THE GREATEST SONGS OF THE 1960s THAT NO ONE HAS EVER HEARD
2,038) John Martyn — “Fairy Tale Lullaby”
The Glasgow raised Scottish/Belgian folk legend John Martyn’s (see #1,400, 1,735) ‘67 debut LP London Conversation includes “the sweetest, most beautiful little song I’ve ever heard” (stevedorchester, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lV3s6_tDTWE&list=RDlV3s6_tDTWE&start_radio=1&pp=ygUeam9obiBtYXJ0eW4gZmFpcnkgdGFsZSBsdWxsYWJ5oAcB&ra=m), “[w]onderful beyond words” (quaich14, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lV3s6_tDTWE&list=RDlV3s6_tDTWE&start_radio=1&pp=ygUeam9obiBtYXJ0eW4gZmFpcnkgdGFsZSBsdWxsYWJ5oAcB&ra=m, with “a gorgeous acoustic refrain”. (bluehawaiian, https://rateyourmusic.com/release/album/john-martyn/london-conversation/reviews/2/#google_vignette)
Is it too twee? Some think so. “[S]ickly twee . . . a saccharine word salad of hippie drippy fantasy cliches”. (KeeponChooglinBobby, https://rateyourmusic.com/release/album/john-martyn/london-conversation.p/) “[T]he playful lyrics admittedly don’t sound too good now (references to flying rainbows, ‘sugar fish’, goblins, elves, pixies, a purple sea, dancing magic woods and other such ‘hip’ pseudo-psychedelic hogwash)”. (bluehawaiian, https://rateyourmusic.com/release/album/john-martyn/london-conversation/reviews/2/#google_vignette)
I don’t. “Fairy Tale Lullaby” beautifully captures childhood innocence and wide-eyed wonder. It is a superlative fairy tale, and a superlative lullaby. What’s so funny about “flying rainbows, ‘sugar fish’, goblins, elves, pixies, a purple sea, dancing magic woods”?Mandykitson7039 writes that “i am now 63 and my sons are 33 – when they were little i sang this song every night – they still remember it”. (mandykitson7039, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wUIdRErFk1Y&list=RDwUIdRErFk1Y&start_radio=1&pp=ygUeam9obiBtYXJ0eW4gZmFpcnkgdGFsZSBsdWxsYWJ5oAcB&ra=m)
Ellie Rogers writes of the song and the album:
It’s lighthearted, whimsical and uplifting; full of life, optimism and has an endearing level of naivety – both for the wicked ways of the music industry and for life in general. After all, [Martyn] was just an 18 year-old kid whose dreams appeared to be well on the way to becoming reality when he cut this sweet little ditty. The whole album, which reportedly cost only £158 to record, is very much set in the folk tradition, with balladic storytelling and no-frills self-accompaniment being the order of the day. An all-acoustic effort, Martyn likely recorded his guitar parts with the same dreadnought he’s seen posing with amid the chimney pots of Chris Blackwell’s West London home on the album’s cover. Delicate, almost floral hammer-on flourishes give a nod to the folk baroque style that had become popular on the club scene, and the song [has a] bright, breezy and decidedly major key sheen . . . . Although rather simplistic compared with the calibre of songwriting and production that was yet to come, the remarkable thing about “Fairy Tale Lullaby”, and London Conversation at large, is that Martyn had only been playing the guitar for a short while – a matter of months by his own estimation – yet he’d already mastered plenty of the techniques he so admired in others. With left and right hand autonomy, fluid fingerpicking techniques and an innate sense for melody, rhythm and timing already under his command, the question was: what next?
https://www.musicradar.com/news/5-songs-guitarists-need-to-hear-by-john-martyn
Rafi Mercer says of the LP:
What’s striking, listening now, is how out of step this album must have felt at the time. 1967 was the year of amplified ideas and cultural declarations. London Conversation opts for greys instead of psychedelia, for reflection instead of proclamation. Island Records, still operating with an artist-first ethos, allowed Martyn that restraint. No singles were chased. No image was imposed. The album stands as a first document, not a manifesto. It didn’t make Martyn famous. It made him interesting. And that distinction matters. In hindsight, this record feels like a foundation stone — the place where Martyn learned to trust space, tone, and atmosphere. The later innovations — jazz phrasing, electric textures, echo-laden environments — all grow from this early commitment to listening closely. Nearly sixty years on, London Conversation feels quietly radical again. In a culture trained for speed and certainty, it reminds us that beginnings can be tentative, that meaning doesn’t need to be announced, and that sometimes the most enduring work starts with a voice lowered just enough to invite you closer.
Hucklesvinylproblem adds:
[It] is an understated gem in the folk music canon, where his raw talent is laid bare in its purest form. Released in 1967, the album captures the nascent brilliance of an artist who would later fuse folk, jazz, and blues with experimental virtuosity. Here, however, the charm lies in its simplicity, a sparse, acoustic landscape where Martyn’s deft guitar work and introspective vocals shine unadorned. His songs exude a quiet intimacy, revealing both lyrical depth and emotional resonance. This debut stands as a “must have” for connoisseurs of folk music, not only for its historical significance but for the profound sincerity it conveys. It invites the listener into a world of quiet reflection, where each note and phrase is meticulously crafted. . . .
As to Martyn, Brett Hartenbach writes:
With his characteristic backslap acoustic guitar playing, his effects-driven experimental journeys, and his catalog of excellent songs as well as his jazz-inflected singing style, John Martyn is an important and influential figure in both British folk and rock. Martyn started out as a folk artist with jazzy leanings that were highly unusual for the mid-’60s. He made a couple of albums with then-wife Beverley that were very much of their time before embarking on a musical journey that combined folk, blues, jazz, and rock, with a tendency towards electronic and atmospheric experimentation. His early-’70s albums . . . are as distinctive and striking as anything in the singer/songwriter canon. Alcohol problems and commercial concerns found him adopting a slicker, more pop-oriented sound as he moved toward the ’80s, but Martyn came out on top again both personally and artistically with his ’90s releases and performances. . . . He began his innovative and expansive career at the age of 17 with a style influenced by American blues artists such as Robert Johnson and Skip James, the traditional music of his homeland, and the eclectic folk of Davey Graham . . . . With the aid of his mentor, traditional singer Hamish Imlach, Martyn began to make a name for himself and eventually moved to London, where he became a fixture at Cousins, the center for the local folk scene . . . . Soon after, he caught the attention of Island Records founder Chris Blackwell, who made him the first white solo act to join the roster of his reggae-based label. . . . [Following London Conversation] . . . . [h]is voice . . . started to take on a jazzier quality as he began to experiment musically. While on the road, Martyn continued to experiment with his sound, adding various effects to his electrified acoustic. One such effect, the Echoplex, allowed him to play off of the tape loops of his own guitar, enveloping himself in his own playing while continuing to play leads over the swelling sound. This would become an integral part of his recordings and stage performances in the coming years. He also met Beverley Kutner . . . who later became his wife and musical partner. The duo released two records in 1970 . . . . The next couple of years saw Martyn continuing to expand on his unique blend of folk music, drawing on folk, blues, rock, and jazz as well as music from the Middle East, South America, and Jamaica. His voice continued to transform with each album while his playing became more aggressive, yet without losing its gentler side. . . .
https://www.allmusic.com/artist/john-martyn-mn0000196969#biography
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