Rob Young’s
Electric Eden: Unearthing Britain’s Visionary Music is an ambitious, accomplished and entertaining survey of 100 years of music-making and its associated literature and counter-cultures. Its focus is on the pastoral dream of evergreen Albion, with its core the story of folk music since Cecil Sharp began collecting rural song at the turn of the 20
th century. Folk’s various revivals and re-inventions are encompassed, from the use of folk themes in English classical music (e.g. Ralph Vaughan Williams and Peter Warlock), through the proletarian focus of Ewan
McColl and A.L. Lloyd and on to folk rock and beyond.
Young is less interested though in ‘folk’ as a specific musical genre, than in the vision he sees underlying it - the use of music as a form of ‘imaginative time travel’ to the ‘succession of golden ages’ (both semi-historical and entirely fictional), found in British culture – Merrie England, Albion, Middle Earth, Avalon, Narnia. As he states in the introduction ‘The ‘Visionary Music’ involved in this book’s title refers to any music that contributes to this sensation of travel between time zones, of retreat to a secret garden, in order to draw strength and inspiration for facing the future’.
This is not a characteristic solely of what is normally defined as ‘folk music’ and he includes within it dreamy English psychedelia, and the work of later visionary musical outsiders such as Kate Bush and Julian Cope.
The stories of Cecil Sharp and Ewen
McColl have already been well documented, for me the most interesting parts of the book deal with the subsequent trajectories of late 1960s/1970s folk rock and ‘acid folk’, with their infusions of both Early Music and futuristic psychedelia. As well as covering the obvious reference points (
Fairport Convention,
Pentangle, Incredible String Band, Nick Drake), Young gives space to many less well known artists such as Bill Fay,
Comus and Mr Fox.
After languishing in relative obscurity for many years, some of these have only recently secured the listeners denied them at the time. In another form of time travel, it’s almost as if some of the albums recorded in the late 1960s/70s were set down as ‘time capsules’, to be unheard in their present but acting as a gift to the future that would appreciate them. The paradigmatic examples are of course Nick Drake, who only achieved posthumous fame when his fruit was in the ground, and
Vashti Bunyan, whose Just Another Diamond Day sold only a few hundred copies in 1970s and who has only really gained widespread recognition in the last five years or so. I saw her give one of her first major performances at the
Folk Britannia 'Daughters of Albion' event at the
Barbican in London in 2006, alongside Eliza
Carthy, Norma
Waterson, Kathryn Williams, Sheila Chandra and Lou Rhodes.
Places and SpacesYoung is very good on place – both the specific landscapes that influenced particular
musicans, and the spaces where music was performed. In relation to the former he mentions for instance Maiden Castle in Dorset, inspiration for John Ireland’s Mai-Dun (as well as incidentally the novel Maiden Castle by John
Cowper Powys, an author with a similar take on the visionary landscape).
In relation to the latter, he mentions clubs such as Ewen
McColl’s Ballads and Blues club/
Hootennanay upstairs in the Princess Louise pub in
Holborn (founded in 1957) and its later evolution into The Singers Club at the Pindar of Wakefield on Grays Inn Road. In Soho, Russell
Quaye’s Skiffle
Cellar at 49 Greek Street (1958-60), was replaced at the same address in 1965 by ‘the poky palace of Les Cousins, where the folk monarchy held court, audiences of no more than 150 were routinely treated to mystically revelatory performances. The club never got around to applying for a liquor licence, so patrons consumed tea and sandwiches in a haze of hash smoke, straining to hear the soloists over percussive effects from the cash register’. Denizens included Bert
Jansch, Davy Graham, Simon & Garfunkel, John Martyn, Martin
Carthy and Roy Harper.
Outside of London in the 1960s, ‘
Hertfordshire was already one of the most influential hotbeds of the new folk movement outside of Soho…
Herts heads keen for a lungful of marijuana and subterranean entertainment would gather at the Cock in St
Albans… Down the road from The Cock brooded the Peahen, where a more traditional,
MacColl-style folk-revival club was held’. In nearby
Hemel Hempstead, singer Mick
Softley ran the Spinning Wheel, while at the Dolphin Coffee Bar, Pete Frame opened
Luton Folk Club in 1965.
There's also a good chapter on free festivals, 'Paradise Enclosed', as 'a serious attempt to stake out and remake Utopia in an English field. The temporary tented villages of Britain's outdoor festivals represented a practical attempt to live out the dream of Albion' two hundred years after the
Inclosures Act of 1761 and the enclosure of common land.
Some criticismsIn a work of this scale and scope there are bound to be some factual errors of geography (
Luton is in
Bedfordshire not
Hertfordshire) and history (
Aleister Crowley was not the founder, or even a founder, of the Golden Dawn). But these are minor quibbles.
There are though a few problems with the framework Young uses for all this rich material. The chief one is its use of the term ‘Britain’s visionary music’ when it is clear that what he is describing is primarily an English phenomenon. Of course there has been plenty of folk music from other parts of the British Isles, but Young barely mentions it. In any event, it has often had a different aesthetic, concerned precisely to differentiate itself from
Englishness and commemorating historical conflicts with the 'English' state from
Bannockburn to the clearances (in the case of Scottish music).
Although Ireland is clearly not part of Britain, its influence on English folk is also largely unacknowledged here. Did the raucous
Dubliners influence those who wanted to take folk in a more rocky direction? Did Irish rebel song envy inspire English political song (Dominic Behan was a key figure in the Singers Club)? Wasn't Thin Lizzy's Whiskey in the Jar one of the biggest folk rock hits? This is left unexplored, and arguably the greatest London folk band of all time - The
Pogues - don't even get mentioned.
Young is a better musicologist than a folklorist, and while he is clearly aware that claims of an unbroken folk music tradition stretching back into the mists of time are highly
questionable, he seems to want to hold on to some notion of 'pagan survivals' in folk. Despite citing Ronald Hutton in the footnotes, he disregards Hutton's findings that we know very little about the
pre-Christian beliefs of the British Isles. Instead he repeats the whole Golden Bough/Wasteland mythology of ritual sacrifice as it if were fact: ‘The gods controlling these cycles needed to be appeased with sacrifices. At first, the leader of the pack, the king himself, was slaughtered before his vital energies began to die off, and a new healthy replacement was appointed in his place’.
Finally, Young does not really explore the potential dark side of all this dabbling with blood and soil. He may be right that many of those working within the folk idiom ‘have been radical spirits, aligned with the political left or just fundamentally unconventional and progressive in outlook’ – something that applies not just to the post-1950s Communist Party revivalists but to earlier pioneers such as Holst and Vaughan Williams who, as Young mentions, hung out with William Morris’s socialist circle in
Hammersmith. But it is also true that this look backwards to a
pre-capitalist idyll can be profoundly reactionary, and potentially very right wing. In a brief survey of current trends, Young mentions the post-industrial '
neo-folk' scene, but does not refer to the
controversies over some of the
neo-fascist elements involved (see the new
Who Makes the Nazis? blog for more on that).
Now I've read the book (all 664 pages), I will no doubt be spending the rest of the year tracking down some of the music in it that I haven't heard yet.
(see also review at Transpontine of some of the South East London connections)
David See 'was a finalist in the Music Week National DJ '77 Championship' and writer for Disco International. In 1980, Hamlyn (London) published his A4 annual style book, How to be a Disc Jockey.
There is some interesting material on DJ politics at the time. In 1974, the South East Discotheque Association was formed 'to promote the profession and art of disc jockeying', while around the same time a short-lived National Association of Disc Jockeys was formed. Then came the launch of the Disc Jockey's Federation (GB) which at the time of publication had 800 members (the author estimates this was ony 1.6% of the total, which would mean there weree 50,000 DJs). But attempts to make the DJF something like a union for DJs were seemingly floundering. The Federation had turned down an offer from the National Association of Theatrical an Kinematographic Employees to absorb it into the union. And there was tension with some of 'Britain's leading funk and soul circuit disc jockeys who not feel that they need an association', a group known as 'the Funk Mafia' inclusing DJ Chris Hill.
