I’ve never really liked Joni Mitchell‘s Blue.
I realise that some people will stop reading as soon as they read that opening statement, believing it to invalidate any further opinions I may have. It’s true, though; I honestly find Blue unbearably twee and Mitchell’s vocals on it desperately unconvincing. You want authentic though? Well, for my money, you can’t go far wrong with Sandy Denny, surely one of the most intense, captivating performers in the history of music.
The biggest tragedy of Denny’s career is that she remains best known for the tragedy. Her untimely death at the age of 31 in 1978, following later complications after she fell down the stairs during a holiday in Cornwall with her parents, has been well documented. Somehow, her music – and there are oodles of majestic tunes knocking about here, there and everywhere – has contrived to stay shamefully “under the radar” over the best part of 40 years since her passing.
I’ve Always Kept A Unicorn, an acoustic collection of essential tracks from throughout her career, and itself named after a lyric from Denny’s own song ‘Solo‘ (and it’s an utterly mesmerising one, at that), is an admirable attempt to redress the balance. Over the course of its impressive 40-track journey, we visit lands less travelled, such as the beautiful acoustic number, ‘Who Knows Where The Time Goes?‘, recorded with the woefully underrated Twickenham sons The Strawbs, as well as the more celebrated islands of Fairport Convention – albeit mostly in demo form – and the all too brief, choppy shores of Fotheringay.
Arguably, it is her own solo work that shines through the most in this particular set, most notably when we hit upon the triad of songs recorded at the BBC Paris Theatre – ‘Northstar Grassman And The Ravens‘, ‘Next Time Around‘ and ‘John The Gun‘ – all of which are so sombrely yet exquisitely performed that they become nothing short of devastating. Tantalisingly dramatic and positively dripping with emotion, these are the moments where Denny really kills/nails it, and it is perhaps telling that, after such an impassioned triple whammy, disc one closes with the rather more beatific country/folk meanderings of Fotheringay “replacements” The Bunch. It was probably a good idea and comes almost as something of a relief.
If anything, disc two ramps up the potency still further, with Goliath-like ballads such as the aforementioned ‘Solo’, and the charming ‘Like An Old Fashioned Waltz‘ both included here in their John Peel Session incarnations. If forced to pick a favourite number, I’d have to say the glorious, poignant piano balladry of ‘The Music Weaver‘, but in all honesty, practically anything here displays exactly why she is still so revered by her peers and a true folk giant, even if the general public is still trying to catch up.
As an added incentive for appreciating the real Sandy, I would strongly suggest reading Mick Houghton’s book (with the same title as this compilation) from last year. If that doesn’t win you over, then quite frankly you have no soul.
