JOHN MARTYN

Rip It Up, Issue 67, 1 February 1983, Page 6

JOHN MARTYN

Peter Thomson

Half past noon, the day prior to his Sweetwaters' performance and John Martyn is just staggering out of bed. His drummer and bass player have been up for some time, soaking sun. They are adding to the tans they began during the previous week in Australia, but when Martyn emerges his pallor could be direct from his native Glasgow. He is dressed in jeans and a longsleeved shirt and is carrying a bottle of scotch. He is frowning. Your interviewer feels somewhat circumspect, although this may be partly due to a great respect and love for Martyn's music. As it transpires however, the Scotsman is in a very jovial mood and during an hour-long conversation that ranges through such subjects as gardening, European cuisine, football and music as diverse as Weather Report and Bulgarian folk, John Martyn talks animatedly and with considerable candour about his career. Although late last year he did a British tour with a five-piece band, he is now travelling with only two other musicians. The reasons are not, he claims, merely economic: "I quite seriously prefer it. It puts a bit more weight on me but it's a responsibility that I welcome because it's more spacious. It gives me more chance to sing in a creative fashion. There's much less to get in the way of melodic ideas now. The only melodic instruments are bass, my voice and guitar. The interplay is simpler. One can branch off tangentially with a lot more ease. The great thing about playing in a trio is that there's much more light and shade." His aim, when performing live, is therefore to try for "as much

spontaneity as possible. It's what makes it interesting. If you went on and played the same every night you'd bore yourself shitless." There is, nonetheless, to be a live album of the last British tour. "I'll be mixing it in February. I didn't think I enjoyed the lineup that much in retrospect so I gave it a month without listening to it. But it's actually fairly good. I'm quite pleased with it." It is understandable that Martyn prefers the stage to the recording studio. "My business is the direct communication of emotion and, in terms of emotional kickback, recording is not as rewarding as playing live. It's more arduous. But this job travelling's a pain in the arse but the rest of it is pure joy. I get paid for enjoying myself." When asked about the importance of the producer on his recent albums, Martyn momentarily adopts the tone and demeanour of a laird "The producer? A mere nothing, a minion, a serf, lower than the lowest scum." Phil Collins must have enjoyed working for him then? Martyn laughs. "No, seriously, the only time I've actually relinquished production control as a conscious move was on the last two albums. It seemed that since I was trying a new record company and everything I should really try a whole new approach. It worked to a certain extent. Phil, I think, did a good job on Glorious Fool. I think he'd do a better job now because he'd be less inhibited. There's a certain amount of mutual admiration and there was a lot of over-politeness, deference going on. It'll be easier next time he's going to produce the next album I think because I'll just fuck off out of the studio after we've done the tracks. "Which is, I suppose, what I did on Well Kept Secret. I kept away as much as possible. Physically, I wasn't very well. I'd smashed my ribs up vaulting a fence after going swimming. I was in a lot of pain and having to get very drunk before I could sing. I was on very heavy pain killers." An integral part of Martyn's enormously soulful singing style is often stretched and slurred verbal delivery. "I frankly think I could communicate quite well in mumbles and grunts. (Laughs) I think that's why we print lyric sheets so people know what the fuck we're on about. No, seriously, the words are important, essential. Strangely enough I've made a conscious attempt over the last two albums to improve my diction. I regard the singing as stylistically interesting but the record company goes, We don't know what the bitch is saying man'. A few comments came down the pipeline. Sandy (Robertson, producer of Well Kept Secret) said, 'I say, old boy, could you enunciate more clearly?' So I did." While frankly admitting his desire for greater commercial acceptance "To be honest, everything we do now is based on the idea of becoming more successful" Martyn is adamant that his move from English independent label Island to multinational WEA was not motivated simply by a desire for wider markets. He had been with Island since 1967 and had given them ten albums. "They were very good to me. But you see I was very good for them because they didn't have to put any money into me. I had virtually no overheads. All they had to do was sell the

product and the product always sold well." The problems came in 1980 over Island's delayed release of Grace & Danger. "It was delayed time and again which was really screwing up my life because, as you know, it's more difficult to tour without product. Recording and performing go hand in glove. I wanted to get a band together. I'd discovered I was boring myself playing solo. Then when I went and told them I was starting a band and how much were they going to give me they quoted a ridiculous figure which I just couldn't have supported it on. So I went and found another deal which was about five times the size." Martyn is not at all concerned whether the audience he meets in various parts of the world are well acquainted with his past recordings. "It's unrealistic to worry about it. Besides, it's always what I'm doing now that's most important." He does, however, regard Grace b Danger an album born of the breakdown of his marriage as his best work to date. "I probably won't make as good an album as that one for some considerable time. And I wouldn't like to quite frankly. I certainly couldn't maintain that emotional standard. For two years, during the making of Grace & Danger and immediately afterwards, I wasn't in the best of shapes at all." Not surprisingly, he is a firm believer in the theory that an artist needs to suffer in order to create worthwhile work. "As far as I'm concerned it's a tried and tested axiom. I personally do my best work under extreme mental stress. When I'm writing really well I'm fucked right up. The headbang and drinking stage. You have to drive yourself to the point where you're not thinking too clearly." But he acknowledges the temptation to go deliberately seeking that state. "The dangers? Oh yeah, of course. Definitely. But I have to say it, extreme is mundane to me. I'm not being proud or arrogant about it. In fact I occasionally lament the fact that that's what I have to do. But it would appear that that's where my talent lies, such as it is." Such as it is now, John Martyn's talent remains one of the strongest and most original in contemporary music.