Where music is concerned, taste is enormously complex. As often as we revel in the shared enjoyment of a song or artist, we relish the solitary specificity of our individual favorites. We covet the music “nobody else likes.” It’s a strange art form that inspires its enthusiasts to personalize their enjoyment to levels of alienation.
When I was a kid, I used to wake up really early on Saturdays, walk into the playroom next to my bedroom, and chose my morning entertainment. My choices, in order from most- to least-commonly selected, were :
- Play with legos
- Read Calvin & Hobbes
- Play Nintendo
- Watch cartoons
I didn’t often opt to watch Saturday morning cartoons, because we didn’t get cable, and PBS showed Sesame Street, which I had by then outgrown, on Saturdays. Sometimes, though I would catch an episode of a cartoon that was, to me, strangely interesting but vaguely unreal. It was called Rad Dog. I don’t remember much about it, and I’m sure it wasn’t even that good, but what I do remember is that I had a poster of planets on my wall that, when viewed from far enough away, looked like a large mosaic of Rad Dog’s face. This all somehow created the idea for me that Rad Dog was somehow relevant to my life, and, ultimately, that I was only person in the world who could actually see the Rad Dog cartoon. Nobody else knew it existed. The Universe put it on display for me at ungodly hours of the morning to communicate some larger message to me. I had a busy imagination in those days.
Several years ago, I found an album on my iPod that I could remember adding, but had never heard. It was a late night and I was driving back north from Massachusetts. I put this album on and listened as I drove into darkness, solitude… that state of near-meditation when driving that can cause a deep, memorable listening experience.
I began to hear music that I instantly believed, like Rad Dog, was specially for me. And after many fruitless attempts to share it with others, I’ve resigned myself to enjoying it personally and, perhaps, selfishly. It’s out of love for this music that I share it here, knowing few will read past this point and fewer will seek it.
The album was 2007’s Gyllyng Street, by the artist Songs of Green Pheasant. The music was so many things I had sought, and still seek, in music. Textured acoustic and electric guitars, ethereal overtones and generous use of reverb, understated vocal harmonies, ideas that are long to develop but deliver a satisfying payoff, and a distinctly medieval/baroque quality that’s so easy to do insufferably with pretension and pastiche but, in rare cases, when done earnestly and with love, results in so much of my own favorite music.
Returning home, I quickly scooped up the rest of SOGP’s releases. These include the self-titled 2005 debut, the Aerial Days EP from 2006, and later, by way of the artist’s now-offline website, the free and equally-good “others” collection, When the Weather Clears.
It’s all the work of Duncan Sumpner, a thirtysomething school teacher who lives in the English countryside, according to Fat Cat Records’ website. Duncan recorded the first LP in his kitchen and used the same reverb box and tape deck to overdub all the instruments. It wasn’t surprising to me that the music was borne of home recording… its humble production values are a giveaway and major element of its charm.
Although it has ancestry in the traditions of English folk, tonally, this music doesn’t suggest Pentangle, Nick Drake and Fairport as influences. There’s more early-period Pink Floyd and “Songs of the Whale” in effect than elements of Bert Jansch, Vashti Bunyan or Jethro Tull. In fact, I’m not quite sure what Duncan’s influences are, and I like that about his music.
Before I go on, here’s one of my favorites:
West Coast Profiling by Songs of Green Pheasant
Songs of Green Pheasant has been a greatly significant influence on my own recordings as Greyshield. Listening to his music teaches me about using space… the importance of providing a room before starting the conversation. I wrote to Duncan to tell him this a few years ago, and he replied gratefully and kindly, promising to give Greyshield a listen.
In his songwriting, Duncan achieves something in the smallness of his expression and modesty of his voice that makes me, as a musician, feel I could also achieve. And yet, with repeated listens, through which I discern the unfolding of layers and surfacing of his lyrics, the meandering codas and progression of melodies through the track breaks, I begin to appreciate the massiveness of his songwriting talent.
I’m always one for “evocative” music and lyrics. I like to be transported. Music isn’t a mere soundtrack to my days and nights. It’s another place entirely, to which I go hungry and from which I return fulfilled.
Don’t lose sight of beauty in the ordinary lives
Come outside for awhile
I remember faces silver like December sun
Times were good for awhile
I walk alone and one by one the fires, light up the way
I hurry home tonight
I want to wake up early, stand outside on the white frost
Breathe the marvelous dawn
I want to be the sailor on leave, back where I belong
But I don’t know where to start- “Fires P.G.R.” by Songs of Green Pheasant
We first perceive the large bird’s outline, noting his gait and direction. We then acknowledge his feathers, natural in arrangement but exotic in color. It’s only after he takes flight that we understand our special fortune.
