Dad3353

On a recent trip to the UK, we had a family outing to assist at the 'Dear Evan Hansen' musical in that there London Town; playing your tracks brought this to mind, with a rare subdued quality and original production. Excellent Stuff; thanks for sharing.

That was the final straw. I surprised myself with the alacrity with which I was able to turn it off.

I found it very easy to resist.

Yes.

The Great Man would have to answer for himself, but I'm of the same opinion, and would like to think it to be so. Mr Mattacks is capable of creating many styles, but one could quite easily believe the sobriety shown here to be in homage of the subject. He certainly embellished the Fairports in all of their later collaborations, and I have much respect for him.

You're new here, then..?

Future-proofing..? Wants and needs evolve over time.

Fixed.

These lyrics are by Richard Thomson, as it happens; I agree that Ms Denny had more than just a great voice. Off the subject, but Martin Lamble was my first inspiration for playing drums, having listened to the eponymous first album. Sober, tasteful; spot on for the genre. A sad loss.

Soft Machine and Gryphon. (... plus the Edgar Broughton Band, several times, naturally ...)

Here's the Sandy Denny rendering... Backstory..? 'A beautiful and moving song. Richard Thompson said it was about the deaths of his girlfriend, Jeannie Franklyn, and the band’s drummer, Martin Lamble in a van crash in 1969. The bruised and beaten sons is a jocular reference to Martin’s drums. Jeannie was a successful dressmaker which explains the reference to cutting of cloth. Drinking the light is probably some sort of ceremony, perhaps marriage, and swearing a year probably refers to the standard feudal Morganatic trial marriage contract of a year and a day. Thompson appears to be lamenting that Jeannie can no longer make a commitment to him or any other mortal but she perhaps jocularly suggests the only one of them now available to her is Martin who also lies dead beside her. Then the cold North wind beckons the minstrels back on the road.'

Good man..!

/Topic ...

Sounds a lot like Pentangle, or even Steeleye Span.

When we're done with this, we can match up basses with shaving foam, and then washing machines.

Has rather a ring of Nu-Fusion to it, though. Progressive enough, and more than a tinge of Rock. Not enough cowbell, but... Whatever.

But Fusion is Progressive Rock..! Isn't it..? No..? Oh..!

Hmm... '... C’est une œuvre à la destinée singulière que la Fantaisie variée pour piano et orchestre, écrite à destination du pianiste Raoul Pugno. Singulière à plus d’un titre : reprise quelque peu après sa création en 1913 (dont à Paris, aux Concerts Lamoureux), puis tombée dans l’oubli ; jusqu’en 2009, où elle est ressuscitée au concert et au disque, déjà avec l’Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France. Et c’est cette année-là, soit trente ans après la disparition de Nadia Boulanger, que l’on découvre dans les papiers personnels de la musicienne l’amour passionné qui la liait au dédicataire de l’œuvre. Une œuvre testament en quelque sorte, puisque Raoul Pugno (1852-1914), pianiste, compositeur et aussi enseignant (au Conservatoire de Paris, avec Nadia Boulanger pour élève), devait décéder peu après, le 3 janvier 1914. Après une introduction d’orchestre ténébreuse, le piano égrène une série de touches en accord. S’en dégage un thème, « construit d’un chant populaire russe », selon une précision du manuscrit de l’œuvre, thème repris à l’orchestre. S’échelonnent ensuite trois grands épisodes en forme de variations rhapsodiques avec une virtuosité de circonstance et un beau souffle soutenu par l’orchestre. L’esthétique rejoint celle de César Franck (dans ses Variations symphoniques par exemple) ou de Gabriel Fauré, piquée de quelques rudesses à la manière d’un Stravinsky. Autant de compositeurs que Nadia Boulanger avait côtoyés. ...'

Well, I tried to watch/listen to the video, but abandoned it before the half-way point. Ditch water..? Yes, it's about that dull. D'uh. Never mind, back to listening to music.

Only because the Atlantic separates us, without which I'd be more than pleased to give your hand a friendly shake.

Hmm... Mebbe, but it's a close call. ...

Just be sure to have enough cowbell.

A feature it shares with other forms of poetry.