Singer-guitarist-banjoist Karen Dalton holds special significance for many discerning folk fans. A rare example of beauty captured without undue premeditation, she managed only two studio albums before passing in 1993. A song collector and interpreter of unique but captivating voice, her skills were deeply admired by Bob Dylan as she befriended folk scene luminaries Fred Neil, Tim Hardin, and the Holy Modal Rounders. Now through Peter Walker and Josh Rosenthal, her uncovered lyrics have been transformed by a wide range of female artistry. The magnificent Remembering Mountains: Unheard Songs by Karen Dalton is out May 26th on LP/CD/digital through Tompkins Square.
All it takes is one listen to It’s So Hard to Tell Who’s Going to Love You the Best to absorb the prodigious talent that shaped it. Cut in ’69 for Capitol, due to Dalton’s difficulties with studio recording it reportedly had to be massaged into existence by producer Nick Venet. Akin to numerous folk counterparts, her main strength was live performance, but unlike many debuts, Dalton’s wasn’t hindered by the typical rookie issues.
It basically arrived too late in the folk cycle and surely received next to bupkis in promotion. Its reissue in ‘96 cemented her cult status for a younger generation, but for deep folk heads she was already justifiably legendary; a 12-string guitarist and banjo slinger (her photo made the cover of the Ode banjo catalog) with a memory full of ditties reaching back to her childhood in Oklahoma, she had pipes recalling Billie Holliday and a real aptitude for the blues.
Dalton was pretty far afield of the usual hootenanny stuff; for evidence see Cotton Eyed Joe (Live in Boulder 1962). However, she wasn’t as acquired a taste as has been claimed, and In My Own Time, her ’71 studio follow-up on Michael Lang’s Just Sunshine label, is a folk-rock gem. Reissued and still available through Light in the Attic), it finds her in the company of a crack band as she tackled diverse sources, amongst them George Jones, Holland-Dozier-Holland, and her friend Richard Manuel of The Band (Dalton’s often cited as the subject of The Basement Tapes’ “Katie’s Been Gone”).
Other posthumous collections of early material widen her output, but the releases above are the essentials, and a constant element in Dalton’s discography is the personalization of extant songs. Today, her unfussy combination of soul/R&B numbers, traditional tunes, blues, Jelly Roll Morton, and “God Bless the Child” is truly engaging, and yet it doubtlessly served as a limitation as ‘60s folk transitioned into the realms of the ‘70s singer-songwriter.
Stemming from the 2012 publication of the book Karen Dalton: Songs, Poems, and Writings, Remembering Mountains’ crucial component is the bond shared by Dalton and Peter Walker, also a cult musician and overseer of Dalton’s estate. Additionally there is Walker’s relationship with Tompkins Square’s head Josh Rosenthal, his imprint having returned to print the guitarist’s two LPs for Vanguard.
After Dalton’s writings emerged via Walker’s Ark Press, Rosenthal planted the seed for the 11 selections here by simply passing a file of the words to some of his favorite musicians. Proper attention was paid to the writing’s feminine perspective, and the results inspire new considerations of an artist somewhat burdened by an unchanging back-story.
Inherently superior to a standard tribute affair, Remembering Mountains belongs as much to the participants as it does to its inspiration, though there is a tremendous circuitry flowing throughout. Specifically, these women transform their choices a la Dalton’s revered mode of operation; they honor the source by remaining true to themselves.
Notably, the record’s opener is the sole instance with chords written by Dalton, the music and melody on “Remembering Mountains” courtesy of Sharon Van Etten. She taps into a piano-driven mid-tempo and offers a powerful vocal (mingled with the voice of The Walkmen’s Hamilton Leithauser), her rich emotional timbre matching the contemplative nature of the lyrics.
It provides a superb beginning, but the next track highlights the breadth of Rosenthal’s faves; “All That Shines is Not Truth” is performed by veteran alt-folk-Americana singer-songwriter Patty Griffin in a slow, bluesy, late-night piano and organ-infused style bringing to mind Nina Simone. It’s an expert maneuver, momentarily creating an artistic triangle too robust to comfortably reside in the mainstream.
Obviously Dalton has influenced scads of folk(ie)s that don’t fit in, and her importance frankly bloomed post-freak-folk explosion; that’s where I first heard Diane Cluck (on defunct free-mag Arthur’s Davendra Banhart-compiled 2004 CD The Golden Apples of the Sun), and the smoothness of her singing, simultaneously bold and tender, unwinds exquisitely on “This is Our Love.”
Limited to the 88s and syllables (some backup), the keys lend Remembering Mountains an unexpected instrumental twist. And deepening matters further is a divergence from the folk paradigm with “My Love My Love” by Julia Holter. An exponent of contempo electronic experimentalism, Holter’s issued albums on Leaving, RVNG, and most recently Domino, and the oceanic mixture of her voice, the intelligently applied tech, a field recording, and what seems to be woodwinds reminds me slightly of Gavin Bryars’ Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet.
Holter’s entry contrasts sharply with Lucinda Williams’ nicely Bonnie Raitt-ish “Met an Old Friend” (Doug Pettibone’s slide guitar is splendid), but the difference isn’t disruptive. Beginning with her self-titled ’88 disc for Rough Trade, Williams is chiefly known as an alt-country mainstay and by extension as supplier of songs to more commercially viable singers; Lucinda Williams’ “Passionate Kisses” was a subsequent smash for Mary Chapin Carpenter.
But as the ‘70s gave way to the ‘80s, a pair of LPs Williams made for Folkways establish her as the Remembering Mountains contributor inching closest to becoming one of Dalton’s actual contemporaries. Considerably younger, Marissa Nadler’s “So Long Ago and Far Away” is a decidedly post-indie strain of folk, but there is verve in the vocals comparing well to Dalton.
Laurel Halo resides in the current techno/IDM milieu, though the speed-shifting and bursts of synthetic rhythms in her “Blue Notion” are distinct from Holter’s piece; she craftily takes the album’s shortest group of stanzas and reshapes/expands them to the point where Dalton’s rhyme scheme is undetectable.
Interestingly, seven tracks pass before we’re greeted with banjo, said axe blending with fiddle and harmony in the hearty Americana of Larkin Grimm’s “For the Love I’m In.” It gives little indication of Grimm’s rather eccentric background (related to the creators of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, raised in a commune, educated at Yale), and is quite a different scenario from the tense fingerpicking and underlying drone of Isobel Campbell’s mischievously breathy “Don’t Make it Easy.”
The LP then begins to subtly strip it down to the essence, Tara Jane O’Neil’s pretty and tidily poppy “At Last the Night Has Ended” consisting of just vocals and guitar. And Josephine Foster’s vibrantly casual reading of “Met an Old Friend” relies completely on the human voice. An enduringly fascinating freak-folk byproduct (she also figured on the aforementioned Arthur comp), Foster has the uncommon capacity for a cappella sweetness without succumbing to preciousness or the overly quaint.
Instead, she concludes Remembering Mountains with the sort of moxie that’s long defined the art of Karen Dalton. The efforts of Walker and Tompkins Square have broadened her achievement; these songs reinforce Dalton’s renewed relevance.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
