Bert Jansch

About three years ago I acquired Bert's first recorded work on three CDs. I had them all on vinyl, but nothing on which to play them. For the past two years they have been permanently in my car player. At first I just wanted to see if the deep impression they had when they first came out remained undiminished. The intervening years had not altered my initial impressions that here was the work of a very special creative force. The only difference was the youthfulness of that voice; the intensity was just as it always was, right up to Bert's last recordings and his final Pentangle performance just a few weeks ago.

In 1964/5 an old friend Cliff Aungier dragged me into the Diamond record shop in Croydon to hear Bert's first album on a pair of headphones in a little booth in the shop. I did not have the thirty-seven and six to buy the L.P. then, but I soon put that right. It's most famous song at the time was "Needle of Death" which was written for a mutual friend called Buck Polly and soon every would-be folk guitarist was attempting to play this song. I marvelled at the poetry in the lyrics and this admiration was multiplied as the other tender and uncompromising songs slowly seeped into my consciousness.

Most of the boys wanted to play like Bert and so did I, but that voice was what the girls liked. Bert was so cool. He never had to pretend or affect coolness, he was cool. When he recorded his first album he borrowed a guitar from a guy called Les Bridger and Bert frequently turned up to a gig without a guitar and just borrowed what was available! His vocal sound was completely unique. No one sounded like him. He sang out boldly with no affectation. To me he said that his biggest influences were Archie Fisher and Davy Graham and this fusion of styles gave rise to his unique approach to the sound he created. His brilliant spitting guitar notes alternately classical and bluesy had a natural musical dynamic which most of us could only envy.

Bert used a thumb pick and finger nails to create his sound, often lifting the strings slightly with the fingers of his right hand and allowing them to slap the fingerboard for this percussive effect against the frets. Like many fine guitar payers Bert had quite large hands, making a lie out of the cliché that artists have long delicate fingers and tapering hands. His hands were those of the nurseryman (his early career) and were strong . He wore his thumb pick quite near the first joint on his thumb which made his bass lines rhythmic and forceful. When he first burst on to the London scene I asked John Renbourne what he was like and John said something like:

"If you walked into a room you would not notice him, but put a guitar in his hands and he fills the entire space."

This ability of Bert's to blend into the surroundings was part of his modesty and shyness. Once I had gone to see him in the tiny Twelve Bar club in Denmark Street and could not see him when a quiet voice in my ear said “Hello Ralph" I had been standing right next to him in the shadows.

I believe much of the strength of his delivery was because of his huge love of traditional music and the often dark messages contained within. This respect resulted in an absolute commitment to breathe new 'life' into these old songs, as he delighted in the accompaniments that later worked their way into his own beautiful compositions. Sometimes he might slur his diction almost lazily but this was all part of the total effect of his whole approach. Other times his words would be clear and strong and just fade out at the end of a line. The delivery meant that the listener hung on to every syllable and nuance. The dynamic of his performance depended on all the aspects that he could bring to it, via that inimitable guitar technique and all the light and shade of his vocals, loud, soft, slurred, clear, whispered. All of this sounded so natural and for me all Bert's best vocals are live takes. Occasionally producers would ask him to sing after laying down the guitar parts and Bert was still able to bring character to these performances but the live ones are even more special.

I toured with Bert extensively in the USA and we worked together in Denmark Norway and Spain to help celebrate the socialist victory after Franco. I never ever heard Bert raise his voice in anger and as far as I remember, I may have seen him angry or frustrated but never did I see him lose his temper. Bert's controlled passion was reserved for his music. Some people found him taciturn and it is true he could be worryingly quiet at times. In forty odd years of friendship I think Bert only instigated about half a dozen calls to me. He was not good at chit-chat or small talk. Bert had strong opinions on many subjects but he would not necessarily be the man for a quip or quick response. Bert took his time and if you want to know about the man, it is all in his songs. This is where his view and understanding lies.

Bert loved company, especially in his pub days and never discriminated about who to share a pint and a joke with. He laughed readily and often, but his real take on humour was quite surreal with a lifelong fondness for the writing of Flan O'Brien and the BBC Goon shows. In the long hours spent hanging about waiting to play concerts Bert would lose himself in puzzles and games. Indeed one of the most fascinating early record sleeves shows Bert and John playing the game of "Go". To someone like me who can get beaten at drafts by an eight year old this mysterious and unknown board game only added to his mystique. Bert was also incredibly patient and has spent time passing on tricks of his trade to many guitar players, me included.

He also relished playing with any number of fellow musicians, my own preference was and remains Bert solo but there is some astonishing work out there with many fine musicians from early associations with John Renbourne to Martin Jenkins Johnny Marr and of course the classic recordings with Pentangle with whom he played his last show.

I am writing this from my hotel room as I am currently on tour. Every night we play Bert's recorded music for the audience as they come into the auditorium. As they leave they hear his voice again. I have cherished my quiet friendship with Bert for more than forty years. We have toured together, laughed together, got drunk together, recorded and shared the stage together. His voice is in my head and heart and right now it feels as if a light went out.

Now it is his beloved wife Loren we must think about. She has her own battle to fight and this terrible loss has to be dealt with. I send her my love and admiration as well as heartfelt condolences.

Bert will probably be cited as a British urban musician but his love of nature is reflected in many of his best songs. In his classic song "Moonshine" from the album of the same name, Bert wrote...

I dream of waters flowing
Sweet air to softly breathe
Of meadow lands where the wagtail bobs and weaves
Of sunny days where children laugh and play
And sweet music to drive my grief away.

I think this says it all

Ralph McTell,
Gloucester, England October 2011