After a break of nine years, crucial Brit-folk figure Vashti Bunyan is back with Heartleap, her third and in all likelihood final LP. As beneficiary of a truly warranted resurgence of consumer interest in the early moments of the new millennium, Bunyan hasn’t squandered her good fortune; next to the album that stirred the belated fuss, Heartleap is her finest work. It’s out on vinyl/ CD/ digital via her longtime supporters DiCristina Stair Builders in the US and Fat Cat Records in the UK.
As the 20th century drew to a close, Vashti Bunyan’s name was just as likely to ring bells due to a connection to Andrew Loog Oldham and the recording of a Jagger/Richards composition “Some Things Just Stick in your Mind” as it was through the slowly increasing cult status of her debut LP Just Another Diamond Day.
Cut with lauded Brit-folk producer Joe Boyd and barely issued by Philips in 1970, Just Another Diamond Day is a masterful document, one that not only brought her very long-delayed and fully-deserved attention but also helped to shape a significant portion of what came to be known as the Freak Folk scene. As evidence Lookaftering, Bunyan’s quite strong LP from 2005, received assistance from such relevant names as Banhart and Newsom. But the personnel ranged wide; alongside the return of arranger Robert Kirby from her debut could be found neo-classical composer Max Richter.
Present and future converts to her achievement have and will persist in seeking out Some Things Just Stick in your Mind, Fat Cat’s double-LP/CD collection of her fairly Marianne Faithfull-informed ‘60s material. Including the aforementioned Oldham-aided Mick/Keith ditty that Decca put out as a single in ’67 under the singular Vashti, amongst other stuff the comp corrals “Winter is Here,” Bunyan’s appearance on the soundtrack to Tonite Let’s All Make Love in London, Peter Whitehead’s sorta-documentary about the UK swinging hippie movement.
It also features an entire disc consisting of her Freewheelin’ Bob-inspired demos of ’64, their rediscovery allowing one to deeply examine the chronological breadth of Bunyan’s musical trajectory. Doing so will obviously necessitate the acquisition of Heartleap; as a late-work of considerable care and substantial rewards it caps a sporadic yet appealingly concise oeuvre with graceful intensity.
Fragile, gentle, delicate, wispy: all these (and more) resonate as appropriate adjectives when lassoing up descriptors for Just Another Diamond Day. Yes, it’s a record landing securely into the take-it-or-leave-it zone of tranquility that somewhat defines the Brit-folk era that spawned it. However, Heartleap isn’t so easily pegged.
This isn’t to suggest Bunyan has undergone a departure of style; this LP extends and slightly betters the strides made on Lookaftering, Heartleap’s beauty containing a subtle power illuminating its ten painstakingly assembled numbers as the result of constant growth and adjustment to unexpected obstacles.
Collaboration with Robert Kirby (perhaps most renowned for his association with Nick Drake) had begun when the arranger passed in 2009. Though progress on Heartleap stalled for two years, falling well short of Fat Cat’s initial deadline of 2010, the delay is thoroughly justified as Bunyan produced and edited the album on her own, a personal first.
Opener “Across the Water” shimmers with the richness of careful design. Initially just calm vivid fingerpicking promptly met by the undiminished prettiness of Bunyan’s tone, the third instrument to enter is the agreeable yet distinctive kalimba of Jo Mango, though “Across the Water” doesn’t completely flower until a gradually rising string part surfaces over mid-way through.
It delivers a gorgeous beginning that’s extended by “Holy Smoke,” a track established by guitar, echoey vocals and interestingly, synthesizer, the instrument having been used as a guide on Lookaftering and nixed later. Not so here; Heartleap is resolutely Vashti Bunyan’s conception as the synth, here halfway between a sleepytime Fender Rhodes and a xylophone, is successfully integrated.
As “Holy Smoke” progresses it introduces strings, guest vocals by Devendra Banhart, reflective lyrics, and near the close, Bunyan’s piano, though she actually doesn’t play, at least in the traditional sense; the instrument’s contribution to the disc was pieced together from single notes, a fact making her producer/editor credit even more admirable, particularly since the keys figure so deeply in “Mother.”
A succinct biographical snippet of the woman who raised her, the song comes infused with the intensity cited above, a mood enhanced by the relative sparseness of the arrangement; just piano, some strings, and of course Bunyan’s voice. It contrasts sharply with “Jellyfish,” its layered synths, plucked notes and breathy syllables floating forth and seeming to hover like a cloud in the air, or indeed like a jellyfish in the water.
“Shell,” built on guitar, electronic textures and singing, heralds the mid-way point; where “Jellyfish” floated, “Shell” wields forward momentum as its swells ache beautifully. A percentage of the guitar here is played by Bunyan’s live accompanist (and solo artist of distinction) Gareth Dickson, but “The Boy” is the first of three instances where she goes it alone.
It’s Heartleap’s shortest track, the synths like bowed glass and wind chimes as the guitars sound like miniatures, though describing the atmosphere as twee is highly inapt, and not because the next selection is titled “Gunpowder.” There’s simply nothing affected on display, and these are songs of experience, not innocence.
During “Gunpowder” Bunyan’s arranging skills are readily manifest, especially in how the synth mirrors her voice at the start and then mingles with the strings toward the end. “Blue Shed” is almost entirely vocal and piano, and it’s indicative of her skills as a songwriter that it ultimately lacks for nothing. By comparison “Here” utilizes recorder and dulcimer on a drifting and haunting piece. It sets the stage for the title cut, its name deriving from the cover painting Hart’s Leap by her daughter Whyn Lewis; her excellent fine art-derived work also adorns the sleeve of Lookaftering.
“Heartleap” registers as the most ambitious cut on the LP, though it’s been related that the poetic lyrics, every line beginning with the word heart, came to her very quickly. It’s also the last of the disc’s solo entries, Bunyan employing clarinet in addition to guitar and piano. And as it’s the conclusion to her final album, it can be hard to resist elevating it to a lofty plateau, but in fact “Heartleap” assumes the role with little trouble.
The song brings a rigorous finish to Heartleap, and if it does stand as Bunyan’s last record (unlike the frequent goodbye-hello-goodbye’s of numerous rockers, there’s really no reason to doubt her) she’s crafted an exceptional closing chapter to the slender but vibrant tome that gathers her creative accomplishments.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
