Roy Harper – The Beginning

Posted on July 30, 2025July 30, 2025 by Opher

The Beginning

Back in the heady days of 1966/67 I was free. I did what I wanted. Reckless and like a sponge, absorbing everything. At seventeen/eighteen I was technically at school – although my head was elsewhere. I was thoroughly immersed in girls, Kerouac, music and the burgeoning underground scene. No time for studies. As a volatile idealistic young fool it seemed like there was a whole world to be discovered – literature, poetry, drama, art, politics, philosophy, spirituality, love and sex. Wow! Heady days! Talk about rapid development. My brain was firing electricity like nobody’s business. They could have connected me up to the grid. Days spent sitting around with mates, smoking and listening to music and talking madly as a stream of madness came pouring out. The world was flooding in and barely being processed before excitedly gushing out. My head was exploding.

School were none too pleased with my hair, beard and coloured clothes. Who cared? Drop out! I spent a lot of time at home.

Music was the medium. I devoured albums. I’d been nurtured on the Beatles and Stones, Dylan, Pretty Things, Yardbirds, Kinks and Who but I was discovering more obscure stuff by the minute. We excitedly shared out discoveries. Jackson C Frank, Woody Guthrie and Bert Jansch were never off my turntable.

At the age of sixteen, in 1965, I bought a motorbike and was mobile. At seventeen I bought a car and could turn up places warm and dry. And what places there were to go back then. Amazing gigs. Eel Pie Island, Middle Earth, the Marquis, Fishmongers Arms, Three Horseshoes, Bunjis and the Toby Jug. There were a host of people to see. In 67 Pink Floyd was creating mesmerising madness at Middle Earth, Hendrix and Cream were playing clubs, the old Blues guys were touring (I got to see Son House, Jimmy Reed, Muddy Waters, Bukka White, Skip James and loads more). There were free gigs in Hyde Park. Edgar Broughton was ousting demons Arthur Brown Had a weird thing going with the god of hellfire. The Incredible String Band had no difficulty being incredible.

The West Coast bands were taking off – Frank Zappa, Country Joe and the Fish, Doors and Captain Beefheart. Free, Traffic, Jethro Tull and the Bonzos were playing most nights. We bounced about to Fleetwood Mac. We bopped to John Mayall. Every night they were available and the entrance fee was between 10p and 25p. 25p for Pink Floyd and Blossom Toes at Eel Pie Island! Just imagine. I later paid 25p to see Led Zep at the Toby Jug. I was skint but I could afford it.

We had one long endless party. The camaraderie between us long hair beatnik freaks was amazing. Everywhere you went it was joints and new friends. Grok? We shared a philosophy. It was decidedly anti-establishment and ridiculously idealistic, but it was magical. We had our own separate society based around sharing.

In among all the endless mayhem of gigs, parties, girls and friends I discovered this little basement club on Greek Street in the midst of all the night-time strip clubs and cafes, called Les Cousins. It was like a little refuge, a family, a dark dingy basement in which a bunch of hairy guys and colourful girls sat and concentrated, rapt and serious, entranced by the new sounds and poetry of the acoustic scene dubbed contemporary folk. Not sure where that came from. These were a bunch of new incredible songwriters who happened to play acoustically and usually about contemporary issues, topical dramas, real life. Just my thing – serious, deep, extraordinary, brilliant. I spent many a night there basking in the likes of John Martyn, Al Stewart and Jackson C Frank. Magical days. I wish I’d kept my membership card!

One night I rolled up, parked my motorbike on the pavement, bounced down the stairs into the fetid cellar and got a seat at a table near the front. I’d come for Bert Jansch and John Renbourn – two of my favourites. Sandwiched in between them was this manic guy with long blond hair a moustache and acoustic guitar. He giggled a lot and spouted whatever came into his head. I can’t remember what but it all hit me like a hail of bullets. He was mirroring my thoughts. He sang three songs. One was Goldfish and I think another was Blackpool. He blew me away. The guitarwork, the poetry but most of all that mind! That was it – short and sweet!

I’d discovered Roy Harper!

Blues Run the Game: The Strange Tale of Jackson C Frank

Posted on May 4, 2025May 4, 2025 by Opher

It seems that there is going to be a documentary about the fabulous Jackson C Frank entitled: Blues Run the Game: The Strange Tale of Jackson C Frank. I can’t wait. I’ve been a huge fan ever since I heard his debut and sadly, his only album in 1965. Jackson was a good friend of Roy Harper’s back then and Roy wrote the song ‘My Friend’ for him.

I was fortunate enough to see Jackson play and have a chat with him. I wrote about it in the piece I published a number of years back.

I can’t wait to see the documentary!

Jackson C Frank at a small club on Ilford High Street in 1969

Jackson C Frank at a small club on Ilford High Street in 1969

Jackson C frank was a major singer-songwriter from the sixties though not too many people would know that. He was a regular at Les Cousin, partnered Sandy Denny and persuaded her to give up her job and sing full time, was a close friend of Roy Harper (who wrote the song My Friend for him) and was a great influence on all those songwriters of that era. His first album, recorded in 1965, being groundbreaking. A beautiful, melodic album of well-crafted introspective songs that are haunting.

The Contemporary Folk scene had taken off in a big way in England. Donovan had popularised it and Dylan’s success had made acoustic music a viable commercial exercise but the whole scene had blossomed underground with the likes of Davy Graham, Bert Jansch and John Renbourn. It had different roots to that of Greenwich Village in America, although there was a lot of overlap.

I stumbled across this folk phenomenon via a number of sources. When I was fourteen I had been introduced to Woody Guthrie and Big Bill Broonzy by a girlfriend of mine. Then Donovan had started playing on Ready Steady Go. It seemed to fit together. Donovan at the time put the same sign on his guitar that he’d stolen from Woody – ‘This machine kills fascists’. I liked that.

Then Robert Ede and Neil Furby played a part in my education. They were two school-mates. Neil nicked one of my girlfriends but he introduced me to Bert Jansch and John Rebourn, so I suppose that was a fair exchange. Bob had bought the Jackson album the day it came out (he was way ahead of the game) and lent it to me. I loved it. I was hooked right from that first hearing. It was perfect – the voice, guitar, melodies and lyrics all gelled for me. I immediately went out and bought my own copy.

So contemporary Folk Music became a big part of my life.

The final culmination of that time was to discover Roy Harper in Les Cousins with his first album. That blew them all away. But that’s another story.

Back in those halcyon days of the mid-sixties, 1965-66, prior to the advent of Roy, I spent a lot of time in my room with my old dansette record player, playing those first albums by Bert and John. I just loved the passion, integrity and guitar. But the album I played most was Jackson’s. Those songs were absorbed into my being. I knew them inside out.

For over three years I enjoyed that album. When I went to college I met up with Pete and we roomed together for two years. It was a delight to discover that he not only also adored Jackson but could play all his songs. Pete was an outstanding guitarist.

Most of the time in London I never saw Jackson advertised anywhere though he did play the folk scene and was a regular at Les Cousins where I went quite often. I looked out for him without success. But there was so much going on in the Folk and Rock scene that it was not foremost in my mind.

Then in 1969 Pete and I discovered Jackson billed at the Angel in Ilford High Street. The Angel was a pub with a room above it for small music events.

We arrived early. It was set out with a number of round tables with chairs around them. We purloined a table at the front. There were only about thirty people in the Audience. Jackson was quiet and softly spoken, very laid back. He played his songs faultlessly. They were all the songs from that album with nothing new. We clapped each rendition madly. It was brilliant to see him in the flesh. His playing was faultless. His personality shone and those songs were sparkling diamonds.

I would have loved to have heard some other new songs as well though. We were hungry for more of these extraordinary compositions. It was not to be.

After the concert everybody else left but we stayed behind and chatted. Jackson was very friendly and appreciative. He told us that there was no fabled second album or live performance. He said he had not written any other songs but that turned out not to be quite true. The song Golden Mirror, which has just been discovered from a TV programme, is from that period. I do not think he had the confidence in his new material.

Jackson left Pete and I with the sense of a really warm and shy character who was very approachable. We both thought he was a genius.

The next week he was supposed to have turned up for a guest appearance (the only guest – an honoured spot) at Roy Harper’s fabled St Pancras Town Hall gig. He never showed up. I asked the guy he had been with in Ilford, who did turn up to the Roy gig. He informed that Jackson would have come but he was unwell.

I never saw him advertised again. He seemed to evaporate into the night.

I spoke to Roy about it much later and he sadly shook his head and told me he had not seen him again either.

It was only long afterwards when the CD, with those later recordings, came out in the 1990s that I became aware of his tragic fate.

I remember Jackson fondly. He was a sweet, pleasant man, full of emotion and compassion. He wrote songs and music that were so touching and beautiful that they still haunt me.

I think he suffered. He was too kind and vulnerable. Fears robbed him of his potential. The terrible memories of that High School fire in which he was burnt and his girlfriend and fourteen others died, haunted him. It created a mental anguish that he never recovered from. Nobody deserved to suffer the way he did. He was a genius who impacted on the music and songwriting of so many others – including Roy, Sandy, Bert, John and the Fairports. He should have been lauded to the rafters. Instead he is largely forgotten.

I’ll never forget that night in Ilford. That might have been his last gig.

John Renbourn – Another Monday

Posted on March 27, 2025March 27, 2025 by Opher

When I was sixteen, back in 1965, it was as if I had multiple personalities. Life was music – but what music depended on who you were hanging out with.

Back then it was about hunting out the best sounds and sharing them. When I wasn’t hanging out with mates or hunting out new stuff in the local record shops I was in my room endlessly playing stuff. Everything revolved around music (and girls).

This was the mid-sixties, we were regaled with the Beatles, Stones and a plethora of new exciting rock bands – Yardbirds, Prettythings, Animals, Who, Them, Downliners Sect, Smallfaces, Measles, Spencer Davis, Blues Incorporated. It was an endless stream of our music.

But when I was with Daphne it was Joan Baez.

When with Viv it was Donovan, Woody Guthrie and Big Bill Broonzy.

When with Mutt it was Dylan.

With Hat it was Little Richard and Eddie Cochran.

Dick it was Chicago Blues – Howlin’ Wolf, John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters, Lightnin’ Hopkins.

That was fine with me. I was up for all of it and was soaking it up!

It was Neil Ferby who introduced me to Bert Jansch and John Renbourn. He stole my girlfriend but I forgive him. He introduced me to a whole new scene – the acoustic contemporary folk scene – Davy Graham, John Martyn and then Roy Harper. Thanks Neil.

For some reason Neil sold me his Bert Jansch and John Renbourn albums. The fuse was lit.

JOHN RENBOURN – “John Renbourn” / “Another Monday” (Full Album) Guimbarda DD-22037/38 – YouTube

Today’s Music to keep me IIiiNNNnSSSsAaaannnnNeEE – John Renbourn – Another Monday

Posted on January 16, 2023 by Opher

This was the first album I bought of John’s. It takes me straight back to those days in Les Cousins. What an amazing guitarist and lovely man. I remember standing with him in Leeds after a Ramblin’ Jack Elliott gig, waiting in line to get our albums signed. We reminisced about the old days. So humble. Caught him soon after backing Roy at his gig at Festival Hall. He remembered me!

Today’s Music to keep me SsSaAaaNnnNeeee in Isolation – Bert Jansch – Bert Jansch

Posted on December 25, 2020 by Opher

A fabulous debut album. Such a great guitarist.

Bert Jansch “Bert Jansch” – Full Album – YouTube

Acoustic Guitarists of the Sixties – Bert Jansch, Davy Graham, John Renbourn and Roy Harper.

Posted on June 13, 2017 by Opher

The mid-sixties produced a wealth of great acoustic music loosely under the initial heading of Folk-Blues but in reality extending much further than that. The Greenwich Village Scene, sparked off by Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and Phil Ochs, had sparked a massive resurgence in folk music and made it a commercial proposition. So much so that the record companies were chasing acoustic performers and the Pop Charts featured them. The popular performers, like Donovan, were propelled into Pop stardom. But there was an underlying scene that did not see itself as part of the Pop scene at all. They were producing music for a new generation of aficionados.

Davy Graham was probably the most seminal to the movement. His brand of Folk-Blues was adulterated, if that is the right word, with jazz and middle Eastern rhythms and chords. He started the ball rolling with his brilliant Angie (Anji) which set a new innovative standard in guitar playing. Teaming up with the Folk Traditionalist Shirley Collins he took Contemporary Folk in a different direction.

Bert Jansch came roaring down from Scotland with venom and spark to illuminate the Folk Scene with his verve and mastery of the guitar coupled with strident singing.

John was more mellow and melodic and based a lot of his music on more traditional material. He was the ideal foil for Bert and together they produced some excellent music before expanding and teaming up with Danny Thompson and Jacqui McShee to form Pentangle.

Roy burst on the scene a little later, befriended Davy, Bert and John, and developed his own acoustic style that tended to be more aggressive, at least in those early days. For a time Roy had a number of musical directions to follow – his love songs, social protests, humour and instrumentals. It was a toss up as to which he was going to progress.

I was fortunate to see all of them perform on a number of occasions back in the days of Les Cousins, The Barge and Bunjies and I enjoyed them all. I also used to frequent the Three Horse Shoes where, in the basement, Pentangle performed for free – more a meeting of friends.

My feeling was that the fires that stoked Davy, Bert and John cooled pretty quickly as their proficiency developed. Their music was sophisticated and high quality but I preferred the energy, vibe and stridency of the Harper songs – like One For All, or Blackpool. They had an urgency about them. Though Roy was not as technically proficient as Bert, Davy or John, he more than made up for that with his drive and innovation. But then, as with everything, it is always a matter of taste, isn’t it? And musical proficiency does not always produce the best music, does it? Sometimes a bit of raucous energy injects a spark that is lacking in more sophisticated exponents and propels the music into a different dimension.

Oh for the wonders of those days. I’d give anything to see those four perform again. It is so strange to think that Roy is the only one of those four who is still alive.

Anecdote – Jackson C Frank at a small club on Ilford High Street in 1969

Posted on March 10, 2016November 18, 2019 by Opher

Anecdote – Jackson C Frank at a small club on Ilford High Street in 1969