“Like A Fern In The Spring” - John Martyn :: “Solid Air”
Photo: Keith Morris
Wickedly telling and historically harmonious, the late John Martyn, born Iain David McGeachy in late 1940s New Malden, Surrey, England to opera-singing parents, released his monumental 4th album, “Solid Air” in February of 1973 to the faithful atmosphere of his incredibly diverse and familiar audience for what would be a huge break in his career. Shortly after the highly anticipated release of the album, Martyn came to America with label mates Free and Traffic to tour the country extensively for their respective projects, historically making the album one of, if not ‘the’ John Martyn record to date. Its startingly sonic yet sophisticated system of song and masterful melody stirs the ancient lakes and poetic ponds by the countryside across the album’s nine tracks of romantic yet desperate tales into the polished psyche of a truly talented man. The ethereal ecosystem from which the album resides is quaint and built on meditation. Martyn cleverly conjures the sonic spirits of the world’s natural element, with air being one of the many muses scattered across the album’s atmospheric anatomy.
Conceived over eight days, Martyn set out to conceptually capture this poetically puzzling collection of songs, which flawlessly features members of Fairport Convention, such as Danny Thompson, with whom he worked closely until his death in January 2009, John ‘Rabbit’ Bundrick, Neemoi "Speedy" Acquaye and Simon Nicol, throughout its lush landscape, “Solid Air” ultimately sets the tone for a most radical transformation within its respected genre of psych-folk. Both timeless and exceptionally special in its humble existence among its decade peers of gigantic proportion, the album stares the mysteries of life and death directly in the face while fogging the windows to the eyes with callused courage and spiritual songwriting. With the title track written in delicate dedication to the late Nick Drake, a dear friend and label mate of Martyn’s who passed that following year from a terrible overdose, the album sincerely embodies the tonal tragedy and complexity of relationships with tracks such as the infamous “May You Never,” a number that was originally written and recorded in November 1971 as a single, “Dreams by the Sea,” the Skip James classic “I’d Rather Be the Devil (Devil Got My Woman),” the only cover on the album and of course, “Solid Air.”
“Now Solid Air… I really like the title track. It was done for a friend of mine, and it was done right with very clear motives, and I’m very pleased with it, for varying reasons. It has got a very simple message, but you’ll have to work that one out for yourself.”
Set on a cosmically chartered course heading straight into oscillating oblivion, “Solid Air” embarks on a more spiritual destination with only one goal in mind: locate the soothing seance buried deep in the hearts and minds of its sensitive subjects and liberate the candle-lit chambers with perfected instruments and holy harmony. Martyn’s academic ability to move the melodic matrix into direct sunlight for all to feel its radically radiating energy, the album dims the ghostly glow of the world’s sorrows in a way that effortlessly echos into the volumeless void like that of his peers and prolific champions of their craft and undeniable influence on the decade. John Martyn’s “Solid Air” is truly a masterpiece, but you must have already known this, or else you’d be extracting the album from your archive for a quick listen. But for some reason, you wanted to stare and potentially inhale exciting details on the album. The truth? Martyn already said everything over half a century ago, and the legends are true. He softly summoned the esoteric energy from the ancient mountains that gloriously glow someplace historical and holy for all to see from a dynamical distance measured only by some lucid narrative on storytelling and passion.
