Well, not necessarily uplifting (though there are moments), but something gentle, occasionally dark, fleetingly creepy and most importantly, worthy of a second listen. Trader Horne’s one and only album, 1970′s Morning Way, is, in fact, worthy of much more than a second listen.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Firstly, this may have been Trader Horne’s lone release, but they were in fact a duo comprising of original Fairport Convention vocalist and one time member of an embryonic King Crimson, Judy Dyble, and Irish folk rock underground ubiquity Jackie McAuley. The conjunction of these musical forces resulted in Morning Way, a pleasingly obscure example of psychedelically informed folk rock.

Trader Horne – who apparently took their moniker from the nickname John Peel had for his nanny (la-di-da) – provide a calming soundtrack, with the typical folk setup of male and female vocals exchanging leads and harmonies. Even so, this is Jackie McAuley’s show, with him writing the lion’s share of the tracks and taking the majority of leads, while Judy Dyble’s English Rose vocal drifts ethereally through the mix like the song of a Siren floating inland from a distant shore.

‘Jenny May’ kicks off proceedings, a jaunty nursery rhyme-style song that hints at darker meaning, putting us in fine fettle for the remainder of the album.

‘Children of Oare’ borrows its recorder driven riff from ”We Three Kings of Orient Are’, and is lyrically typical of the fey subject matter that dances like a pixie maiden in the court of King Arthur throughout much of the album. We’re in the realms of baroque folk, kicking the tyres of progressive music, specifically on the moving call and response of ‘Growing Man’, a true classic of the genre.

‘Down and Out Blues’ is the one exception to this blueprint, a cover of the blues standard ‘Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out’, delivered in a full-on Billie Holiday tempo by Dyble, which, for all its sincerity, remains unremarkable and only serves to detract from the rest of the material Morning Way has to offer.

Gems such as ‘The Mutant’ (surely written under the influence of Cream’s ‘Tales of Brave Ulysses’), ‘The Mixed Up Kind’, ‘In My Loneliness’, the eerie title-track with its allusions to death, and the hauntingly memorable ‘Velvet to Atone‘.

Indeed, for all its occasional tweeness and lightness of weight in the grand scheme of things, Morning Way is one of the finest, most beautifully rendered examples of psychedelic folk music. It may lack the teeth of another great of the acid-folk movement, Comus’s First Utterance, but it’s nice to leave behind the real darkness once in a while and peer blinking, but a little more settled, into a lighter shade of despair.

Morning Way, by Trader Horne,  is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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Trader Horne – Morning Way

www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhwEzKXf5rk

With its haunting piano melody and Judy Dyble’s spectral vocal, it lingers in the memory far beyond the two and a half minute running time.

‘Velvet to Atone’ also appears on the Pye and Dawn Records compilation box set Cave of Clear Light, available from Amazon.co.uk

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Trader Horne -- Velvet to Atone

Despite the ridicule fired in his direction back then and in the intervening years, Donovan was nonetheless responsible for some of the gentler and more memorable songs of the psychedelic era. His blend of acid-folk flavoured psychedelic pop/rock first found an outlet on his third album release, 1966′s Sunshine Superman.

Originally denied a release in the UK due to contractual disputes, Sunshine Superman finally saw the light of day over here in 1967, although with an amended track-listing that threw in some songs from the follow-up, Mellow Yellow, and omitted others. The 2005 EMI reissue reinstates the original line-up, as well as a further 6 bonus tracks.

Sunshine Superman is a fairytale of an album, dripping in paisley-hued imagery, mystical wordplay, far off, wistful melodies and a healthy dose of naivety. Despite the dynamic kick-off, with the familiar title track, things soon settle into a mellower groove with the seven minute enchantment that is ‘Legend of a Girl Child Linda’, its lilting orchestral arrangement by John Cameron (responsible for the score to cult 70s Brit biker-horror, Psychomania).

From then on, Sunshine Superman throws out some splendidly haunting acoustic affairs in ‘Three Kingfishers’, ‘Ferris Wheel’ and the Arthurian ‘Guineviere’, incorporating sitar and an array of percussion instruments to convey the feeling of otherworld, hallucinatory bliss.

Cranking things up again into full electrical territory is ‘Season of the Witch’, a rare excursion into the realms of the menacing, which prophesised Donovan’s soon-to-be status of being the first high-profile British pop star to be arrested for marijuana possession. The song would go on to be covered by Julie Driscoll & Brian Auger, Sam Gopal and Vanilla Fudge among others.

Closing with the eerie, celesta and harpsichord-laden ‘Celeste’, Sunshine Superman is, with the odd notable exception, a beguiling and ethereal album, its head lodged firmly in the clouds, which glides effortlessly into the consciousness like a sea breeze drifting through a coastal village, somewhere in 1966.

The seven bonus tracks are merely cosmetic and neither add to, nor take anything away from Donovan’s first complete foray into the realms of psychedelia.

Sunshine Superman is reissued by EMI and available from Amazon.co.uk

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Donovan – Sunshine Superman

Strange Folk is a collection of folk songs, some from the 1960s and 1970s, and others more recent, which share a dark or decidedly unusual edge. The 19 tracks hereon range from the eerie, in Beth Gibbons & Rustin Man’s ‘Mysteries’, to the unintentionally terrifying with the Incredible String Band’s masterclass in cat-strangling, tuneless dirgemaking ‘Saturday Maybe’.

But don’t let the inclusion of those enemies of the carried note put you off – skip buttons could well have been invented with these forte-free fiends in mind – as Strange Folk manages to erase any bad Incredible String-based experiences with some shrewdly chosen musical remedies.

Magnet’s ‘Maypole’, the pagan fertility rite taken from 1973′s aforementioned The Wicker Man, is fittingly bizarre and, as anybody who’s seen the film will already know, its jauntiness belies a murky undercurrent. Of the other older stuff, Donovan’s ‘The Song of Wandering Aengus’, with words provided by the W.B. Yeats poem of the same name, is a spectral treat, while Forest’s ‘Fading Light’ and Tyrannosaurus Rex’s ‘Great Horse’ also stand out.

From the crop of newer material, the opener ‘Mysteries’, Eighteenth Day of May’s floral ‘The Highest Tree’, and Vashti Bunyan’s haunting ‘Here Before’ take pride of place in the winner’s enclosure. Only Joanna Newsom’s ‘Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie’ lets the modern intake down, approaching ISB levels of earache inducement with its paint-stripper caterwauling.

Undoubtedly the highlight of Strange Folk is Pentangle’s 1969 tale of devilish betrayal, ‘House Carpenter‘, resplendent in all its sitar-laced, psychedelic finery.

If the ethereal delights of the darker reaches of folk, and the many forms it manifests, are your particular bag, then you could do a lot worse than seeking out a copy of this particular collection.

Strange Folk is released on Albion Records and available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

Also in Compilation Week:

Looking Towards the Sky – Progressive, Psychedelic and Folk Rock from the Ember Vaults

Cave of Clear Light – The Pye and Dawn Records Underground Trip 1967-1975

Spirit of Joy – Tales From the Polydor Underground 1967-1974

Real Life Permanent Dreams – A cornucopia of British psychedelia 1965-1970

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Strange Folk (compiliation week)

That is, deliver a comprehensive, beautifully packaged three-disc extravaganza complete with extensively detailed booklet.

Once again compiled by Mark Powell, behind both the Polydor and Harvest excursions, Cave of Clear Light shines the fiery torch on the label that’s been dismissed as a poor relation to the more dedicated exponents of the psychedelic and progressive sound. Unfairly so, one might add, as Pye/Dawn had an impressive roster of artists on the books, even if the vast majority never so much as tickled the public conscious.

Obviously, that’s the style of output HFoS thrives on.

Disc 1 boils down the psychedelic and the folk into one easily consumable portion.  The one dud aside (Neo Maya’s ‘UFO’), this starter notches up such classics as the sinister Status Quo number ‘Paradise Flats’, The Mooche’s ‘Hot Smoke and Sassafras’, Blonde on Blonde’s ‘All Day, All Night’ and, obviously,  ‘Cave of Clear Light’ by The Bystanders.

Donovan’s ‘Season of the Witch’ and the superior ‘Hurdy Gurdy Man’ inject the folk element along with the ethereal LSD vibe of Woody Kern (‘Tell You I’m Gone’) and the spectral majesty of Trader Horne’s ‘Velvet to Atone‘. Contributions by both Man and Fire help to push this first disc into essential territory, irrelevant of what follows.

Disc 2 sets its stall out early on, with ‘Tell You a Story’, another track from Fire, once again taken from their sole, but justifiably much sought after concept album The Magic Shoemaker. From then on in we’re treated to a mixture of heavy prog, acid-folk and, once again, The Status Quo.

Titus Groan heads the pack where it comes to weightier measures of prog, and the inclusion of acid-folk must-hears Comus, with ‘Song to Comus’ is more than welcome. Mungo Jerry provide a nine minute throbbing blues-explosion, with their bowel-loosening version of the standard ‘I Just Wanna Make Love to You’, but the highlight of this disc has to be Jackie McAuley’s baroque snapshot of 1971, ‘Cameraman: Wilson and Holmes’.

Demon Fuzz also make an appearance with their rendition of ‘I Put a Spell on You’, and Atomic Rooster close things with the excellent, Hammond-driven ‘Time Take My Life’.

Disc 3 is a progressive paradise, resplendent in flutes, extended solos and such rarities as Gravy Train and Jonesy. Even blue-eyed soul barker, Chris Farlowe, makes an appearance on ‘Can’t Find a Reason’, while pastoral folk bods Heron deliver ‘Yellow Roses’ from their self-titled debut.

The Status Quo are present once again with the excellent, infectiously bluesy ‘Gerdundula’, slipping straight out of the early 1970s, and the rest of this volume is taken up by equally strong acts as Icarus – with an ode to the Fantastic Four – Fruup and the always welcome Stray.

Cave of Clear Light is yet another superior compilation for lovers of the psychedelic and the progressive to sink their teeth into. So long as labels such as Esoteric keep putting stuff like this out, there’s no reason this sometimes under-tapped vein should ever run dry.

Cave of Clear Light – The Pye and Dawn records Underground Trip 1967-1975 [box set] is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

Also in Compilation Week:

Looking Towards the Sky – Progressive, Psychedelic and Folk Rock from the Ember Vaults

Strange Folk

Spirit of Joy – Tales From the Polydor Underground 1967-1974

Real Life Permanent Dreams – A cornucopia of British psychedelia 1965-1970

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Cave of Clear Light – The Pye and Dawn Records Underground Trip 1967-1975 (compilation week)

Thankfully, ‘House Carpenter’ is a jazz-free zone, instead incorporating Renbourn’s sitar and Jansch’s banjo to produce one soothing psychedelic folk ensemble. Singer Jacqui McShee and Jansch share vocal duties on the unique arrangement of this traditional folk song, which, in turn, is based upon ye olde ballad, ‘The Daemon Lover’.

‘House Carpenter’ appears on Pentangle’s 1969 album Basket of Light, once voted in an Observer poll as one of the top 100 British albums of all time. This live performance  comes from a BBC special recorded in 1970.

Should settle you in nicely for the weekend.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4jXfMEu1YY

Basket of Light by Pentangle is issued on Sanctuary records and available from Amazon.co.uk

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Pentangle -- House Carpenter

Now, before we crack on, it’s worth mentioning that this site was once tagged by someone out there in the sprawling wilderness of the internets as “anti-folk”. This was on the strength of a review of those warbling cat-stranglers The Incredible String Band and their so-bad-it’s-awful album The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth, and to say that Head Full of Snow loves a bit of acid, pastoral or wyrd-folk is a bloody great understatement.

Which is just as well in the case of Us & Them and their brand of gentle, but dark, folk stylings as demonstrated on the Fruits de Mer Volume Eight EP.  Now if we’d been tagged “anti-jazz” that would be a different, yet fairer, matter.

As is the form with these Fruits de Mer limited edition vinyl releases, Us & Them knock out interpretations of songs from the sleepy mists of the sixties and seventies. This time around there’s three of the blighters, giving the disc EP status (extra player, for those born after 1990). These are Pink Floyd’s ‘Julia Dream’, acid-folk combo Tudor Lodge’s ‘Coming Home’ (though the song actually stems from a later reunion of the band), and American folk legend Jackson C Frank’s haunting ‘Dialogue’.

The girl-boy duo of Britt (vocals) and Anders (instruments) deliver three achingly beautiful acoustic psych renditions, maintaining the high standards set by previous Fruits de Mer singles, but it’s ‘Julia Dream (Of All the Pretty Little Horses)’ that really stands out.

The original Pink Floyd song is given an acoustic workout and seamlessly blended with the traditional lullaby ‘All the Pretty Little Horses’, the melody of which provided the basis for Roger Waters’ original composition. This unique seven-minute arrangement is a ghostly requiem, plucked from a swirling ether of abandoned souls that evokes memories of not only David Gilmour’s original vocal, but Mark Fry’s lingering brand of acid-folk and Jacqui McShee of Pentangle. Once heard, it’s hard to shift the wistful allure of ‘Julia Dream (Of All the Pretty Little Horses)’ from the mind – not that you’d want to.

Full marks, once again, to Keith and Andy on their unorthodox, yet successful labour of love, and for securing the services of the excellent Us & Them in this, volume eight of their cracking series.

Us & Them MySpace page (samples available)

You can order Fruits de Mer Volume Eight from the label’s website.

See also:

Fruits de Mer Records

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Us & Them – Fruits de Mer Volume Eight

Jethro Tull look forward to another year of HFoS

2010 marks the official first birthday of Head Full of Snow, February 8^th last year being the hallowed date when all this started with a wee profile of lost psychedelic popsters and brief Beatles’ protégés, Focal Point.

To celebrate this momentous occasion we’ll be doing absolutely nothing. Should you wish to wear a sparkly hat or release a party-popper into the wild on said date, you’re more than welcome.

Which brings me to the intentions for Head Full of Snow into 2010.

Intentions being what they are – well mine, anyways – they’ll probably have bore sour, shrivelled fruit, come the revolution, but right here, right now, this is what I’m thinking.

I’m looking to diversify the content at Head Full of Snow, as at present the site seems to be weighted in favour of album reviews (occasional exceptions granted). The reviews will continue, of course, hopefully at the current rate of at least one a week, but more features wouldn’t go amiss. Whether these constitute profiles, interviews or whatever, remains to be seen.

Speaking of which, I should be getting around to interviewing -valis of excellent psychedelic website Trip Inside this House, before time is called on January. I promised him late last year, but things being what they are, I never got around to it. As is fitting, it will take the form of -valis’s own 10 Questions slot, which has become a Friday fixture at Trip Inside This House.

Elsewhere, I hesitate in saying we’ll be broadening the remit to cover more new bands, for fear of alienating those who, like me, have their heads stuck in the late sixties and seventies. But there’s every chance, so long as they’re of a psychedelic, prog or acid/wyrd-folk leaning. So if you’re one such artist or a group, looking for a spot of promotion via interview, etc. feel free to get in touch via the email address or contact form.

Likewise. if, in any way, you desire to write for Head Full of Snow, send me your thoughts via the same channels. I’m afraid I’ll only be able to offer a byline and a sincere thank you for your efforts though.

Also, making a return in 2010 will be such gems as Who is/are: and Cover of the Week, as well as more news, vids etc.

As already stated, these are mere intentions and time being of the premium, may fall flat on their collective faces before the ink has dried on this post.

If that be the case, feel free to remind me of this a year from now, when we’re staring down the barrel of a second HFoS birthday.

Happy New Year, and all that malarkey.

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Head Full of Snow into the New Year

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nPer5U-zi0

Taken from the 1971 album First Utterance, it’s the stuff bad dreams are made of, here in almost all of its ten minute glory*

So ensure the children are tucked up in bed and small animals are firmly secured as we venture onto murderous, blood-soaked grounds, with a song that seeps from the darkest, most twisted parts of the forgotten forest sitting at the back of YOUR house.

*The final, minute-long reprise is missing from this vid.

‘Drip Drip’ appears on First Utterance, available as part of Song To Comus – The Complete Collection, along with their second album, and available from Amazon.co.uk

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Comus -- Drip Drip

Comus inhabit that most spectral of sub-genres, acid-folk – A blend of the psychedelic and the folkish, underpinned by a progressive foundation. It’s an area of music renowned for its ethereal eeriness, oft-beauty, and mystical meanderings…

… Except nobody seemed to have told Comus that, for their 1971 debut, First Utterance, is, to put it bluntly, quite terrifying.

Taking their name from Milton’s 17^th century masque, featuring a wild wood ruled over by the pagan sorcerer King Comus, the band recorded, quite possibly, the most unnerving example of progressive/psych/acid –folk, or any other musical niche, ever to be committed to a waxy disc.

Subject matter ranges from sexual threat to sacrifice to mental illness, and it’s all delivered in such a freakishly disturbing way that had Edward Woodward heard it prior to landing his biplane, he’d have turned and fled Summerisle long before the flames were licking at his ankles.

First Utterance is nothing short of brilliant. It’s hell on your own doorstep – The Wicker Man soundtrack that never was. From the opening bars of ‘Diana’ to the closing barked repetition of “insane” on ‘The Prisoner’, this album grabs you by your god-fearing sensibilities and refuses to let go. This is thanks in no small part to the uniquely unsettling vocal delivery of Roger Wootton and the sylph-like female voice of Bobbie Watson drifting in and out of the mix.

As such, a song as innocuously titled as ‘Diana’ is far more disquieting with its description of the titular heroine (a metaphor for virtue) being stalked “through the steaming woodlands” by a lustful, unseen presence.

‘Drip Drip‘, with its medieval murder, is intimidating and horrific in turns – “As I carry you to your grave, My arms your hearse” – and the sinister ‘Song to Comus’ and ‘The Bite’, which nails its colours to the mast with the (undoubtedly) Pagan sacrifice of a Christian, ensures sleepless nights for all.

If Pagan murmurings in the deepest, darkest woods are your thing, then Comus’s First Utterance is undoubtedly your bag. If, like me, they’re not, but you like your music dark, edgy and seething with a undercurrent of barely suppressed malevolence, then I can’t recommend this album enough.

Comus, unlike the laughable Incredible String Band, are everything that’s right about acid-folk music.

Reassuringly creepy, once First Utterance has been heard, it won’t be forgotten.

First Utterance is available as part of Song To Comus – The Complete Collection, also featuring their more mainstream second album, and available from Amazon.co.uk

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Comus – First Utterance

How wrong could they be? Dreaming With Alice, released only in Italy in 1972, possesses a certain magic that more than exonerates the cult that has built up around it over the years. As far as obscure acid folk rarities go, this is a stone-cold classic.

In fact, the only fault that can be found in it is the fact it was released in 1972, whereas it sounds as though it were recorded at the tail-end of the 1960s. The fact that music had moved on so much in the intervening years possibly accounts for the fact it could only secure an Italian release. Of course, nearly forty years on, when it was recorded is an irrelevance.

The title track ‘Dreaming With Alice’, a gently haunting lilt, is split into nine verses that punctuate the album. This too may have been a mistake, as the recently re-recorded version by Mark Fry himself and released on Fruits de Mer Records is superior as a single piece, allowing its dreamlike quality to flow over the listener uninterrupted.

‘The Witch’ continues the fascination amongst the psychedelic/acid folk set with all things witchy – other purveyors of witch-influenced lyricism include Donovan, Fairport Convention, and the Incredible String Band – with a spookily ethereal tale of a witch at the window saturated with chiming sitars, giving it that perfect otherworldly feel.

It’s the highlight of an album that’s as melodic as it is mesmeric, darkness and light in equal measures, and one made all the more remarkable by the fact that Mark Fry was still a teenager when it was written and recorded. Maybe it’s this infusion of childlike, fairy-tale innocence, untainted by cynicism, that makes Dreaming with Alice so special.

Dreaming With Alice is reissued by Sunbeam Records with extra tracks and available from Amazon.co.uk

Mark Fry’s website

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Mark Fry – Dreaming With Alice

“Man alive! Please make it stop!” Listen very carefully on a crystal clear, dark winter’s night and you may well hear these words carried on a distant breeze, emanating from yours truly as I dream that once again I’m listening to The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter by The Incredible String Band.

Personally I blame Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin. It was following his recommendation that I bought said album in the first place. Word to the wise: Don’t be fooled if Mister Plant tries the same trick with you, tis all lies. Not that he sidled up to me in the bar of my local and out of the blue suggested I should part with some hard-earned in exchange for a ropy, hippy-folk recording. It was, in fact, within the pages of a Mojo magazine Psychedelic special a few years back, so heaven knows how many other unsuspecting record collections have been infected on the strength of his words.

The hirsute Zeppelin frontman had me in. Please don’t let the same happen to you.

Which brings me to the actual album, The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter, which along with Wee Tam and the Big Huge was the first of two releases by The Incredible String Band in 1968. I’ve done my damnedest to put it off, as you may well have suspected, but it’s my duty to listen once again so that you won’t have to. It’s not all peace and love here.

The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter might actually be an unintentional comedic masterpiece were it not so bloody awful to listen to. It’s as though following the filming of The Wicker Man, the inhabitants of Summerisle were unleashed in a recording studio to capitalise upon their success at setting light to Edward Woodward. This is raw, acoustic Brit-folk, laced with all manner of exotic instruments; the type of which only communities with an aversion to outsiders can produce. Think Steeleye Span without access to electricity or a tune.

The songs are given a slight ‘psychedelic’ slant by their subject matter, which I have to admit in places is suitably haunting – conjuring up images of shadowy cottages in the dark and lonely corners of coastal villages – a pity it’s so badly realised.

An exercise in awful hilarity has to be ‘The Minotaur’s Song’, which as you might suspect is sung from the perspective of a Minotaur – “I’m strong as the earth from which I’m born, I can’t dream well because of my horns” – to a hearty tankard swinging tune, with the remaining three members of the band chiming in every so often with accompanying vocals.

‘Witches Hat’ ups the twee badness with the chorus: “If I was a Witches Hat, Sitting on her head like a paraffin stove, I’d fly away and be a bat, Across the air I would rove…”

And on it goes. The folkiness and hippy-cred are turned well and truly up to eleven, with all manner of ethnic instrumentation thrown into the mix for good measure. In places it sounds like a very bad, privately educated, cod-world music band – the sort of thing Damon Albarn might be involved with – tripping up and falling down a steep staircase.

It’s a testament to the ready acceptance of the more experimental nature of music in the late 60s that The Incredible String Band were ever let within a hundred yards of a microphone, let alone signed to a record label like Elektra. Nowadays they would be left to bang their tambourines, slaughter their sitars, manhandle their sarangis, abuse a tune and generally cause distress to innocent wildlife in some sun-soaked woodland clearing.

Maybe there is a genuine beauty in there (I suspect perhaps there is, dependant on frame of mind) and if you choose to listen for yourself, you may well find it. But I’m afraid such tuneless and fey tweeness is wasted on these ears.

Some albums take a few listens before they find their stride… before something clicks and they become a firm favourite. Unfortunately The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter by the Incredible String Band doesn’t. Nor will it ever. Not for this reviewer anyway.

The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter is available on Warner Records and to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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The Incredible String Band – The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter