The Making of a Modern Classic


Like Steve Earle said about picking which song to start with on his tribute album to Townes Van Zandt, you’ve got to start by fighting the biggest con on the cell block to make your place in prison.  It’s why he started with “Pancho and Lefty,” and it’s why I’m starting the first of several discussions we’ll eventually get to on the music of Richard Thompson (RT among fans–perhaps one reason I don’t like Twitter) with “1952 Vincent Black Lightning.”  I just couldn’t see any way of getting around it.  Not that it’s an unwelcome obstacle.  Whether it’s a fight will be for you to judge, I suppose.  “1952 VBL” is the first song of Thompson’s I heard, and it opened the door for me to many more amazing pieces of songcraft.  I think it will open the door for us as well.

I’ll skip over the handwringing about technical definitions of murder.  I expect you’ll agree that at face value, the song fits our genre.  But, it’s barely reached drinking age (in the States), though, being released on Thompson’s 1991 Rumor and Sigh [sic, on the spelling, for all you followers of British English].  So, it hasn’t been folk processed too much.  As we’ll see over the course of the week, though, it’s well on its way.  The song has captured the imagination of more than a few prominent and not so prominent artists in its short life, and has been critically regarded as one of the best songs of its decade.

Excerpt from The Richard Thompson Songbook

My plan for the week is not to focus too much on a close reading, or lyrical variations, which are so far relatively minor among the artists who have recorded this work.  But, after a brief assessment of the song itself, I want to spend a  bit of time thinking about what makes for an effective performance of it.  It’s an amazing song, lyrically, but relatively short–simple, but powerful.  Over the course of the week, I’ll explore what people have done with arrangements to: 


a) make the song their own,
b) make it compelling, and 
c) address the musical challenge presented by the original guitar arrangement, and the fact that 99 out of 100 guitarists, at least, can’t replicate Thompson’s wizardry on the guitar.  


But, I’ll start with how the man himself keeps at it–keeps this classic alive.


The Song Itself


There’s not much to say here that hasn’t already been said.  Let’s just say that we have romance, criminality, the long arm of the law, violence, the prospect of ultimate redemption, and death.  I still get chills when I sing this song (yes, I verified this today) at James’s “confession” at the conclusion of the song.  Although obviously of late 20th century vintage, Thompson manages to tap into something very old at the same time.


Here’s the song on the original studio release on Rumor and Sigh:


“1952 Vincent Black Lightning” by Richard Thompson (Studio version, 1991, on Spotify)  (Lyrics)

RT with a Vincent Black Lightning

It’s instructive to add a bit of Thompson’s own perspective on the song.  Here’s an interview from a few years back that touches on some of the artistic wellsprings of the song.  Thompson says:


That’s the song that starts with an object. I was trying to come up with—you know, American songwriters have it so easy. You just mention a Cadillac, and you’ve got half a song title. Do you know what I mean? Mention a town—well, obviously not Scranton, New Jersey, but if you mention Abilene or something, that’s half a song title. And “Abilene Cadillac,” that’s a whole song title. I can hear the song right now! [Laughs.] But if you come from Britain, it’s harder, because the place names aren’t as romantic. They don’t have the association with popular song that American place names do. And objects aren’t as romantic, because they haven’t been used in songs over the years and don’t have that kind of reverberation in people’s minds. So I was trying to come up with kind of an object that would have some romance to it. And the Black Lightning motorcycle was that object. 




Suffice it to say, Thompson picked an incredibly powerful object to build the song around.  There were only 31 Black Lightnings made, and 1952 was the last model year. One wonders if he was at first aware how powerful…
  

Voodoo wand (right) made from the drive chain of a 1952 Vincent Black Lightning.

Thompson talks a bit more about the song in a short interview excerpt before this 2005 performance:






If you want to read further explorations of the deep meaning and power of the song, there are abundant opportunities here, there, and elsewhere.  (Here too).

Thompson was recently recognized for his “dangerousness” (OK, perhaps not the best illustration.)

I’ll Tell You in Earnest, I’m a Dangerous Man


Now, a friend of mine recently passed along to me (well, not to me in particular, but to all her Facebook friends) the adage: “writing about music is like dancing about architecture.”  Hmm…  Nevertheless, in our ongoing quest to eff the ineffable, we plunge merrilly on.


I want to draw your attention to several of RT’s performances of the song, all of them good in their own way, that will, I hope, highlight Thompson’s focus on infusing his material with energy, and keeping the song from becoming a mere artifact.  I’ve seen RT in concert at least a half-dozen times–all of them strong, most of them excellent.  There is one, however, that sticks in my mind as containing a moment, right when he began the first song, when I knew that he wasn’t planning on taking any prisoners, musically speaking that is.  This has to do, I think, with establishing a rapport with the audience, but also, I suspect, with an approach to the music which does not seek to play it safe.


So, in the selections below, I keep an ear out for when I’m able to hear this.  I think it’s in a few of them, at least.


So, you’re thinking, no surprise, really.  You can’t play the same song twice, and sometimes you’re going to have more intensity than others.  Maybe the intensity comes from upping the tempo a bit, maybe from some inner biorhythm.  My point, and I’ll get to it, is I hope more than that.  


Compare these two live recordings, for instance, to the original studio session linked above.  The first is from 2005’s Live from Austin, TX (actually recorded July 2, 2001)


“1952 Vincent Black Lightning” by Richard Thompson (live version, recorded 2001, on Spotify)

The second is from 1996’s Two Letter Words (recorded in 1994, perhaps my favorite RT live album):


“1952 Vincent Black Lightning” by Richard Thompson (live version, recorded 1994, on Spotify)

Hear a difference?  Tell me which one you prefer.  One of the bloggers linked above indicated that live performances couldn’t match the quality of the studio recording.  Do you agree?  I’m sure there was lots done in post-production of these live albums to help a bit, but my money is on the case that if the passion were not in there to begin with, it could not be edited in.  My general opinion of live music is that it can be both far worse and far better than studio recordings.  If thing’s can’t go wrong, then they can’t go really right.


If you don’t have the patience for the Spotify links, check out these three versions from YouTube.  First up, here’s a pre-release live version from 1990:






Now, here’s a more recent performance, from the BBC’s Songwriter’s Circle in 2010.  The song is now an old friend.






In this context, the focus is clearly on the song itself, and Thompson’s 1990 experimentation has been replaced with a seasoned understanding of the song and its contours.   The performance is a good one, but it doesn’t feel like it walks the edge.


Finally, here’s one in between, from 1997 and the Sessions at West 54th Street.  Here Thompson’s performance receives vocal accompaniment from Nanci Griffith.  You might find the latter part distracting, particularly if you watch the video and don’t just listen to it.  But, try to focus on Thompson’s approach to the song.






Which one do you like best?  Which version makes you believe the song more?  Where is there more experimentation?  More risk?  More intensity?


OK, so you’re probably wondering if this isn’t just some prolonged fan geek-out on the song that launched thousands of CD purchases.  You’re also probably wondering what this has to do with murder ballads, and not just with the dynamics of a song’s performance changing over time. (There are, by the way, other excellent performances you could draw into the comparison–the 2006 performance from Cropredy, for example.)


Well, my answer has something to do with murder ballads, and something to do with the framework for the posts for the rest of the week.  First, you may remember Shaleane’s post, “Nobody Sings Dylan Like Dylan.”  I’m interested in the question of how RT and the many others who have covered this work (and others) manage to keep the song alive, and manage to keep performances from being mere recitations.  There is such a popular resonance with this song.  Our age of recorded music is different than previous ages of music passed along in other ways, but it’s not too hard to imagine a song with this popularity and power immediately morphed and modified by countless other interpreters.  Thompson would probably be embarrassed to hear me suggest it, but it’s like being present in the early years of a Child Ballad.  That should become clearer in the days ahead this week.


The matter of performance characteristics is also relevant to our ongoing discussion of murder ballads, and the dark underbelly of myths found in these songs.  This is because what’s distinctive about Thompson as a songwriter and a performer is that he’s unafraid to “go all the way there” with a song.  He refuses to compromise the raw emotion of a song, and clearly strives to continue taking risks both in what he writes and in how he performs it.  He may not be as prickly as Dylan when it comes to playing the old favorites, but he does insist on pushing himself.


Thompson gets some good-natured teasing for the darker elements in his repertoire.  One compilation album of his songs is titled,  “Doom and Gloom from the Tomb.”  Indeed, on Rumor and Sigh, you can hear about frustrated lovers, bitter lovers, drunks, and criminals who seem to wrap all of that into one.  By comparison with much of the rest of the album, a song where a motorcycle outlaw gets blown away with a shotgun seems relatively sweet and hopeful.  There’s a small oasis of purity there in a vast expanse of turpitude and fallenness.


Here’s an example:






“I Feel So Good” by Richard Thompson (Spotify)

There are relevant differences, and Shaleane (for one) may disagree with me, but I think Richard Thompson shares with Nick Cave a certain willingness to go into the deeper, darker recesses. 


Thompson’s “Wall of Death,” another song that involves motorcycles (see below), provides another illustration of the dynamic I’m trying to explore.  In this case, it’s not about darkness, but about danger and about risk, as Thompson has acknowledged.






“Wall of Death” by Richard Thompson (Spotify) Another reason why Two Letter Words is a stellar contribution to RT’s oeuvre.


I’ve heard several other covers of “Wall of Death”, and have yet to hear anybody able to come remotely close to conveying the sense of risk and danger within this song.  Punk bands may put in some intensity, but it’s not risk.


No, with no disrespect intended, not even the gents from Athens get there (the fan video doesn’t help):






“Wall of Death” performed by R.E.M. (Spotify)


Nanci Griffith, God love her, never had a chance.  It’s like other artists can’t help but tame the song.  Only Thompson’s performances, to my mind, and not all of them, keep it sufficiently wild.


So, my question going forward in exploring other artists’ attempts at “1952 Vincent Black Lightning,” or rather my challenge, is to find those artists who are able to tell the story afresh, and capture for us a living song, not merely a beautiful, impressive, and well-crafted song.  We’ll see how it goes, and I promise to give you some interesting variety–or at least some resources to come back to, if you feel like you’d be better off coming back to the song in small bites (which is completely fair).  


How does all this relate to murder ballads?  To a significant extent, the song’s function as a ballad crucially depends on dipping into that inner core of risk, danger, sin, and redemption.  James’s confession of what he holds most dear holds far less meaning without the context of all that he is willing to risk around it.  If the singer doesn’t get to a similar point musically, the listener isn’t likely to either.  I think it’s a successful song, but it doesn’t function on automatic.  Red Molly still needs to ride.


Next up


I’ll take on “1952 VBL’s” reincarnation as a bluegrass tune, and then follow up with a post or two where other performers have succeeded, to my mind, in putting their own artistic stamp on the song–keeping it alive.  I don’t expect any post will be as long as this one, but I may return to some of the themes internal to the song along the way through these performances.


Coda


For those of you interested in a little more about the Wall of Death, you might enjoy this short film by Benedict Campbell.  It has nothing to do with the Thompson song except for the shared subject matter.  It’s a fascinating glimpse into a particular subculture and way of life.