I’m just a Richard Thompson groupie
I went to a Richard Thompson concert the other night.
Who’s he? Just one of those old guys (in his fities!) still churning out the music and touring round the world. He’s never become a household word despite a career that’s lasted over thirty years.
But here’s my small effort to promote one of the most electrifying and intense performers of all time. And I’m not even getting a fee, although a meeting with the guy, if anyone could arrange one, might be awfully nice (in this latter endeavor I’m inspired by The Anchoress’s call for a similar rendezvous with Bryn Terfel. Each to his [her] own).
I discovered Thompson about fifteen years ago and the minute I heard him I knew I was hooked. I was idly listening to one of those FM stations that specialize in what’s known as “folk” music nowadays, a genre that bears little or no resemblance to the folk music of my youth (I’m not complaining). Yes, every now and then Thompson, a Brit, does compose a ballad (although never a conventional one; see this) that harks back to traditional folk roots. But most of his music is indefinable, except that it partakes of his caustic, often bitter and yet poetic sensibility, and sometimes a biting humor.
And, to those of you who call me anti-Muslim, let it be said here and now that years ago Thompson converted to Sufism (not exactly mainstream Islam, of course). Which is irrelevant, except to him; he’s no Cat Stevens. The main thing is the music and the lyrics.
Thompson writes both, and it’s hard to say which is better. His recordings are good (listen to some of the cuts here, for example). But it’s live that he shines–although “shines” isn’t exactly the right word–he smoulders, and then explodes in a very controlled burn.
Thompson is an astounding guitar player; aficionados consider him the best or one of the best in the world. In person, he emanates a deceptive stillness that contains within it a coiled tension. He moves hardly at all when he plays and sings; all that energy is focused on his hands, face, and mouth. Every now and then a leg kicks out in a small karate-like action, potential energy transformed to kinetic. But within his control is an emotionality that can break the heart and reach the soul, especially through the remarkably expressive instrument that is Thompson’s voice (listen, for example, to the cut “Persuasion,” here).
I’ve seen Thompson in concert five or six times, and all of them have been extraordinary. He never flags and never gives less than his all, which is far more than most people’s all. Go see him if you can–and oh, yeah; give him my love.
[NOTE: When I wrote this piece, I had no idea how to embed YouTube videos on the blog. Now I do.
So, since one video is worth a thousand words, I’ll offer more than one. The first is Thompson in a pensive, deeply poignant mood (the music begins about forty seconds into the clip):
The second is Thompson with more flash and bite (wait for the guitar solos):
Oh here, have another. You’ll be glad you did:
Ah, just one more. Back to the simplicity that shows Thompson’s astounding versatility:
Oh, just go to You Tube and watch them all.]
“Oh the last I heard she’s sleeping rough back on the Derby beat
White Horse in her hip pocket and a wolfhound at her feet
And they say she even married once, a man named Romany Brown
But even a gypsy caravan was too much settling down
And they say her flower is faded now, hard weather and hard booze
But maybe that’s just the price you pay for the chains you refuse
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
And I miss her more than ever words could say
If I could just taste all of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
Well I wouldn’t want her any other way
— Beeswing
Hi Neo Neocon.
Just wanted to say, as a guy in my forties that you are not only hot but I respect totally what you have done and how superbly you express your views. I listened to you on a Shire News Network podcast interview the other day…..You Rock!
Just read the beeswing song. I don’t think I’ve ever read song lyrics that stood on their own so dazzlingly. I’ll go straight to Amazon now and buy his CD(s). Thanks for bringing him to my (our) attention, Neo.
Neo, just the act of sitting through a folk concert ought to shut up the trolls, by rights. I’ve never been much into the genre, but friends of mine that are have been revolted by the anti-Americanism of the audiences, of late.
Having said that I have always liked Gordon Lightfoot and Pure Prarie League.
1952 Vincent Black Lightning. Heard that song and I had to get that disc (Rumour and Sigh). He turs the guitar into a purring motor bike with such perfect pacing and rhythm, and of course, great lyrics.
You’ve got good taste in music, Neo.
I wonder if you’d like Dave Alvin? In particular the later stuff, like the “King of California” album.
go on then meet him. talented bloke, but i think he will be repulsed by your politics – try it
I first discovered Richard Thompson from his work with Fairport Convention. I’ve seen him a couple of times at folk festivals, but not in a small venue, alas. He is definitely good. You’ve got good taste, neo.
I saw Bob Dylan last night. He’s doing fine too. Played five songs from his new album, “Modern Times”, along with a selection of his old classics. But you know what? Screw the classics. I’d be thrilled to death if he played a whole concert consisting of nothing but songs from his last two or three albums. That’s how good they are.
No wonder he can strum and sing so fine, Sufis may be deemed a branch of islam but they are so far from its current and traditional application.
“and if I worship you (allah) in hope of paradise, exclude me from paradise” (Rabia)
“There goes a river dragging an ocean behind it” ( the poet Attar commenting on the poet Rumi)
These Sufis seem more akin to hippies, don’t they?
Richard Thompson was one of the key figures in the British equivalent of our own folk rock movement. You should definitely check out his early work in Fairport Convention, then give a listen to some of the other great artists of the genre, such as the Pentangle, John Renbourn, Sandy Denny, John Martyn, Nick Drake, and Bert Jantsch…
Thompson used to live right next door to a colleague of mine in a condo in Santa Monica…
I don’t know how big the concert halls are round your way, but back in the early 1980s I met him and Linda just by going to the stage door afterwards and being allowed in. But now that he’s such a global megastar it’s maybe not so easy to get through all the hangers-on, cocaine dealers, security guards and groupies.