The Song that was John Martyn
I remember sitting in my brother’s bedroom, in my hands his old, shabby, Martin Coleti guitar, listening to the discovery my brother, 13 years my senior had made. From the stereo a cooly plaid guitar was accompanied by a far off voice. “These words were composed by Spencer the Rover, As valiant a man as ever left home…” Today, on the BBC, it was announced that John Martyn, the singer I first met all those years ago in my brother’s bedroom, had died. Aged, just 60.
I cannot begin to describe how much influence this man, his songs and the way he sang them, has had on my own music. As I grew older, and was wrapped in timeless songs like Solid Air and May You Never, I leaned from him that there really are no lines, no barriers between folk and rock, country and pop. Even Jazz is just a derivative, evolving its own style from a common swamp that is simply music. John Martyn embraced it all, without fear or preconception.
I find him immensely difficult to categorize, though I wonder why I should try. I suppose you could say that he was a primarily acoustic musician, purely based on the fact that he tended to play acoustic guitar. But by the time he had shoved it through countless tape delays, compressors, phase pedals, chorus pedals and any thing else he could find, the instrument had transcended its original purpose. Listen to “I’d rather be the devil” live, and you felt you were listening to an entire band, rather than the single seated fellow on stage.
Martyns voice was built for his musical style. What he threw away in the enunciation stakes, he replaced with emotional straining, almost wailing, that was strong and contemptuous of anyone else. One moment, drifting lyrical, the next moment cat-gut dramatic, you simply could not ignore the way he sang his own songs. And as a musician myself, the idea of covering his works was almost pointless – I could not beat that!
For many of us growing up in the sixties and seventies, John Martyn was the man on the fringe. Where everything else was organised, predictable (quite often American) and, perhaps, safe, Martyn was dangerous, avant guarde and definitely unique! He told you that it was possible to pick up your guitar and do your thing; as long as you were different, you were half way there. In concert he was no different.
I saw him once at the old Marquee Club in London, sandwiched between the punk bands who had near taken over the venue. The picture above could well be from there. Martyn was solo having fallen out with his long term bassist Danny Thompson – a common occurrence, I believe, with the treacherous Martyn. With the aid of more foot pedals that I have ever even owned, John filled the stage with blissful rendition after dangerous re-visitation; re scoring and re-blending his music as it went to give a performance that broke through the barriers sometimes imposed by the studio versions.
At some point in the middle he gave up on one song, announcing that he found it boring. Martyns first love, even before music, was talking. And gigs tended to be as much talk as song. This was no exception. We were treated to several minutes of complaint and jokes and swearing about what ever was irritating him at the moment, during which he carefully and gently rolled a joint. Just as he paused to lick the cigarette paper, a camera flash lit the room. Martyn looked up, tongue paused mid lick. “Now what’s the chance that ends up in the paper tomorrow?” And with that, he threw the joint to the person with the camera.
The club was half filled with John Martyn fans like me and half with Punks who had arrived on the wrong night, but were rapidly deciding that this was the best mistake they had made in their lives. I think half the room attempted to occupy the 2 foot square space where the joint had landed, while Martyn simply played one of his many amazing songs to accompany the short and well intentioned riot.
Over the years, the joints, the booze and the lifestyle took John Martyn apart. A documentary a couple of years ago followed him coping drunkenly with having a leg amputated.
Sixty is too young to die, but many people will be amazed that John Martyn made it this far. But through all the bottles, the joints and goodness knows what else, John Martyn NEVER stopped being a genius and an inspiration to an entire generation of guitarists and singers
Many amazing words were composed by John Martyn; as valiant a man as ever left this world.
Bless him!
John_Martyn_(singer)| John Martyn on wikipedia
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