Singing a Song in the Morning: An Affectionate Tribute to the Music of Kevin Ayers (THE 62nd GRAMOPHONE COMPANY) www.barrylamb.com
Sometimes a nice little idea can grow into something rather bigger, even if you’re not paying it much attention. Way back in 2019, drummer William Hayter suggested to former Tea Set guitarist Nick Haeffner that they might record a couple of Kevin Ayers covers, which they duly did. And then … nothing.
Well, of course, it wasn’t quite nothing, as there was the small matter of a global pandemic, during which Hayter joined forces with Barry Lamb to curate the epic Miniatures 2020 project, which celebrated the 40th anniversary of Morgan Fisher’s brilliantly eccentric Miniatures album. After that, Hayter and Lamb secured their own status as major eccentrics, with last year’s Household Objects (and Sundry Massed Gadgets), which gathered experimentalists from around the globe to manifest Pink Floyd’s legendary abandoned folly. And during this time, as so often in his life, Kevin Ayers cleared off and was nowhere to be seen, presumably lounging about in the Deya sunshine with a bottle of wine.
But there were rumours, and friends and musical acquaintances would ask how it was going, and somehow a band of willing co-conspirators formed, from Hayter’s local Hertford music scene, as well as from the ranks of the Canterbury alumni. And now, seven years after that casual suggestion, here’s the album, beautifully packaged in whimsical Englishness (and I do like a chunky CD booklet), and bubbling at the brim with loving takes on Ayers classics from 1969-75.
The opening cut of “May I?” is the perfect encapsulation of the approach here. In arrangement, it could easily be an Ayers outtake, but when Billie Bottle starts singing, gender-switching narrator and protagonist in a breathy yé-yé style, it stamps it with an originality of which I’m sure Kevin would have approved. This French comparison is neatly balanced by Ayers’ own translation ‘Puis-Je?’ which mirrors it towards the album’s close.
In between, we run the full gamut of Ayers’ songwriting, from the delightful whimsy of “Oh! Wot a Dream” (the song that introduced me when I first heard it on the radio back in ’72), with its bells and duck quacks, to the more experimental “Joy of a Toy”, here a bass showcase for Fred Thelonious Baker. With the songs, it’s all about the voice, and while Jon Owen and Richard Sinclair are both very much in the Kevin zone, everyone does a cracking job, with Robert Le Plar bringing a delicate fragility to “Margaret,” Bill Clarke reminding me of Ashley Hutchings in his declamatory approach to “Stranger in Blue Suede Shoes,” and Nuala O’Halpin brings fresh air and sunshine to everything she touches.
Unsurprisingly, the musicianship is first rate, as line-ups shift from track to track. Haefner’s guitar sparkles, Theo Travis weaves light through one of the darker takes of “Lady Rachel” (one of Kevin’s own favourites of his songs and one of mine, too), there’s a whole host of fine keyboard players – Jayne Mason’s piano on “Stranger in Blue Suede Shoes” is jaw-dropping and Billie Bottle’s organ on “Stop This Train” is Canterbury distilled – and Csilla Waterfall’s cello conjured autumnal mists from a mythical England. And Hayter’s the driving force behind it all, with his subtle and supple percussive drive and accents. When it all comes together into the glorious coda of “Religious Experience (Singing a Song in the Morning),” absolutely everything is right with the world and Kevin’s smiling face rises over the horizon and beams out like the Sunbaby in the Teletubbies. Or something like that.
In short, this is everything a tribute album should be: true to the spirit of the original, but with everybody bringing the best of their own game. As a long-time Kevin Ayers fan, I doff my oft-complimented hat to all concerned, and hope that maybe in another seven years they might turn their attentions to a selection of later gems, because who wants to shake with a snake?
Oh, and by the way, thank you very much.
.
Oz Hardwick
.