Roy Harper – Folkjokeopus the album

Posted on by Opher

Folkjokeopus

Folkjokeopus was a poorly recorded album made up of largely first-takes with an unsympathetic producer who Roy did not get on with. The quality of the songs wasn’t the issue; it was the production. But I still love it!

 

When Liberty signed up Roy they thought they could turn him into a Pop Star. They brought in Shel Talmy, the American producer who had made bands like the Kinks and the Who into international stars. It was a mistake right from the start. There was no understanding or communication between Roy and Liberty. I remember Roy telling me that there was no human touch. He went into a room and talked to a machine equipped with deaf ears. Nobody was interested in what Roy wanted. They had a vision of making him into a Pop Star. But Roy was young, idealistic and had rejected all that. He saw himself as a poet/musician of the Underground. He was totally opposed to the whole money-grabbing business that showbiz was (and still is). It smacked of everything he stood against. The idea of ‘selling out’ for money or fame was contrary to everything Roy stood for. That isn’t to say he didn’t want to make it and get the recognition; it meant that he wanted to do it on his terms; he wanted to be successful because of his songs and musicianship not as some watered down smiley-faced Pop Star. You could say that he was a tad uncompromising.

 

I wasn’t there for that first meeting with Shel Talmy but I bet it was a bit frosty and antagonistic. Roy could clearly see what Shel was about. He was in the business of producing nice catchy two and a half minute hit singles. Roy was into producing twenty two minute epics packed with vitriol and angst. I think I know what Shel would have thought about that. He must have been apoplectic when confronted with the array of songs that Roy had written for the album. How was he expected to turn any of them into Pop singles? There was the twenty two minute McGoohan’s Blues, an eight minute instrumental, a seven minute song about a relationship break-up, a couple of experimental pieces and a couple of Roy’s humorous crowd pleasers. The only really commercial possibility was a song about smoking dope on the steps of City Hall and that was never going to get played on radio. On top of that he was confronted with a hostile Harper who was suspicious of everything Shel wanted to do with his precious songs and only wanted to be in control of his own material.

 

A great recipe for a total disaster – and thus it turned out. The studio was a battlefield and even with great musicians such as Nicky Hopkins and Ron Geesin it was going nowhere. Roy and Shel were never going to get along.

 

Folkjokeopus was hurriedly churned out with a series of first-takes, little rehearsal and the mistakes and glitches left in. Even the cover was a battle. Roy had this idea of making it into a diamond instead of the normal square but Liberty chose to reorientate the cover photo into a standard format. An incandescent Roy went in to Liberty offices to object to what they had done and get it put back to how he wanted it. He told me he was shown into a room and spoke to a monolith. Eventually he had to pay out of his own pocket to get the photo turned how he wanted it and even then they did not do it right and it isn’t quite a diamond as he’d envisaged. I think that summed up the relationship. I think all three parties – Liberty, Shel and Roy – were glad to see the back of each other.

 

I had been going along to as many Roy gigs as was humanly possible to fit in and by this time had become a personal friend. So I had been transfixed by the likes of McGoohan’s Blues, One for All and She’s the One. I knew what powerful songs they were. I couldn’t wait for the album to finally get released following a number of delays, such as the travesty over the cover. When I finally got my hands on it I was so disappointed. I’d probably been expecting too much. This wasn’t as good as what I had been hearing live. Roy was left angry and frustrated and I was left wondering about what might have been. I kept wishing that Roy had brought the whole thing out as a live album. I think that would really have suited all the songs.

Abbey Road Studios – Flat, Baroque and Beyond.

Posted on by Opher

Abbey Road Studios – Flat, Baroque and Beyond.

 

Roy gave me the invite to go along to Abbey Road Studios for the recording of what became Flat Baroque and Berserk and I eagerly accepted. I think he did that for a number of friends. He probably liked having a few friendly faces around. It may have helped create a relaxed ambience. At least I like to think so. Dick and Rene were regulars. Dick was Kid Strange (now Richard Strange) from The Doctors of Madness and Rene was his partner and a designer. Apart from that the studio control room was usually full of various musos who seemed to waft in and out, hang around for a bit and wander out again. It was all very free and easy.

 

At the time I lived in a tiny flat in Manor House. I used to bomb across to St John’s Wood, (usually alone but sometimes with my good lady Liz) – situated in the posh part of town – on my trusty motorbike – a dull orange 350 AJS. I’d park it out front and stroll in. Sometimes there was a guy sitting at the desk inside the door but often there wasn’t anybody there at all. Security was not an issue. If the guy was there I’d just nod and he’d nod back. I was never asked what I was doing there. I guess, because of my long hair, it was assumed I was one of the musicians. I’d wander down the corridor to the studio and go in.

 

Back then there was a different attitude to musicians. They were accessible. Security was minimal. A lot of times after a gig you could simply walk backstage and have a chat with them. So I don’t remember visiting Abbey Road Studios as being a huge deal. Yes, I loved the Beatles and Floyd and this was the hallowed ground where they’d recorded those great albums but I suppose I was a bit blasé about all that side of things. I never went off to investigate the other studios down the corridor even though various Beatles – Lennon, McCartney and Harrison were there and Floyd as well. This was still the 60s underground. We were too cool for that. Besides, I was much more excited about seeing Roy record.

 

Roy was excited about recording in a proper studio having signed for the Harvest label. I remember him telling me that it would be the first time that he was getting to record his material properly. He was also really excited about working with Pete Jenner. The two of them had hit it off and he knew that they could work well together. He had a lot of respect for Pete’s abilities and that was mutual, Pete really rated Roy’s song writing and musicianship and, having previously worked with Floyd, was keen to experiment and push the boundaries. It provided great potential and Roy really thought that the partnership would bring out the best in him – as it did. So I was excited to be part of that.

 

Roy came equipped with a bunch of brilliant new songs, most of which he had tried out and honed live. He really wanted to do a good job on them. He knew he had strong material and EMI were giving him full backing. They’d provided him with the best recording facilities in the world, virtually unlimited time and Pete Jenner and John Leckie as producer and technician who were both the best in the business. The atmosphere in the studio was perfect, the surroundings were conducive and EMI had promised to promote Roy as a leading musician from the 60s Underground. This was his big chance. The Harvest label was their attempt to attract the cream of the British Underground and Roy was one of their first signings. They were putting their weight behind him. For once someone was taking him seriously and giving him the opportunity he deserved. There was a real buzz about the place which was reflected in the constant stream of Britain’s top musicians who were either wanting to contribute or turned up to watch and be part of it. The feeling was that Roy was on the brink of something huge.

 

Looking back I wish I had taken it more seriously, maybe taken my camera along. But that simply did not feel appropriate. There were things that you did not do.

 

As one would expect the studio was state of the art for 1970. Pete Jenner sat at the mixing desk like he was at the controls of Starship Enterprise. A big soundproof glass panel separated the control room from the studio. There was much talking back and forth as they set things up, much banter and a relaxed, but focussed atmosphere. After a take Roy would come in and he and Pete would listen to it, play about with the controls and discuss how to improve it. Roy was very hands on and involved. The final mixes were the result of a joint collaboration (in more ways than one). Roy knew exactly what he wanted and Pete had the expertise to enable him to get it. They both had an ear for the music and were perfectionists. They worked together well. Despite the many spliffs and congenial atmosphere with much laughter, the proceedings were extremely professional. The pair of them were meticulous and wanted things to be perfect. Roy knew that he finally had an opportunity to do full justice to his material and he was determined to seize the opportunity.

 

I sat quietly an unobtrusively at the back, watched and listened. The sound quality through the studio speakers was out of this world. It was crystal clear and the separation of instruments was more than I’d ever heard. I’d never experienced such sound quality. I revelled in it. Pete Jenner and John Leckie made me very welcome and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I knew my place. They had a job to do. I was privileged to witness them at work and see how a top recording studio with quality musicians operated. I knew that as long as I did not get in the way and let them get on with it I was OK there, so I limited myself to the odd comment about the brilliance of the takes and soaked it up. For the most part I sat in the background and watched with a big smile on my face.

 

Thus it was that for Flat Baroque and Berserk, Stormcock, Valentine and HQ, over four glorious years, I would turn up to as many sessions as I could fit in. Abbey Road became a regular fixture and I witnessed many notable performances and incidents. Then, with mixed emotions, we moved up north and that was the end of my Abbey Road experiences. I still think back to those wonder years, when Roy recorded four of his best albums, with great fondness. There were many tales to tell.

 

But more of that another time.

Roy Harper – Ewell Technical College – circa1971

Posted on by Opher

Roy Harper – Ewell Technical College – circa1971

 

Seeing Roy back in the late sixties and early seventies was exhilarating. His creative juices were in full flood, gushing forth and endless stream of great epic songs. He was a young man brimming with angst, full of passion, fury and consumed by a great joy of life. It was in him and it simply had to come out! The songs flew out of him.

Up until then I didn’t think anything could match McGoohan’s Blues, but there was I Hate The Whiteman, How Does It Feel, Me and My Woman, Highway Blues, Hors d’oeuvres, Same Old Rock, One Man Rock ‘n’ Roll Band, Another Day, and many more. They was an endless torrent. Each performance seemed to launch another gem that sent your mind reeling. He was hitting out at that establishment in a way that no one else did. He was on fire.

But it wasn’t just the songs; it was the power. There was such a force to his performance that you were swept up in it. The intensity was extraordinary. He was a snarling bullet-blue-jeaned James Dean, Jack Kerouac and Che Guevara all rolled into one.

Ewell Tech was a typical college gig but also exceptional. It exemplified Roy’s state of mind at the time.

It was the early seventies, around 1971 I believe, but I could be wrong. Sadly I never kept a diary. At that time I was doing one or two Roy gigs a week. I was enthused, obsessed and enthralled.

The Ewell Tech gig demonstrated a number of things about Roy. Firstly – he loved performing. Secondly – he wasn’t doing it for the money. Thirdly – he was a law unto himself. When he got into it there was no stopping him – literally, there was no stopping him.

Ewell technical college was one of those places on the college circuit that many underground bands visited. The Students Unions were active in the 60s scene and good at getting the best bands. Unlike today all the top bands were performing every day of the week. The whole scene was thriving with a mass of clubs, venues and free concerts. The colleges were a big part of that. Roy, like most, was probably performing at least four or five times a week.

Architecturally Ewell Tech was rather typical. It had never been designed for concerts but was more of a school assembly hall. There were hundreds of us seated in that big hall on uncomfortable wooden chairs in lines with a dour voluminous space all around us, facing a large stage on which the diminutive figure of Roy Harper would eventually appear and perform. But the setting was immaterial, the place was packed and there was a great buzz of expectation. Roy was at the peak of his power and was pulling in a good audience. The crowd were receptive and into it. I was in my usual place at the front and everyone was turning round, talking, meeting new people, sharing spliffs, and generally mingling.

Roy went on at around nine o clock and was due to finish at eleven. It was one of those gigs that ignited. The reception was rapturous. Despite the dinginess of the hall with its poor acoustics and the discomfort of the chairs, the gig was on fire. Somehow Roy managed to create an atmosphere that pulled the hundreds of us in that voluminous hall into an intimate audience. The size of the stage seemed to shrink so that the distance between us was breached.

Eleven came and went. At eleven thirty the caretaker, an elderly gentleman in overalls (probably in his fifties), who had the task of tidying up and locking the place after all the pesky students had gone, came on to the stage to have a quiet word with Roy about the lateness of the hour – but to no avail.

At midnight, the caretaker had had enough. He wanted to get home. He was probably back first thing in the morning. First he came on stage, shouted a bit and waved his arms about, much to the amusement of Roy and the crowd, and then the lights went off. Most performers would have taken the hint, but not Roy. He was really into it, riding the tide of enthusiasm from the crowd, and so continued to play in the dark.

The audience thought this was great and the enthusiasm of the crowd actually went up a notch or two. There was a great cheer.

Ten minutes later the electrics went off and the PA died. This was a game now. Roy did not want to stop. He was having a great time. He continued to play acoustically and the audience simply pressed closer to hear it. There was a real party atmosphere in the hall that I’m sure was not pleasing the poor caretaker any too much.

It was beginning to look like we might be here for the night and despite the last busses, trains and whatever, nearly everyone stayed, and the boisterous mood transcended the gloom. Roy fed off it and played his heart out.

At one thirty the police arrived, the lights went on and they remonstrated with him. But Roy was resolute and took no notice. Eventually they bodily picked him up under the armpits, with him still clutching his guitar, and carried him outside where they unceremoniously deposited him on the steps while a disgruntled caretaker locked up, glared at everyone and stalked off into the night.

It didn’t stop there.

Roy had not had his fill yet. He set up on the steps with everyone gathered round and proceeded to do another hour and a half. At three it was time to call it a night, Roy had finally satiated his urge and we were all tired and replete. All of us set off into the dark, heading off in our different directions, happy bunnies. There was much chortling and laughter as people wandered off into the distance. It had been one of those nights.

What a night!

 

ROY HARPER LES COUSINS LINER NOTES

Posted on by Opher

I just came across the Roy Harper liner notes I wrote for Live at Les Cousins album back in 1995. Thought you might be interested.

ROY HARPER

LES COUSINS LINER NOTES

 

               69 was a good year, whichever way up you look at it. There was something in the air – most probably ghanga. Everyone was suffused with a strange optimistic outlook. Everything was imbued with change. All the old crap was being jettisoned – ideas – thoughts – careers – suburbia. The world was new. People sat up all night enthusiastically discussing the creation of the universe, the size of infinity and the intensity of the human spirit. Hair sprouted out of every available orifice – well- almost. People smiled and flashed peace signs. People shared things with each other.

               You could buy Oz and IT and read about Kerouac, Mao, Che, Ian Anderson, Captain Beefheart and Cochise. Everyone was dropping out into more meaningful existences involving creativity and positive life forces and hugely wonderful esotericosities. You could spend hours discussing the obvious fact that T.S. Elliott would have definitely been straight while Shelly was probably a Freak. You enthralled to the tales of Black consciousness, as epitomised by the Black Panthers, that had emerged from the civil rights campaigns, Vietnam draft dodgers and Utopian dreams of perfect societies based on freedom, creativity and harmony. There were free concerts, sit-ins, marches, demonstrations, happenings, love-ins and other conscious expanding activities.

               The Underground created instant identity. You were either a Freak or Straight. It had something to do with the length of your hair and the ideology you identified with as well as what drugs you used. Pacifist sexual explorers embarking on chemical explorations and human, spiritual, political and environmental investigations. The ‘Revolution’ was just around the corner. In many ways it had already happened. Straight society was superfluous. We had our own press, music, fashion, drugs, life-styles and culture. We were the alternative culture. Our language was permeated with the Black hipsters slang, man. Our dreams were megalomaniacal.

               I have my own theory that the planet just happened to pass through a cloud of hallucinogenic dust that only infiltrated certain young minds.

               Of course it was a hugely naive and pretentious bubble that could not hold its breath too long and it subsequently produced a lot of disasters and chemical casualties. Still, even with the power of retrospective sight, it was wonderful to be there and be part of it, even if it was not a very smart career move for most of those concerned in doing it. One is also forced to acknowledge that for most of the pseudo-freaks it proved to be little more than just another fashion statement or passing phase which was fun at the time and got you laid. Sadly the idealism went over their heads. Even so, it was an age of re-evaluation and individuality that engendered huge creativity in dress, thought, art and music and was the genesis and spawning ground for a lot of things that did not bear fruit until much later.

               The most important thing about it all was that it was so incredibly vital and energetic. There was so much to do, so much stimulation, so many places to be, people to meet, thoughts to share. Doors were open. The 60s was a huge university and the curriculum was open-ended.

               London was part of the driving force of the counter-culture. You could drop acid and do the Tate Gallery, 2001 or The Bonzos.

               The club scene was alive and diverse. There was Blues like Chicken Shack, Fleetwood Mac and John Mayall, Folk with Bert Jansch, John Renbourn and Jackson C Frank, Psychedelic Rock with Hendrix, Pink Floyd, Hawkwind, Traffic, Nice, Cream, Family, Free, Tomorrow and Jethro Tull, West Coast Acid Rock with Country Joe, Beefheart, Mothers and the Doors. Black Blues guys like Son House, John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters and Jimmy Reed, Old Rock ‘n’ Rollers like Jerry lee, Little Richard, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Gene Vincent. All mixed in with Jazz, Indian and psuedoclassical like the Third Ear Band. Not only that but it was ridiculously cheap. You could regularly see Floyd or Edgar Broughton doing a support for free. Hyde Park was a regular freebie. The festivals were 3 days for £1.50. A gig was often 15p and Led Zep at the Toby Jug was a staggering 25p – rip off or what? I could go on and on and on and get even more grotesquely nostalgic. Aye Lad, when I were young. Those were the days.

               There was no time to think – you were too busy doing stuff. The Incredibles at an all-nighter. Eel-Pie Island bouncing up and down on the rotten floor to the flames of Arthur Brown. Giving Demons hell with the Broughtons. The Marquee with Ten Years After. Hendrix smashing ceilings at Klooks Kleek . Killing unknown soldiers with the Doors at the magical Roundhouse. The Nice knifing organs at the UFO club. The Who smashing amps and Mooney driving Rolls’s into swimming pools.

               The Moving Being Dance group naked and cybernetics at the ICI. Too much. Too much so that it was far out, man. Somewhere to the side straight society was landing on the Moon but that was a side issue – we’d already visited other universes.

               Even though the politics was getting out of hand in Grovenor Square and Kent State, Peoples Park and Chicago the Yippies put a pig up for President and Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin went to court in warpaint and jesters costume.

               Life and theatre had become confused.

               Obscenity was on trial and was let off.

               Somewhere in the midst of all this there was this acerbic fiend who was putting vitriolic poetry to music and playing acoustic guitar at colleges and folk clubs, in fact anywhere that would have him. His name was Roy Harper and he had a sharp wit, quick mind and maniacal laugh. He ranted, railed and played a mean guitar. His voice was good and the songs were excellent. I first caught him playing three numbers sandwiched between Bert and John at Les Cousins in early 67 and was hooked. I made it to three concerts a week and at least one had to be a mandatory Harper gig. I had discovered someone who was articulating the thoughts that were buzzing round my own head. He was painting my pictures.

               An early Harper concert might well meander through a few hours of thoughts and interjections with the odd song thrown in. The subject matter, targets and degree of vitriol depended on the mood and substances consumed. It was rarely dull.

               Roy has never been a ‘performer’. What you see is what you get. He treats the stage like his front room. It’s not so much a performance as a dialogue that he enters into. You get the full contents of his mind – often mid-song and with no holds barred. No areas are taboo. For many, who are not quite on his wavelength, who maybe have come along for the songs, it is a frustrating experience. For those that like to mentally wank through the sundry realms of possibility it is a voyage through your own thoughts and a highly stimulating process. Of course that is not to suggest that the songs are not brilliantly good too but he ain’t no Cliff Richard or Paul Simon.

               By 69 he had progressed from street busker to songwriter supreme. We been regaled with Sophisticated Beggar and Come Out Fighting Ghenghis Smith and had our appetites whetted by the raw brilliance of Folk JokeOpus. He was rampant and at his most aggressive. On stage masterpieces like ‘McGoohan’s Blues’ and ‘I Hate the Whiteman’ poured napalm on the claustrophobic society we were all railing against. It was the sort of exhilarating invective that caused Melody Maker to accuse him of not coming up with any panaceas. I guess that before you can identify the answers you’ve got to explore the problem. Roy was good at exploring problems. He was the octagonal peg that refused to be slotted. You got the idea that he was none too fond of Christianity and not a great admirer or respecter of rules and regulations. His ideal existence would have been a little more unrestricted.

               We’d heard a lot of the songs live and were living in a great sweat of expectation. Roy had signed to the new prestigious ‘Underground’ label – Harvest, the same as Floyd, Broughton and others, and, at last, he was going to be properly produced. It was all going to do justice to the songs – and about time too!! Peter Jenner was going to produce it at Abbey Road Studios and he was a great guy who was sympathetic to the mood of the moment and the idiosyncrasies of the loony who hadn’t yet found his bus.

               I was fortunate enough to attend many of the sessions and there are legendary episodes involving unwanted American ‘Guests’ and vending machines. Still, that’s another story. However, Roy did not want ‘White Man’ sanitised in the studio. He had this vision of it raw and dripping venom. He wanted it spat out live.

               The idea was that ‘Whiteman’ was going to be the focus of the album and it was going to be recorded at ‘Les Cousins’ where he first started out. It was Roy’s second home. An intimate and totally familiar environment in which he could relax with the nucleus of his by now considerable following and give full vent to his emotions. There was to be no holding back.

               News got out that the gig was going to be recorded and it was consequently heaving.

               Dylan was playing to vast crowds on the twee Isle of Wight and Harper held court in the sordid backstreets of Soho. It seemed somehow appropriate.

               The place was hot with packed freakdom and the air was heavy with sweet scented smoke. You went down these steps into this underground darkened cellar. EMI had brought its mobile recording equipment and the concert was recorded for prosterity. I remember Roy being slightly more manic than usual and breaking a string in the first take of ‘Whiteman’ so that he had to do it again. I guess it was either the tension of being recorded and wanting to make it a good one or else just the way he was trying to put everything into it. Maybe it was just the heat generated by the faithful. It wasn’t just the guy striking the match – we were all on the album. We sat enthralled in the darkness, hanging on every note, willing it to be right and mentally holding it together. It was.

               One Hell of a fucking gig. We emerged into the streets of Soho with big smiles on our faces. The moon shone – the pavement echoed and we dispersed into the night bubbling.

               In the event they recorded the whole evening and it sat on the shelf at EMI right up until now – a neatly packaged bit of history – vintage Roy Harper in his full potency – when it was new and looking to change things. Snarling fit to shake the world.

               The strange thing is that Roy has never lost it. He’s still as crazy and still ranting against the system, trying to change it. You’d think he would have learnt something in that ensuing quarter of a century!!

               Thank Shit he hasn’t! It’s a dirty job and someone has to do it – to stick their heads above the parapet and have the squealers, snouts deep in trough, pass their judgements and make their superior snide remarks. If it wasn’t for a few torches in the darkness we’d all be well slotted up our own arses by now. Maybe we are? He may be crazy but he still makes a lot more sense than Major and the tribes of grey mediocrity that seem to be shaping our destiny. Here’s to the next 25 years of insanity!

 

OPHER 12.10.95

Roy Harper – McGoohan’s Blues – some reminiscences.

Posted on by Opher

McGoohan’s Blues – some reminiscences.

 

Seeing Roy perform McGoohan’s Blues in Leeds, along with that excellent ensemble, had quite a profound effect on me. I’ve seen Roy perform it many times down the years but never quite like that. He had brought out the musicality of the song in a way that I had not believed possible. It was beautiful and amazingly that did not detract from the power of the lyrics. I would not have thought that was possible.

It took me on a journey.

McGoohan’s Blues was the second ‘epic’ song Roy had created (The first being Circle on Come Out Fighting Ghenghis Smith). While Circle had really resonated with me (coming out while I was still at school struggling with school authorities and parental expectations) McGoohan’s blew my head off. I had never heard a song anywhere near as powerful. Every line was a barbed attack on the society that I was busy wrestling with. It was like looking into my own head and finding someone else was putting into words the thoughts that were busy crashing against my skull.

I was fortunate to be in the audience when Roy first introduced the song into his set. For me it exploded. I sat there mesmerised, trying to absorb and come to terms with the content. There was so much of it to assimilate and think about.

Back then I was catching up to two or three Roy gigs a week. So I got to hear it again and again.

Roy was in his angst-filled mid-twenties and at his most powerful. He used to spit it out with great venom. He’d pound the hell out of that guitar and pour all the passion and fury into it. It felt as if he’d collected all his frustrations with society and its hypocritical nature into one great poem, put it to music and vented his spleen. It contained everything – the greed, the deceit, the bureaucracy, the pointlessness, the two-faced nastiness, the whole controlling system – and he poured it out coated with vitriol while realising the utter futility of opposing the great social project.

We waited anxiously for the much anticipated album FolkJokeOpus. McGoohan’s Blues was the centre-piece but another really strong live stalwart was She’s The One.

I rushed home with it and put it on. Somehow it was disappointing. It seemed to lack the intensity of his live performance.

I’m playing it now. It’s great. But somehow I always craved for a perfect live rendition like the intensity of those early expositions. In my mind I can still see Roy pouring the whole of his spirit into that song.

Over the years I’ve heard many great performances of that brilliant song but somehow they always seem to fall short of those early versions. They leave me slightly unsatisfied.

I have thought a lot about it. I suspect it is me. I suspect that the impact of hearing that song for the first time can’t really be matched. It lives in my mind like an immaculate, unattainable thing of perfection. It probably was never any better than the later live performances – but the fanfare that I’m forcing through my teeth answers never. I still lust after the sheer intensity of those very first performances. If only those early gigs had been recorded – all we have is the Les Cousins of a little later.

I’m playing the FolkJokeOpus version right now. I’m enjoying it but I still feel that it is second best. It is lacking. I always felt that the last section with the other instruments coming in never really worked. They did not feel in sympathy with the song.

Which brings me back to the performance in Leeds.

What is obvious is that Roy, as a performer now in his late seventies, cannot really hope to match the energy of that young Harper. But by utilising the musicianship of those brilliant musicians and not going for outright power, he brought out something special, something more in the song. Unlike in the earlier recording, the ensemble augmented the song and made it all the greater. They brought a different intensity to it. They brought the song to life in a way I had not heard before.

You know – I think it was the equal of those early renditions. It brought the song back to life for me and gave me goose-bumps all over again.

It’s a shame that songs don’t ever seem to change society. Nothing has changed. It’s just as pertinent now as it ever was – if not more so.

As Simon Cowell awards marks, Ma’s favourite Pop Star is still forcing a grin and then we turn over for ‘Give Away Cash’. Ho hum. The plastic, destructive society continues to go on devouring the world and trivialising life.

My First Roy Harper Gig

Posted on by Opher

My First Roy Harper Gig

I was getting prepared for my first Harper gig a year or two before it happened.

British Folk Music had always been a traditional scene. Folk singers largely played traditional music much in the way that it had always been played, adapting it to guitar and usually singing about people from far off times as typified by Ewan McColl. It was supported by an enthusiastic small clique.

Then came Bob Dylan and the Greenwich Village scene. It took Folk into the popular market and highlighted songwriting and topical songs.

In Britain it had a huge impact. As young kids we were all listening to the Beatles and Stones plus all the other Beat groups, but we were also getting into Dylan and soaking up the social comment.

Ready Steady Go was essential viewing on TV. The bands performed live. In 1965 they started featuring a tousle haired singer with an acoustic guitar who they were selling as Britain’s answer to Dylan. Donovan set the trend in the popular stakes as regards Folk. But behind the scene we had people like Martin Carthy doing his great arrangements of Folk songs, Shirley and Dolly Collins with their harmonies and song arrangements, and the amazing Davy Graham bringing in influences from the Middle East and producing complex songs that set the whole tone. The Contemporary Folk Scene was taking off. It was no longer a cultural backwater.

In 1965 I was introduced to the fabulous Jackson C Frank by my friend Bob Ede and then shortly after to the wonders of Bert Jansch and John Renbourn by another friend – Neil Furby.

1965 was the year I obtained my first motorbike. Suddenly London was accessible. I could get to the clubs.
In 1967 a friend called Mike, who sported long curly hair and a white plastic mac, had his finger on the pulse. He told me about this great singer that I would like and how he was saying all the same stuff as me. He went by the name of Roy Harper and Mike assured me that he was just my thing.

I stored it away with all the other recommendations. The whole music scene was burgeoning. There wasn’t enough time to see everything. I forgot about it. I was hitting the Marquee, Middle Earth, UFO as well as Bunjies and Les Cousins.

A couple of months later I found myself in Les Cousins for a Bert Jansch/John Renbourn concert. Les Cousins had become one of my favourite haunts – a dingy cellar on Greek St in Soho that you had to get to via some steep steps – a crowded room with tables and chairs, dimly lit, up close to the performers, intimate with a great atmosphere. Bert and John were brilliant as usual but what really made an impression was Roy.

In between the main sets Roy did a little cameo for half an hour. He only played three songs, one of which was the instrumental Blackpool, but he talked a lot. I was smitten. Not only were the songs brilliant, the guitar playing great but the patter was incredible.

I came out of there singing. Forget Bert and John – Roy Harper was simply in another dimension.

Roy Harper epitomised the Sixties

Posted on by Opher

Roy Harper epitomised the Sixties.

Looking back to the 1950s, life was extremely drab and conforming. I think of it as being in black and white. It was only towards the end, with the advent of Rock ‘n’ Roll that things started to wake up. But Rock ‘n’ Roll was visceral. It took the intellectual rebellion of the Beat Generation to come up with a real philosophy. There we had it – Zen, dope, sex, Jazz, poetry and the road. A different way of living.

In the sixties the visceral Rock joined with the philosophy of Beat, along with a sacrament or two of psychedelic awakening, to create that unique 60s revolution.

Unfortunately the people who were leading the movement tended to be the musicians and most of them were not equipped to articulate any sound philosophy or direction. But Roy was. He epitomised what the sixties was all about.

It was the civil rights movement and anti-war movement (aimed at Vietnam) that galvanised the youth. It opened our eyes to the fact that our society was not being run for the right reasons and our politicians and businesses were not leading us down the right path. The greed, selfishness and violence were self-evident.

The youth of the day had absorbed the message from Beat poetry that there was a superior, less hypocritical, more fun, and more fulfilling way of living. It couldn’t be just paying lip-service in church, trying to make lots of money, working in a boring career and being a cog in a machine to service a wealthy elite, that, if you played all your cards right, you could join (the carrot). It could be creative, inspirational, individual and fulfilling.

So when Roy, who was steeped in Beat Generation philosophy, and had lived it while on the road, came along with songs like Circle and then the majestic McGoohan’s Blues and I Hate The Whiteman, he had distilled all the elements, made it a British version, and put in words what was in our heads. He was the genuine article.

I think Roy shamelessly rejected the whole aim of Western society with barbed poetry aimed at its warmongering ways, destruction of our natural way of life, its warped values and plastic universe. He wanted something better based on sharing, community, fun, love and fellowship. He hankered after that nomadic hunter-gatherer society with the freedom and closeness to nature that we had lost.

I don’t think that anybody else, apart, maybe, from sixties Dylan, ever got closer. Roy was full on with an intensity and fury that some found hard to take. As a musician he was excellent; as a poet he was outstanding; as a social commentator he was in a class of his own and as an example of what the sixties was all about he was unparalleled. That early Harper was an idealist, an optimist and really thought that by pointing out the gaping problems in society we could build a better world – like so many of us back then. He believed that our little band of freaks was pointing at a better way.

Perhaps it was just a pipe dream?

Roy Harper and the sixties free Hyde Park Concerts.

Posted on by Opher

Roy Harper and the Free Hyde Park Concerts.

I think it was Blackhill Enterprises with Pete Jenner who organised the free festivals in Hyde Park. They were wonderful.

It fitted in very nicely with the sixties attitude – music was not about money. Music was sharing and celebration. Those early concerts were just that. I suppose they were the London equivalent of the West Coast San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge free festivals – The Human Be-ins.

Pete had managed Pink Floyd. When Syd left Pete stayed with Syd. Floyd were instrumental in the whole emerging London Underground scene and were up to all manner of mischief and mayhem – like the infamous Games in May. Pete went on to work with Roy at Abbey Road on his wonderful Harvest albums in the 70s.

When it started up in 1968 I went along and it was a relatively small affair. A bunch of us freaks all turned up – seemingly just a few hundred – and we had a great day getting to know each other, passing around the sacraments and listening to the music.

The important thing for me was that Roy both compered and played. That was enough for me.

As it went along it got bigger and bigger, pulling in the weekend freaks and the out-of-towners. There were always some great bands – Pink Floyd, The Social Deviants, Pink Fairies, Traffic, Edgar Broughton Band, Pretty Things, Stefan Grossman, John Fahey, Action, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Jethro Tull, Fleetwood Mac, Nice, Fairport Convention and Pete Brown’s Battered Ornaments – but the main thing was to get together with a bunch of like-minded people to dig the scene, have a laugh, talk and come together.

I suppose my particular highlights was seeing Edgar Broughton doing his Captain Beefheart Drop Out Boogie and then giving those demons hell and the Pretty Things and Social Deviants jamming together and Twink climbing up the scaffolding and diving headfirst into the crowd. How he didn’t break his neck I’ll never know.

Roy was always great. He played Nobody’s got any money in the Summer – which seemed to be a suitable anthem for the whole Summer madness. I also remember him playing – In the time of Water – with some weird little marimba type instrument – the only time I ever heard him play either that number or that instrument. But more importantly he would talk between acts, introduce people and the whole thing had a relaxed, friendly vibe. Roy’s songs were the epitome of what the Underground was about. His anger at the establishment and how society was being run was exactly what we all felt.

Then it all went wrong. It was like the big boys moved in and it ceased to be a gathering of the faithful and became more of a corporate event. The Stones and Blind Faith drew in enormous crowds. I heard that Roy was not even allowed on stage and was turned away. The concerts were great but the ‘family’ vibe was no more. They’d become too big and turned into a spectacle.

The last one I went to was in 1974 with that fabulous Roy Harper and Heavy Friends (featuring John Paul Jones, Dave Gilmour and Steve Broughton). McGuinn was good too. It was great but it wasn’t like those early days.

But for me those Hyde Park Free Concerts represented all that was good about the sixties – the sharing, the friends, the positive vibes, the camaraderie, and the optimism – with Roy as the mischievous magician orchestrating the whole show.

Roy Harper – The Beginnings of a Performer.

Posted on by Opher

Roy Harper – The Beginnings of a Performer.

 

Roy’s life as a performer did not start in the realm of music but first manifested itself as a Beat Poet.

As a troubled teenager he cut ties with his family and following brushes with the law, authority in the army and a resultant spell in a mental institution, inspired by the writings of Jack Kerouac and the Beat Generation, he put his lot in with the Bohemian culture of Blackpool. In 1959 Roy became an aspiring Beat Poet.

Heaven knows where he found to perform in Blackpool but he did. It was hardly the smoky marijuana soaked dens of San Francisco or New York but it was enough of a scene for Roy to at least start honing his art.

The culmination of his brief career as a Beat Poet was a publicity stunt thought up by his promoter. Roy was to be the Marathon Poet. He would walk for twenty four hours in and around Blackpool reciting his poetry as he went. It was to finish with a performance on the pier.

Fuelled up on amphetamine Roy paced around all day (apart from a few hours illicit kip in the back of his promoters car in the dead of night) reciting his words into the wind, to the stars and at any hapless passer-by who strayed within range.

At the end of his twenty four hour stint he did his performance on the pier. Roy’s never talked to me about the crowd or their response. In my imagination it was probably to a small bemused bunch of day-trippers who were probably horrified by the demented, dishevelled young man, strung out and crazy, on a prolonged amphetamine high, spitting words out at them at machine-gun speed.

I have never met anyone who has even claimed to have heard Roy Harper the Beat Poet – though it must have been quite a sight and sound.

There are very few relics of the poetry he was producing at that time. One out-take from the Sophisticated Beggar album has a reworking of aspects of a poetic piece called ‘Puppet Master’. I suppose the nearest we get to those early Beat poems was to be found on his second album – ‘Come Out Fighting Ghenghis Smith’. The poems Come Out Fighting Ghenghis Smith, Circle and Highgate Cemetery are probably vestiges of those early days. He even dedicates Come Out Fighting Ghenghis Smith to Jack Kerouac.

Roy has always stayed true to those poetic roots both in his song lyrics and the stand alone poems some of which are scattered and incorporated through his albums.

When Roy performed on that pier I’m not sure if the sea roared in laughter with the howling wind at the sound of his poetry burbling, but I do know that his feet will have been standing defiantly there in front of it, taking on the universe in some knowing futile gesture. That’s always Roy’s manner.

Shortly after that Roy set off with Mocy to busk his way around Europe playing folk-blues – his days as a Beat Poet behind him and a new phase as a street performer opening up ahead.

 

Roy Harper gigs are great but they’re not worth dying for.

Posted on by Opher

Roy Harper gigs are great but they’re not worth dying for.

We moved up North to Hull in 1975 which meant that I did not get to see Roy as often as I was used to doing. We’d become good friends and I was used to catching one or two gigs a week.

I had procured a teaching job. The pay was pretty poor and we couldn’t afford a car. That severely limited my ability to get to Roy Harper gigs that were too far away, but it did not completely deter me. I could get there if it was on a Saturday and I had time to hitch.

I noted Roy was on in Liverpool. That was the other side of the country but there was an interconnecting motorway. I reckoned that it was only a matter of four or five hours.

As it was January I dressed warmly. I had experience of hitching and it wasn’t always easy. There was a lot of time spent standing, trying to entice a car to stop. You had to be prepared for all eventualities.

Getting there proved easier than expected. The lifts were forthcoming and I arrived early. That was good because I had a great talk with James Edgar about album cover designs. I sat in on the sound check and caught up with Roy. It’s always nice to meet up with friends and gigs back then were not as tense as they are now. We had time to chat.

The gig was brilliant as usual and I hung around a little. It was always awkward after gigs when everyone wanted a bit of Roy. You rarely had time to talk.

I made my farewells and headed off into the night which is where it went wrong.

When you are hitching you are at the mercy of any driver who stops to pick you up. You can get pleasant friendly ones, cold, quiet types, or really unpleasant bastards. That’s the risk. You wonder why some of them pick anyone up at all. Your job is to entertain them and make picking you up worthwhile. This particular guy was a lorry driver and he was a complete bastard. I’m sure that he’d only picked me up in order to make my life miserable. He was openly belligerent and unpleasant and obviously detested long-haired hitch-hikers.

We headed out of Liverpool and on to the motorway with me already regretting having climbed into the cab in the first place. He was so rude and threatening that I was weighing up my options should he attack me.

Outside the weather took a turn for the worse and as we climbed up into the Pennines it began to snow heavily and the wind picked up. Soon it was blizzard proportions. The snow was flying horizontally.

At the highest point he suddenly pulled over on to the hard shoulder and ordered me out.

At the time I was glad to leave and watched him pull away with a measure of relief. It was now gone one in the morning and I was standing at the side of a motorway on top of a mountain range in a blizzard.

There were few vehicles using the motorway that night – which was partly to do with the late hour and partly the atrocious weather conditions. Visibility was atrocious. The cars and lorries that were going through were travelling at speed and either could not see me because of the snow or were going too fast to stop. That was not surprising as they would not be expecting someone to be on the hard shoulder of a motorway.

I had few options so I started walking. The wind was blasting snow into my face and within minutes I was freezing. I’d wrapped up warm but I wasn’t prepared for conditions like this.

It was slow progress. I could not make much headway against the wind and there were not any services on this motorway for a long, long way.

I was beginning to think that I had best get out of the wind and build some kind of shelter. I was numb and in danger of freezing to death. I was also at risk of getting knocked down by any car that did come along – though I hadn’t seen one for quite a while.

I was getting desperate.

At that moment a police car cruised past and seeing me madly gesticulating they stopped. They took me along to the services and dropped me off. I thanked them most profusely. They said I would have frozen to death out there. I think they were right. They had probably saved my life. I could not stop shivering and my hands and feet were completely numb. It took all day for me to warm up. That lorry driver could have killed me. Perhaps he intended to?

Roy Harper gigs are great but they’re not worth dying for.