From: nbnewman, March 02, 2015

Richard Williams (thebluemoment.com) writes:

I've been listening to Rhiannon Giddens' new solo album, Tomorrow Is My Turn, while reading Mick Houghton's just-published biography of Sandy Denny, I've Always Kept a Unicorn. Not at the same time, you understand, but it's an interesting and salutary juxtaposition.

Tomorrow Is My Turn is almost scary in the perfection of its settings for Giddens' treatment of blues, folk, country and gospel songs. As a producer of this kind of material, T Bone Burnett offers a guarantee of empathy: a mandolin here, a fiddle there, a banjo where needed, a touch of horns, a subtle wash of strings, all applied with the greatest sensitivity to an exquisite choice of material. It's one of the year's essential purchases, a huge step forward for a singer whose work with the Carolina Chocolate Drops had already established her credentials as an interpreter of roots music.

She's a very fine singer, and she deserves this treatment. You find yourself nodding your head in admiration as she copes so elegantly with the various idioms (even French chanson: check the poised understatement of her version of the Charles Aznavour song that gives the album its title).

Sandy Denny, however, was not merely a fine singer: she was a great one. Not only were her tone and phrasing lovely and distinctive, but she sang from the inside of a song and she had the gift of slowing your heartbeat to match the pulse of her music. What she didn't possess were the attributes that seem to be propelling Giddens to a higher plane: a powerful sense of focus, a rock-solid self-confidence, and the right team around her at the right

time.

I knew Sandy a little, and even 37 years after her death I found reading I've Always Kept a Unicorn an extremely distressing experience. Mick Houghton is not a dramatic writer, but he doesn't need to be: he just needs to stitch together, with quiet diligence and the aid of fresh testimony from many of her surviving friends and colleagues, the story of how Alexandra  Elene MacLean Denny, born in Wimbledon in 1947, achieved recognition without managing to build the sort of career that everyone expected her to have, and then fell so fast and so conclusively that she was dead at 31.

Two linked episodes -- the aftermath of Fairport Convention's motorway tragedy and the saga of Fotheringay -- stand out as pivotal. One night in May 1969 the van carrying members of Fairport Convention back to London from a gig in Birmingham crashed down an embankment on the M1, killing Martin Lamble, their drummer, and Jeannie Franklyn, the girlfriend of Richard Thompson, their lead guitarist. The traumatised band recruited a new drummer, Dave Mattacks, and a fiddler, Dave Swarbrick, and threw themselves into a different kind of project: the album Liege and Lief, in which they applied rock-band techniques to traditional material. It was released in December of that year, and its instant critical acceptance as a benchmark in the evolution of folk-rock diverted them from the musical path they would surely have followed had the accident never happened and the fast-evolving songwriting of Sandy and Richard remained the core of their activity.

Eventually the pair left in frustration, both keen to stretch their wings. Sandy put together the five-piece Fotheringay in 1970 with her new boyfriend, the Australian singer/guitarist Trevor Lucas. Joe Boyd, who had mentored and produced the Fairports, firmly believed that Sandy's future was as a solo artist, not as a member of another group -- particularly not one

organised, as she insisted, along strictly democratic and non-hierarchical lines. He distrusted the charismatic but headstrong Lucas, and he was appalled by the way the record company's large advance -- originally predicated on a solo album -- was being blown on such things as an oversized PA system and a Bentley in which they made their way to gigs.

But although Fotheringay's first album, and their uncompleted second effort, may have been recorded under Boyd's disapproving gaze, out of those sessions came the finest moment of Sandy's career. Within the highly original and starkly dramatic arrangement of "Banks of the Nile", a traditional ballad telling the story of the reaction of a young girl to the imminent departure of her soldier lover, Sandy seems to summon centuries of English history. As the singer Dick Gaughan said on the subject, in an eloquent note in the booklet accompanying A Boxful of Treasures, the five-CD anthology released by Fledg'ling Records in 2004: "The raw, aching agony which she brings to her reading of it makes it impossible not to feel the fear and grief of the young woman at the separation from her loved one and the uncertainty of his

return from the horrors of war . . . It is the supreme example of the craft of interpreting traditional song and is the standard every singer should be aiming for."

Sandy didn't write "Banks of the Nile", but she did write "Who Knows Where the Time Goes", "Late November", "John the Gun", "It'll Take a Long Time" and other songs that showed her gift for taking a sudden but invariably graceful left turn with a melody or finessing an unexpected chord change with perfect logic, and for lyrics that often contained affectionate but clear-eyed portraits of friends and fellow musicians (Anne Briggs in "The Pond and the Stream", for example, or Richard Thompson in "Nothing More"). But "Banks of the Nile" indicates most clearly what might have been, had a combination of internal and external pressures not provoked the disintegration of Fotheringay after less than a year, thus denying her the chance to remain a member of a sympathetic and settled unit whose collective

musical ambition matched her own.

Chronic insecurities were beginning to hinder her career, particularly after the rupture with Boyd, which removed a provider of support and decisiveness. The biggest blow to Fotheringay was dealt by the Royal Albert Hall concert of October 1970. Disastrously, they invited Elton John to open the show, at the very moment when his career was taking off. He hadn't yet grown into his full on-stage flamboyance, but his performance was powerful enough to put his hosts in the shade. When they came out after the intermission, it was

somehow like the colour on a TV set had been suddenly turned off -- and the audience, which had come to acclaim Sandy and her band, found themselves present at an epic anti-climax. Three months later, demoralised by that event and by the unsatisfactory sessions for their projected second album, the band broke up -- thanks largely to a simple misunderstanding between Sandy and Joe Boyd over the terms on which he would produce her first solo

effort.

In fact Boyd never produced her in the studio again, and the four solo albums released between 1971 and 1977 chronicle a diminishing ability to identify and present the essence of who she really was. The overproduced (by Lucas) cover version of Elton John's "Candle in the Wind" on the final album, Rendezvous, represented some sort of nadir. The record company -- Island -- did its best, which too often turned out to be not so good. She found herself agreeing to be photographed by David Bailey, to be dressed up in a 1930s costume, and to be airbrushed and wind-machined in an effort to create an image more superficially glamorous than that represented by her own true self. As Island grew too quickly and had its head turned by success, her career became, to some extent, collateral damage.

When she was voted Britain's top female singer by the readers of the Melody Maker not once but twice, in 1970 and 1971, it was assumed that commercial success would take care of itself. But after Boyd, she didn't get much constructive help -- for which, now, I must partially blame myself, since I was running Island's A&R department between 1973 and 1976. But the artists inherited from Boyd's Witchseason stable were somehow thought to be a law

unto themselves in terms of musical direction, and although Sandy was loved within the company for her warmth of her personality as well as for her artistry, she was not biddable. Nor, in those days, were real artists supposed to be.

Houghton doesn't slow up the narrative by spending much time describing the music, but he does make some discreetly perceptive observations. He remarks that Sandy's first solo release, The North Star Grassman and the Ravens, is "the only album on which Sandy steadfastly stands her ground -- usually by the seashore or the riverbank -- and invites her audience to come to her." And he writes of Trevor Lucas, five years later, working on the production of the ill-starred Rendezvous, "doing such protracted overdubs that it was

almost as if he was subconsciously trying to bury the sentiments of the songs."

Although delving deep into her turbulent love-match with Lucas and the increasing dependence on drugs and alcohol that accompanied her decline, he treads lightly when it comes to other, deeper-lying factors that might be held partially responsible for her unhappiness, such as an enduring fretfulness about her looks (particularly her weight) and an apparent history of abortions and miscarriages. Some readers may feel that the

significance of these matters looms larger than the author allows himself to suggest. Eventually, in 1977, she would have a child with Lucas, a girl whom the father found it necessary to kidnap and take off to Australia less than a year later, as Sandy's problems worsened. Four days after their unannounced departure she was found unconscious at the foot of the stairs in their cottage in a Northamptonshire village, and died in hospital a further

four days later.

It's a shock to realise that someone you knew has now been dead for longerthan they were alive. Had she lived, she would have turned 68 a few weeks ago. Perhaps in that time she'd have encountered another manager, producer or A&R person capable of earning her trust, focusing her talent, nurturing the elements that made her unique, and presenting them to the world in the right package -- the kind of package that Rhiannon Giddens seems to have

been granted in 2015. Who knows how much great music was left in her? I like to think of Sandy coaxing Anne Briggs out of seclusion and inviting Kate Rusby to join them both on stage.

Houghton's scrupulously fair account of her life makes it clear that she could be difficult and destructive, but allows those who knew her well to remember another side. The drummer Bruce Rowland -- who had replaced Dave Mattacks in the Fairports by the time she recorded a last album, Rising for the Moon, with the band in 1975 -- touchingly calls her "endlessly

forgivable". Her old folk-club mate Ralph McTell tells Houghton: "She would provoke -- push people to the very limit at times, which sounds like she was a nasty person, but she wasn't. People would take it because they loved her. I don't know anyone who didn't love her." And you didn't have to know her to love her. You only had to listen to "Banks of the Nile".

=======

And David Hepworth (http://whatsheonaboutnow.blogspot.co.il/) writes in "When rock stars played Scrabble" The more I look at 1971 the more it seems like a vanished world. I've Always Kept a Unicorn: The Biography of Sandy Denny by Mick Houghton is an oral history made up of interviews with people who knew her and worked with her and it's full of telling details of that same old world.

I've just been stopped in my tracks by one such detail. Sandy Denny and Trevor Lucas liked to play Monopoly and Scrabble. There they were, a swinging young bohemian couple with famous friends and a Chelsea address, and they chose to spend their time playing Monopoly. (Bruce Springsteen and Steve Van Zandt were doing the same at the same time over in New Jersey.) And when there wasn't a board around they invented word games. That's where

the title of Fairport Convention's third album  "Unhalfbricking" came from.

This tells you one thing about life at the time and probably how that era came to produce so much vital music. There wasn't a lot else to do. In those days young, hip, long-haired people never watched television. They couldn't afford a set and there wasn't much to watch on it if they did. Of course they lived full lives - drinking, socialising, fornicating, playing, plotting and all the rest that you might expect - but they didn't live with the low level distractions which are an inevitable by-product of plenty and progress. That is what made them so productive.

Next Monday, March 9th, Mark Ellen and I will be talking to Mick Houghton, who wrote the book, as well as Simon Nicol and Ashley Hutchings, who started Fairport Convention in 1967. It's at the Slaughtered Lamb in Clerkenwell. It starts at 7:30 and is over by 9:00. You can find out more and get tickets here.

Stay cool,

No'am

Jazz

From: Levent Varlık, 19 July, 2019

In a Melody Maker interview, below, Sandy says, “Of course, what I really want to sing is jazz.” 

Also Karl Dallas wrote in another issue of MM, "This jazzy feel may surprise some who think of Sandy as someone who has emerged out of the folk scene to become a singer of more general appeal, but when she was just one of a crowd of girls who used to turn up at the old Cousins and the Scots Hoose – though outstanding among them – she always had ambitions so sing jazz." (for full review see http://www.sandydennyofficial.com/softie-sandy/).

Sandy always sang what she wanted including folk, jazz, rock, etc, but many people see her just a folk musician.

Cheers

Melody Maker, Sept 23, 1967

I Don’t Want To Be Labelled, Says Sandy Denny

Funny the way folk singers never seem to be satisfied with what they are. Take the case of young Sandy Denny, the small girl with the big beautiful voice who was such a hit on Alex Campbell’s recent “And His Friends” LP that Alex invited her up to be on his TV show.

Sandy played me the tapes of an album she made in Copenhagen with the Strawbs, curled up in an armchair looking like a blonde and very cuddly kitten and said: “Of course, what I really want to sing is jazz.”

True, she has a sense of timing many would-be jazz singers would envy, most tires old overdone folk lyric sound fresh and new. The pop-style things she does on this new album certainly swing, so I was beginning to see her point.

Then came her only solo track. Accompanied only by her own very individual guitar, she sang a song of her own composition so simply and sincerely that it seemed that this is jesy what she should be doing.

When you hear Sandy startle the back row in a club with her voice’s unexpected power –though never sounding shrill or forced- it’s hard to believe that they wouldn’t let her sing in the school choir.

“I sang in the choir at one school and when I switched to another one I waited for them to ask me. I’m still waiting.

“I started singing folk songs at Theo Johnson’s Folk Barge at Richmond. I never expected anyone to pay much attention, but pretty soon I had turned professional.”

People often compared her –not unfavourably- with Joan Baez and Judy Collins, but the comparison irretate her.

“I’m myself”, she said, pouting. “I don’t want to be labelled.”

Which is why, although she includes a number of British and American folk songs in her repertoire, she’s always looking for new material, and has started writing songs herself.

“I want songs that mean something to me,” she explains. “If they are folk songs, well OK. A lot of them are. But there are other songs that have something I want to say in them.

“I’m collecting material together now for my first solo album. I want it to really represent what I’m trying to do.”

Meanwhile, she is to sing in the forthcoming British Week in Brussels. Also on the bill will be Manfred Mann. Perhaps she’ll get a chance to sing some jazz.

From: Ed Goodstein, July 20, 2019

I agree too she would've/could've been a fascinating jazz singer. In some ways, she played around with her voice, almost like a jazz stylist anyway-- which makes listening to various versions of her songs fascinating. Yet another thing to speculate about with Sandy. Always some additional dimensions to think about, even after so long. Ed

Lyrics: Who Knows Where The Time Goes

From: Carl Malmgren, January 22, 2019

Some ruminations, around the time of her birthday.

“WKWTTG?”: Wherein the incredible power of the song?  Of course in the plaintive melody and the plangent voice.  But also in the lyrics.  I have long thought that the wonderful words of that preternaturally wise young woman (was she still a teen when she wrote them?) bear closer examination.

                    Sandy Denny, “Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving
But how can they know it's time for them to go?
Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming
I have no thought of time
For who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?

Sad, deserted shore, your fickle friends are leaving

Ah, but then you know it's time for them to go
But I will still be here, I have no thought of leaving
I do not count the time
For who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?

And I am not alone while my love is near me
I know it will be so until it's time to go
So come the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again
I have no fear of time
For who knows how my love grows?
And who knows where the time goes?

Part I; This is a song comprised of questions, with a total of eight questions in it, including the title.  The repeated question—who knows where the time goes?—is, of course, rhetorical.  A rhetorical question is one that we need not answer because the answer is obvious to everyone.  In this case, everyone knows that no one knows where the time goes—it disappears.  We inevitably lose (track of) time.  It slips by unnoticed and unremarked.  But, as Paul de Man reminds us, a rhetorical question need not be rhetorical at all, but rather literal; it may well be that the speaker truly wishes to identify someone who knows where the time goes, who knows what happens to it.  And then the speaker proceeds to tell us exactly who knows—she does.  She knows that it evaporates; it disappears; it passes.  She makes that clear in each and every stanza. The birds, the seasons, even the fire continually remind her that time is passing.  The question then becomes, what can we do about the passage of time?  This is a song about a person who feels time slipping away but who is unperturbed because she has the wherewithal to deal with it. 

Part II: The song begins with birds.  Appropriately enough, because birds are good markers of time; they count time by marking the seasons for us. They fly south in the winter, then north in the summer.  The speaker is in a quandary.  How can the birds know time so well: “how can they know it’s time for them to go?”  The first version of the song had them leaving across the purple sky, the second across the morning sky.  Purple is colorful, but morning is better since it is a marker of time.  Evening is even better than morning, because it better denotes the passage of time, the end of time, the time when time slips away, just like the birds.  Of course the speaker sits and dreams before the winter fire (both time markers) because winter is when the birds leave and because winter is the seasonal analogue of evening.  Those same birds prove to be “fickle friends” (a personification and an alliteration) of the shore in stanza two, friends who submit to the whims of time, but now their timing is a matter of fact, not a question: “it’s time for them to go.”  The birds complete the cycle of time by returning in stanza three.

Part III: This is a song about the inevitable passage of time.  The word time is repeated 12 times (counting the title), invariably accompanied by a verb of movement (goes, leaves, comes).  The speaker says she “does not count the time,” but perhaps her listeners do, remembering that we use the word time to denote repetition (one time, two times) and thus to count time.  Or when we hear, "Drink up now, it's time."  The question then becomes, how does she deal with the inexorable passage of time?  The stanzas tell us that the speaker is immune in some ways to its passage.  The fire may burn and thus pass away, but she is still and dreaming: she has “no thought of time” because she stands outside of it.  In stanza two, she admits to resisting the passage of time.  She “will still be here” or be here still, quietly ensconced in a space outside of time; she has “no thought of leaving” (what do trees do in winter? they buckle to the demands of time and lose leaves).  In stanza three she acknowledges the inevitable march of time, “So come the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again,” but she claims that they do not touch her—she has no fear of them.

Part IV: She doesn’t think of time, count time, fear time, even though she is preternaturally aware of its passage.  The question then becomes, how can this be so?  The answer to that comes in the first two sentences of stanza three: “I am not alone while my love is near me; I know it will be so until it’s time to go.” The presence of her love insulates her from the passage of time.  Time goes, but love remains and grows; such is the magic power of love.  Her love and she have created a space where time does not enter, does not count.  Love is thus the antidote to the ravages of time. 

            
Love enables her to escape time, but only until time makes its inevitable demand: “it’s time to go.”  There comes a time when we must all go.  We pass away, we pass on, we pass.  But the speaker does not leave us defenseless to the inroads of time: “I am not alone while my love is near me.” “My love” can refer to a person.  But it also can refer to an activity, one that the speaker clearly loves.  To singing.  To singing a particular song. What does she leave behind for us as a refuge from time?  Why, the song itself, which escapes time by becoming timeless.  The song in effect commands Time to stand still.  And it complies.  Every time (that word again) we hear the song, or sing it, or hum it, we step outside of time and enter into that time-less space, that island, that refuge, that no-time, where exist only the song, the words, and that haunting voice.   

Fotheringay Box

From: Ibell, April 26, 2015

I've given the new Fotheringay collection a few listens, and here are some comments
 about contents.  But please skip this if you're not interested in these types of details.
 Overall, I love the collection, and it sounds wonderful.



Disc 1 includes the original LP, generally as remastered for the big box, although there are
some differences in volume for some tracks.  The six bonus tracks on this disc are the first 
six tracks on Disc 14 of the big box. However, there is a nice surprise with the last song
 on the disc, "Winter Winds." This is remixed in stereo whereas the box set version was mono.
 The preceding track, "Banks of the Nile," also seems to have been remixed, and the stereo 
is perhaps a bit wider than on the box.



Disc 2 contains Fotheringay 2, an exact copy of the original release.  The six bonus 
tracks are the last three tracks of Disc 5 of the big box, followed by two from Disc 14.
 The final one, "Bruton Town," is the version that appeared for download in 2013.  This 
is Sandy's solo performance from 16 March 1972, with instrumental tracks added recently
 by members of Fotheringay.  I love the original, but I like this one very much also.
 This track is unfortunately lossy like the originally released mp3.



Disc 3 pairs remixed recordings from the June 1970 Rotterdam concert with some of 
the surviving BBC recordings of Fotheringay. 

The Rotterdam recordings are still essentially mono, with a little reverb to the sides.  
The quality is a bit better overall.  Three tracks have their first release here:
 "The Way I Feel," "Too Much of Nothing," and "Ballad of Ned Kelly."
 Regarding the other tracks, some chat bits are different on this release compared
with the big box, sometimes contradictory, and it is difficult to tell which are
unaltered and which have been rearranged.  For instance, introducing "The Sea,"
on the big box Trevor says "We're going to start with a song called 'The Sea'", 
but here he says "This song is called 'The Sea'".



A few other examples of remix differences (by no means a complete list):



- On "Nothing More" the start is different from the box set version, with the
 version here adding some acoustic guitar but omitting some piano.



- "Two Weeks Last Summer" is a little longer at the start, and includes Sandy's spoken 
intro.  The strummed acoustic guitar, present on the big box mix, is missing from the 
mix here for about the first minute.



- "Banks of the Nile" is a dozen seconds shorter, by way of a couple of edits during the
last instrumental minute.



Note that the song "I'm Troubled" was titled "Trouble in Mind" on the big box, but the
title used here is correct.  "Trouble in Mind" is a slow blues, and appears on the
19 Rupert St CD.



The BBC recordings are one highlight of the set.  No off-air BBC recordings are included 
here; they all originate either from surviving tapes or from BBC Transcription LPs.
 The quality is excellent.  The first three tracks apparently survive as mono recordings,
and here have some tasteful added effects (such as reverb) to create some headroom and 
give a slight stereo effect.  The final four are true stereo.  To the best of my
knowledge, the session dates for these tracks are:


13 Apr 1970: Interview / The Sea


12 Nov 1970: Lowlands of Holland, Eppie Morrie


15 Nov 1970: John the Gun, Bold Jack Donahue, Gypsy Davey, Wild Mountain Thyme



Two other BBC tracks exist on transcription LP: "Gypsy Davey" from 12 Nov 1970, and 
"The Way I Feel" from 02 Apr 1970.  Ten or so additional songs also exist, but (as
 far as we know) only as off-air recordings.



Disc 4, the DVD containing video of the November 1970 recordings in Bremen, is the 
jewel here.  A must-have.  I never thought I would see this footage, and it's as
good as i could have hoped.



Thanks to everyone involved with this release.  It's a fine celebration of this
 wonderful but short-lived group.


From: Steve Shutt, April 26, 2015

Thanks, lbell (sorry, I do not know your name) for those technical comments.  I am terrible about stuff like this.  I enjoyed the box so much on the one day I devoted to listening to all the discs and have had some follow-up listening that gave me great joy.  I love the look of the box with the sketches on the outside and the beautifully produced booklet that comes with it.  It's just great to have so much of the surviving photos and tracks all gathered together in one place.

A friend sent me a rough scan of a MOJO trashing of the box and that was very sad to see.  For me this box is maybe my favorite Sandy release to date (though I did not get to buy the megabox, a friend did show some of it to me and played some of the tracks so I could hear them).  I have a rather different view of Sandy's Fotheringay period from that commonly put forward in critical writing.  I see it as a magical time in her creative life, highlighted by some of her most brilliant songwriting and performances.  I think this incredibly fruitful time may have helped stimulate further some of the brilliant writing over the releases of the next couple of years, North Star Grassman and the Ravens and Sandy in particular.  I also think the Fotheringay arrangements are my favorite treatments of Sandy's work, from an aesthetic point of view.  I think the reason behind all of it is precisely the harmonic coherence of vision shared by everyone in the band and the formation of a kind of "group mind" with a strong focus on Sandy's songwriting.  Trevor had his own work to share but I actually find it an interesting counterpoint to what Sandy was producing during that year.

Of course a lot of it comes down to musical taste and/or personal loyalty to specific individuals-I wasn't in the scene over there (I was 12 when the band broke up and living in suburban Maryland) so I simply react to what I hear.

Interesting that MOJO also printed an excerpt from Mick Houghton's work on the Liege and Lief period of Fairport which in some ways laid the ground for Fotheringay.  I have not been able to get hold of a copy of the mag or of the Houghton book (I think it is currently import only here in the US).

Cheers,  Steve Shutt

Boston, Mass.

From: mskobac@... , April 26, 2015

I noticed on intro for the Rotterdam live "Nothing More", where Sandy says she "never met this piano before, it’s a new friend", the punch line "or enemy" is cut out. It appears on the version on "Who Knows Where the Time Goes".

Songwriting and Production

From: No'am Newman, April 10, 2015

Following are my opinions on the subject.

Songs can be classified (very crudely) as to falling into one of four structures: strophic (verse only), verse/chorus, verse/verse/bridge/verse and unstructured. The latter “structure” is fairly rare in modern music as both musicians and listeners prefer repeating structures. Almost all of the songs that Sandy Denny wrote have strophic structure, for example "Who knows Where the Time Goes", "Late November" and "Full Moon". There are a few with bridges, for example "Autopsy" and "The North Star Grassman", but these are very much the exceptions. Off hand, I can't think of one Sandy Denny song with a chorus; I would consider "One More Chance" to be classified as having a bridge.

The problem with arranging and producing Sandy's songs is not that they are slow and sad, but rather that they are strophic. This wasn't too much of a problem in the early days, especially when Sandy was accompanied by Richard Thompson, but it was the major problem in the later days.

How would a producer solve the problem of making a strophic song consistently interesting to the listener? By changing the arrangement. The 'mother of all strophic songs' might be considered to be “Matty Groves”; despite the seventeen sung verses, the arrangement changes throughout the song, and there are even a few instrumental interludes which both heighten the drama and maintain the listener's interest.

An external example of solving the “strophic problem” would be some of the songs on Leonard Cohen's first album; John Simon (later to work with The Band) surrounded the bard with accompaniments which changed almost on a per-verse basis (it should be said that I don't consider some of Simon's choices to be good, but at least he made choices).

In what might be considered to be her “prog” album, The North Star Grassman and the Ravens, each song has a different line up of musicians and instruments. Although "Late November", the opening track and a remnant of Fotheringay 2, is strophic (five sung verses as well as one instrumental), there are a few breaks and the arrangement alternately brings forward the lead guitar and the piano (especially at the beginning). "Next Time Around" is also strophic but has a very good string arrangement by Harry Robinson which varies from verse to verse.

The eponymous "Sandy" album was the first to be produced by Trevor Lucas and the cracks are beginning to show. Interest is maintained in "It Suits Me Well" by changing the sounds used (I still have yet to identify exactly which instruments are used) or else by Richard and his inventive licks. "For Nobody to Hear", an odd one out, is saved (or not, your mileage may vary) by the horn arrangement by Alain Toussaint; I always imagine this as an attempt to copy The Band (Toussaint did the arrangements for their "Rock of Ages" live album which would have been released just before the sessions for "Sandy").

Like an Old Fashioned Waltz is composed almost entirely of strophic songs, blanket strings arranged as dully as possible by Robinson and a lack of other instrumental leads. One song is partially saved by a modulation (up three semitones from D to F, then back again; a trick which Sandy was to recycle), but otherwise dull, dull, dull. Producer: Trevor Lucas.

Rising for the Moon provides a glimmer of hope; this was produced by Glyn Johns and it shows. The combined instrumental force of Sandy, Jerry and Swarb was put to extremely good use on "One More Chance" (but remember that this song is not strophic). "After Halloween" might be strophic but it has a very careful violin solo in the middle. Listen also how there are acoustic guitar strums from alternate sides of the stereo. On the other hand, the title track is yet another strophic outing from Sandy whose attraction wears off fairly quickly.

Rendezvous does show a few interesting attempts at making something new: "Gold Dust" and "All Our Days" are hardly standard fare for Sandy. But as for the others.... The classic mis-produced song for me is "Full Moon": excellent lyrics but strophic structure (four verses and one instrumental). The strings are generic and even Sandy's piano is formulaic. A good producer would have noticed how soporific this track is and would have done something to improve it. Even holding the strings off for the first verse would have made a difference.

There may well have been mitigating reasons why the records turned out the way that they did; after having read the Houghton biography, the first word that comes to mind is 'budget'. The second reason is that they (Sandy and Trevor) might well have thought that the production was sympathetic and cast Sandy in the best light possible. They came from a musical background in which “production” and “arrangement” were anathema.  John Wood was a well known “string freak” and Trevor may not have been able to stand up to the combined forces of Wood and Robinson. One also has to take into account that Richard Thompson was missing in action during the mid-70s.

Stay cool,
No'am

From: Ed Goodstein, April 10, 2015

Excellent and thought provoking analysis, and I respect your point of view. Good point about strophic structure of most Sandy Denny songs. Having said that, however, I admit that Like an Old Fashioned Waltz is my favorite Sandy solo album, and I like most of Rendezvous too-a lot, including “Full Moon”, one of my very favorite Sandy Denny songs :).  In general as years have gone by, I listen most to Sandy's solo era works/songs, more than the early stuff, or even Fotheringay. (Yes, I know I'm in the minority on this). That said though, I often find the demo versions/alt. takes around to be as or more interesting/moving (often without the 'overripe' strings, as one writer called them).  So I also agree with you in some respects.  Listening to the newly arrived Fotheringay Box Set, those few tracks Joe Boyd produced/arranged that ended up on NSG are startlingly exciting I think.  It is too bad that he didn't get a chance to produce a solo album for her. It's possible he would've made her  more readily accessible, with more interesting, varied, exciting arrangements.

Ed

From: Howard, April 10, 2015

No'am,


I am a long time fan of Sandy (saw her live in 1975) and an audiophile with
dedicated music room and equipment which can make the most of modern
re-masters.
I have had all the original pink label vinyl lps when they came out in the
70s and have 5 different cd versions of Like an Old Fashioned Waltz. 
 Like an Old Fashioned Waltz is my favourite solo LP and I love the string arrangements as do many
other people judging from reviews on Amazon. Playing this album late at
night transports me to a special place.
I can appreciate that not all people like the string arrangements or
production by Trevor but I am putting myself forward liking both and proud
of it.


Best Wishes


Howard

From: Doug Bell, April 10, 2015

Thanks for the analysis, No'am.  Although the verse-only structure of many of Sandy's traditional folk outings is very noticeable, I hadn't realized how many of her songs were that way as well.  Often I listen to a song in an emotional way rather than an analytical one, and so I miss noticing things like this.  I agree it's likely that this was a component that added to the production challenges.


All the best,


Doug