Having recently worked out an easy way to record all my old vinyl and cassettes to CD, I’ve been working my way through my box of old tapes, rediscovering all kinds of old friends, sadly neglected ever since I got a car and stopped wearing my walkman everywhere I went.
Among these are a lot of early Martin Carthy records, particularly those with accompaniment by the peerless Dave Swarbrick on fiddle and mandolin.
The performances are still stellar, but I can’t help noticing that some of the repertoire isn’t aging well. It’s my suspicion that the ones that clang so loundly are folk songs ‘unearthed’ by Carthy’s former mentor AL Lloyd. As I recall the liner notes to one or other of Carthy’s greatest hits collections of a decade ago, he now says that he thinks that Lloyd may have had a much greater hand in writing the supposedly trad songs he found than he would ever admit.
It’s hard not to agree with Carthy–I can easily name as many as half a dozen songs which seem phony in similar ways.
That’s not what I want to talk about, however. Instead, I’ve been pondering the way that time–even ten or twenty years–seems unerringly to show up the shine of fool’s gold in contrast to the lustre of genuine ore. Counterfeits look so obvious that it seems remarkable that they ever passed, yet it’s clear that pass they did.
So I’m wondering about what that mechanism might be–what can have changed in 20 years to make a successful imposter suddenly stand out as not the real thing at all?
I note that this is as true of songs as of poetry, or indeed of art or antiquities.
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It’s my theory that what’s happening is that these musical imposters reflect without knowing it the Weltenschauung–the tenor of the times–in a way that tboth their composers and their contemporary audience is unaware. We’re all the products of our times, and the set of our ideas is always with us. I suspect that escaping Our Time is one of the most difficult tasks in all the creative arts. From within, these are like the air we breathe–so ubiquitous as to be invisible. We reflect them without knowing it. However, once the Weltenschauung changes, even slightly, the anachronistic ideas stick out like a loud fart at a funeral.
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So what is it that betrays Bert Lloyd’s creations? Lloyd appears (to me) to have had a sense of bawdy that can best be described as ‘sniggering’. His songs have a tenor that’s obviously (again, to me) much closer to Austin Powers and the 1960s (or rather, to the attitudes Mike Myers is satyrising) than to the bawdy of the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries.
Somewhere in the box of cassettes is the a best of AL Lloyd collection. When I find it, I’ll give it another listen and see if my nose has been leading me in the right direction.