“Red Hair and Black Leather”

One of the things that Pat explored with “Matty Groves” is how such a brutal song managed to endure as a folk favorite down through the ages, partly through it’s ability to provide a compelling narrative to both male and female singers and listeners.  I think we have a similar phenomenon in “1952 Vincent Black Lightning.”


I mentioned in the first post this week that there is a way that the song is something of an oasis of purity in a vast expanse of fallenness within the context of RT’s album Rumor and Sigh.  What drives this, if you take the song seriously, is most probably the love between James and Red Molly.  There’s no reason to suspect that Red Molly was herself any more or less virtuous or dangerous than James.  We also need not worry whether we are making charitable or uncharitable guesses as to what her time at the corners and cafes may have involved.  Ultimately, it matters not, relative to the connection between our two protagonists.  There is a an absolute value or truth to that love and to James’s way of being in the world that relativizes everything else.   


It is an interesting question, however, much as with Shaleane’s earlier question about the character of the Brown Girl in “Fair Ellender,” what voice does Red Molly have in this song.  She doesn’t have much to say beyond the opening lines. James is the one taking the risks (beyond the risk of loving a “dangerous man”), articulating his values, achieving some kind of redemption, and leaving her behind.  


What this thought finally led me too, however, is the realization that Red Molly finds herself in the same situation as Mary Magdalene in Richard Shindell’s “The Ballad of Mary Magdalene.”  Our (anti-)hero lives out his values and dies as a result, and our heroine carries on by herself–their love is pure, but his life is over, and she gets to pick up the pieces, emotionally at least.


As I’m writing this about those left behind, I’m remembering reading earlier comments on “1952 Vincent Black Lightning” that describe it as a sort of parody of mid-century pop teen death ballads– e.g. “Teen Angel” “Tell Laura I Love Her,” etc.  (My favorite version of these is a medley improvised by Steve Goodman, and recorded on his posthumous album No Big Surprise–you can listen to it on YouTube here.  Give it a try, you’ll be glad you did.  It’s live performance magic.)  


It’s hard to find a trace of that characterization now in the way people write about “1952 VBL.”  I don’t know if some gentle parody was ever Thompson’s intention at all, but the idea that it would be appears to have drifted away as a common interpretation of the song.  Perhaps, given the context of Thompson’s other songs on Rumor and Sigh it was initially seen as too sentimental, but I suspect as its popularity grew that interpretation diminished.


Women’s Voices

Red Molly Named after the song? Yes. Recorded the song?  Not that I know of.

OK, enough already.  The obvious omission in my accounts so far has been an account of solo female interpreters of the song.  I now propose to rectify this, in keeping with my original intent to lift out arrangements that are particularly effective or stand out.  I’ll leave it to you to decide whether or not these performers manage to draw something distinctive out of the song that you might not otherwise have heard.


Much of Thompson’s early post-Fairport Convention output involved songs developed with the likelihood that Thompson’s then wife, Linda, would sing them.  Not so by the time of Rumor and Sigh, and “1952 VBL.”    It’s an interesting thought experiment to think of other song’s from his repertoire (“Why Must I Plead,” “Man in Need,” or “I Feel So Good,” for instance).  Not impossible, and evocative of all kinds of artistic possibilities in their own way, perhaps, but not intuitively obvious.  “1952 VBL,” however, seems more equal opportunity.


The first commercially-available recordings by women artists that I know of were by Beth Wood and Mary Lou Lord, respectively.  Beth Wood’s performance appears on her album Late Night Radio.  A full clip of the song is available on the album link.  You can also hear it on Spotify.


“1952 Vincent Black Lightning” performed by Beth Wood (Spotify)

Here’s a somewhat more lighthearted performance by Wood from a Cayamo Cruise in February 2012.  The sound quality is a bit iffy, but it’s notable for involving a well-grounded concern that RT himself might pop in in the middle of the performance.




  
Boston-based Mary Lou Lord produced her version of the song on her 2001/2002 album Live City Sounds.  You can find the song here and here, if you’re a Mary Lou Lord fan or otherwise curious. I’m not really a big MLL fan, and these didn’t win me over.  


More recently, I’ve come across a few renditions worthy of note, I think.  The first, a semi-private recording by Christy Jefferson from 2009.  I believe she was launching some kind of self-promotional effort through YouTube videos.  Nevertheless, it’s a distinctive take on the song.






As I explained in the Knoxville post, I generally avoid these webcam style posts, but I think Jefferson does some innovative things with the arrangement, both in creating a bridge where there was none and in her vocal delivery.
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Aoife O’Donovan

Finally, my current favorite cover.  Here’s Aoife O’Donovan, performing “1952 Vincent Black Lightning” in September 2011.  I’ll let her performance speak, or sing, for itself, although it’s worth noting that Greg Brown’s version seems somewhat influential.  But that’s only the beginning. 






Wrapping Up


I don’t know that I’ve exactly run out of road when it comes to posts, but I may have run out of breath, or at least ink.  Thanks for reading this week.  It’s been an interesting exercise for me, as a song that’s a bit of an old friend, musically, still manages to surprise me in a few ways every time I dig in.


There are more performances out there, including a rather sparkling one by a group of music students from Scotland, but I’ll leave you to review that on the Spotify playlist I’ve put together for the song.  It’s not every version available there, but every one I thought was sufficiently interesting and/or well-done; mostly hits, a few misses.  Something there for everyone, I hope.

“Biker Couple,” 1961, by Dennis Hopper