always a straightforward read as, without way of introduction to the world you are about to read about, Saunders often jumps straight into a situation and narrative that only becomes comprehensible and often chillingly recognizable after a few pages. I have to admit that I had to read the title story twice before I had a clue as to what was going on. No hardship though. I can imagine reading the whole book again before too long and hope that Mr.Saunders keeps writing stories of this quality for some time to come.

Other George Saunders books :

Civilwarland In Bad Decline

Pastoralia

The Brain-Dead Megaphone

In Persuasion Nation

The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil

Slightly Foxed

The new issue of Slightly Foxed (No.41, Spring 2014) arrived this morning and as usual the day threatened to grind to a halt. I am slowly learning to resist the urge to find a quiet corner and consume its 96 pages in one gulp and to ration my reading over the three months before the next issue. And so I've just read the first essay - a review of Lewis Thomas' groundbreaking The Lives Of A Cell : Notes of a Biology Watcher by Richard Mabey - which is as eloquent and persuasive as you would expect, but what intrigued me was the constant references to the brilliant and really badly-missed Vole magazine that Mabey contributed to and that was edited by one of my heroes - the late Richard Boston. I have every issue of Vole and still refer to it regularly for its timeless and often prescient nuggets of ecological wisdom. In the footnote to Mabey's piece it mentions that he "still yearns for the resurrection of a New Vole". What an overwhelmingly welcome event that would be!

Joseph Mitchell's Secret

Good piece in Vanity Fair on the background to the great Joseph Mitchell's masterpiece Joe Gould's Secret - http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2014/02/joe-gould-secret-mystery

Neil Sentance - Water and Sky : Voices from The Riverside

Regular Caught By The River readers will know and love the writing of Neil Sentance from his series of beautifully written essays about the countryside, people and history of his native Lincolnshire. In April the rest of the world will be able to explore and delight in the man's work when a book which collects these pieces is published jointly by Caught By The River and the excellent Little Toller.Details were posted yesterday : http://www.caughtbytheriver.net/2014/02/water-and-sky-a-caught-by-the-river-book/ and Mr.Sentance will be appearing and talking in the Caught By The River tent at this year's Port Eliot Festival in July. A perfect combination if ever there was one.
Links : www.porteliotfestival.com and www.littletoller.co.uk