Album of the Month: NEGATIVE CAPABILITY by Marianne Faithfull

We have been getting quite a few of them lately. These last albums. These final cuts. From David Bowie to Leonard Cohen to Spiritualized (although I shouldn't be putting them on this list), great artists have been putting out records which they knew, or believed they knew, would be their final statements. There's a certain kind of defiance about these albums, and an air of resignation that hovers above the guitar chords that seem too well informed. 

Negative Capability by Marianne Faithfull is another such record. I do not want to be cynical, and God knows I would give a lot to have a new Marianne Faithfull LP every year until the end of times, but what is there to say really? When she chooses to rerecord "As Tears Go By". When she does "Witches Song" once again. When it all ends with the kind of all-encompassing sadness that offers fuck-all, hope-wise. 

But what a record this is. There's a great interview with Nick Cave (who contributed a song as well as backing vocals to Negative Capability) where Marianne Faithfull states quite bluntly that she doesn't hear albums like this any more. What sort of albums, you might wonder? Well, classic Faithfull albums, of course: raw, emotional, subdued and savagely intense. 

Speaking of Nick Cave, there really should not be a limit to your love for the great Australian. For he contributed not just the best song of the album but the best song of Marianne Faithfull's career. "The Gypsy Faerie Queen", a song he could have easily kept for himself (in fact, I can very much imagine him singing it), is an absolute timeless classic. The melody is breathtaking, the lyrics are inspirational, and the rough-sensual vocal delivery will reduce you to bits. Currently, I don't know another song from 2018 that would even come close. 

Elsewhere, it's well-chosen covers (both high-profile, like "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue", and relatively obscure, like the closing "Loneliest Person" lifted from The Pretty Things' S.F. Sorrow) and smart originals (my favourite is the brutal, heartbreaking "Don't Go" about the death of a friend). And it's of course beautifully augmented by the irreproachable violin of Warren Ellis who was also this album's producer. 

I know the word 'special' has been greatly devalued by people brandishing it every moment that they are slightly surprised or mildly amused. But Negative Capability is special down to its last drop. It's the epitome of 'special'. Christ, it's what 'special' should aspire to be.

travelling notes (lxxvii)

Florence is the taste of risotto the smell of leather the sound of a group of teenage girls singing Italian pop songs behind your back. 

travelling notes (lxxvi)

Somehow, I will never forget the waiter from a small restaurant in Lucca who typed the name of 'Banfi Rose' on my phone. All the more so because I might never taste it again. 

Esher Demos

As time goes on, it becomes less and less tedious to write about The Beatles. Fifteen years ago, when I wrote my first piece on Revolver, it just felt wrong. Five years ago, when I wrote about The White Album, it felt unnecessary. These days, as I write about the newly released Esher Demos, it feels exhilarating. 

My history with The White Album has always been complicated. I've never rated it, not least because I've never seen it as a Beatles album. For me, it has always been a collection of songs from three (four, arguably) individuals whose commitment seemed suspect. Come to think of it, I've never even asked myself that all-important question: The White Album, should it not have been a single LP? Frankly, I've never seen ten undisputed classics here, never mind fourteen. 

But then I couldn't let it lie. All these years, I've been going back to it again and again - trying to figure out the simple magic word, like some Gandalf the Grey. This new White Album reissue would just be another opportunity wasted... but it isn't. Not with Esher Demos proving that my unease had been justified all along. 

To get straight to the point, Esher Demos are fantastic (I mean, "What's The New Mary Jane" is horrendous, but come on). Unbaked, half-assed, unfinished, they are nevertheless full of energy and verve and excitement that the finished product never really offered. Suddenly, "Honey Pie" isn't schmaltzy and the chorus of "Bungalow Bill" isn't schlocky. Suddenly, "Rocky Raccoon" is a classic and "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" doesn't sound embarrassing. And what's that with "Junk", "Circles" and "Not Guilty" not making the cut? Great melodies all around.

So what is it, anyway? Could it be the fact that they were having fun playing those songs together at Harrison's house or could it just be something as simple as McCartney singing 'awful' instead of 'dreadful' in "Back in the USSR"? I really don't know. What I do know is that the Beatles magic, if you ever believed in such a thing, is all over this record. The White Album? I still don't get it. But the songs - well, I do get them now. And how.  

travelling notes (lxxv)

One bartender in a Paris bar called Blue-something once told me I frightened him when I ordered Old-fashioned. "Why?" I asked. "Because that's what bar critics usually order", he replied. To which I said: "Well, maybe I am".

On Anarchism

I will never forget that American family I once saw in a European bookstore. The bookstore was located inside some grand old railway station and, by the looks and the sound of it, the four Americans were seriously late for their morning train. Which, admittedly, made little sense as they were currently inside this huge bookstore, erratically groping for books. 

It took me seconds to realise that despite Noam Chomsky's slim but heavy-going treatise on anarchism I was currently holding in my hands (I was not going to buy it, but my train was some fifty minutes away), I was, in fact, carefully following the hilarious predicament of the American family. As you would, in a quiet European bookstore.

The predicament was such: the girl, who was about 16 years of age, was not leaving without a book. The train? Fuck the train. Cajolingly, her mother was suggesting various novels while the father was fuming by the entrance and the little brother did not much care for any of it. The girl was rejecting everything that was coming her way, until at some point the clearly desperate mom grabbed George Orwell and shoved him into her daughter's face. 

"1984?!?" the girl exclaimed. "I hated that thing. Animal Farm was so much better". 

At which point I put Chomsky back on the book shelf and moved further down the alphabet, though not as far as to not hear the rest of it. I'd had enough anarchy for one morning... but the best part was that all of a sudden - I was very much enjoying it. 

travelling notes (lxxiv)

Once, in a foreign record store, I saw a young man guiding this tall long-haired Italian girl through endless rows of LPs and trying to explain to her which ones to get. The whole thing seemed ludicrous until at some point it transpired that the girl was looking for a vinyl record to impress her boyfriend that very night. The young man was supposed to give her sage counsel. As we came together to the counter, I noticed she was buying an early Bob Dylan LP. I have no idea whether it worked or not, but to this day I think she should have chosen Leonard Cohen.