Remembering Bert Jansch in advance of his birthdate tomorrow.
—Ed.
There might be no better time than the present to be a record collecting fan of Bert Jansch. Vinyl reissues from all stages of the Brit-folk guitar linchpin’s career have been flowing into the racks for a while now, and we’re currently experiencing a crescendo of material from the late singer-songwriter.
The 1960s was flush with fingerpickers, and Bert Jansch was amongst the very best. Adding to his appeal, the Scottish troubadour was also a capable vocalist, solid songwriter, and a deft collaborator, first teaming with fellow guitarist John Renbourn; in short order the duo co-founded the progressive folk combo Pentangle.
Jansch’s eponymous debut and its follow-up It Don’t Bother Me, both issued in 1965, have endured as classics, and for those wishing to become conversant with the man’s work, they are the place to begin; last year Superior Viaduct issued the LPs singly, and both will be part of Earth Recordings’ upcoming box set of Jansch’s output for the Transatlantic label.
This period remains the most lauded stretch in the guitarist’s oeuvre, in part due to its consistency and sharpness of focus. 1966 brought third album Jack Orion, which both extends from and contrasts with its predecessor, the opening strains of banjo in “The Waggoner’s Lad” picking up where It Don’t Bother Me’s finale “900 Miles” left off. The instrumental switch intertwines productively with Renbourn’s guitar, as his role, having commenced on the prior disc’s “Lucky Thirteen,” is deepened across four Jack Orion cuts to positive effect.
The most significant development is the preponderance of traditional material. Up to that point Jansch had mostly served up original songs to an occasionally outstanding result (e.g. “Needle of Death,” which will likely continue to be his most celebrated tune), but Jack Orion has none. Instead, he unveils “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” in a fresh, concise arrangement and then expands the title-track to over eight minutes, though many will recognize it from its lengthier side-long version on Pentangle’s 1970 effort Cruel Sister.
Culminating with an abrupt jump-cut into “The Gardener,” Jansch and Renbourn’s first stab at the Child Ballad still satisfies, with the traditional sources heightening the emotional impact throughout and nowhere more so than during “Nottamun Town.” From there Jack Orion’s second side just rolls, with the oft-recorded folk ballad “Blackwater Side” a highlight.
The fortuitous interweaving of the album’s trim running-time continued into the full-on co-billing of Bert and John, also from ’66, but Superior Viaduct’s reissues vault over that LP and ’67’s Nicola to arrive at ’69’s decidedly different Birthday Blues. Often breezy and consistently less intense than Jack Orion, the contents employ the Pentangle rhythm section of upright bassist Danny Thompson and drummer Terry Cox to appealing ends.
Appealing, but not breathtaking, though folks having discovered Pentangle without dipping into solo Jansch will likely find it a welcoming point of entry. As its title suggests, the disc leans toward blues structures, but the atmosphere is folky rather than heavy (with occasional harmonica injections by Duffy Power), even during the darker-tinted standouts like “Poison” and “Promised Land.” Filled out entirely with originals, the generically named closer “Blues” is anything but in aural terms, blending the ambiances of the coffeehouse and the jazz joint courtesy of Thompson’s bass.
Finding Jansch under the spell of Birthday Blues’ sleeve designer, noted sculptor, future wife and inspiration for “Miss Heather Rosemary Sewell,” the disc is spiked with moments of uplift without ever coming on too strong in the positivity department. The overall heft might be lighter in comparison to his more acclaimed sessions, but it broadens the terrain of the Transatlantic years, and it’s still a keeper.
1971’s Rosemary Lane concluded Jansch’s run for the British indie as it took him back to the rudiments of guitar and voice with returning producer Bill Leader, whose hand guided all of the Transatlantic LPs except for the Shel Talmy-helmed Birthday Blues. Blending his own compositions with a few freshly arranged traditional sources, there’s also “Alman,” which is credited to 16th-17th century English composer Robert Johnson, and “Sarabanda” by Baroque-era Italian violinist-composer Arcangelo Corelli.
It all comes together with aplomb while resisting easy encapsulation as a career reset. Although a purely solo affair, the results are sonically bolder than Bert Jansch (which was recorded via reel-to-reel in Leader’s house), and the trad numbers (the title track, “Reynardine” and “Sylvie”) aren’t as severe in mood as what’s found on Jack Orion. Still, the general temperament is attractively pensive, even when slipping into bluesy mode.
Most prominently expressed in “Nobody’s Bar,” the folk-blues gestures occur less often than some might wish. Perhaps it’s this low ratio coupled with the lack of Renbourn or any other collaborative support that contributes to Rosemary Lane rep in some quarters as a likeably modest affair sandwiched between the full-band maneuvers of Birthday Blues and ’73’s Moonshine (which was reissued by Earth in 2015 on compact disc, standard vinyl, and later as a picture disc).
The reality is that Rosemary Lane, Birthday Blues, and Jack Orion are all important entries in the early work of a Brit-folk cornerstone. That all three are soon to be easily obtainable is cause for a little good cheer in a tumultuous time.
Jack Orion
A-
Birthday Blues
B+
Rosemary Lane
B+
