Crayola Lectern - The missing link between psych-pop and Canterbury

* Article published in the book “Music That Resists“

It's not entirely clear who's behind the name Crayola Lectern - supposedly a certain Chris Anderson - but in truth little to nothing is known about him. A career that's largely flown under the radar, with the odd collaboration that reveals little through this shroud of mystery. What is certain is that if there's a musician capable of reinventing and reviving the glories of Canterbury, in particular those of the King of that scene, Robert Wyatt, it's definitely this little-known British musician. But that alone doesn't do him justice, since Lectern is by no means a mere epigone of a music scene, like countless other musicians linked to Canterbury - he's a brilliant reinterpreter of it, capable of updating an entire musical world to his bizarre, chameleonic personality.

Two wonderfully inspired albums, among the very best of the decade, drawing on 1920s orchestral jazz, psychedelia and jazz, reworking the classic song format and offering simple melodies set in truly alien landscapes. The most striking thing is how the author manages to reconcile such varied influences within songs just a few minutes long, which, despite their brevity, manage to pack in a surprising amount of bizarre and original ideas. Something akin to what Syd Barrett or Robyn Hitchcock did with psychedelia. It's no coincidence that among Crayola Lectern's collaborators are three members of Cardiacs - Jon Poole (keyboards), Bob Leith (drums) and Christian "Bic" Hayes (guitar) - who help achieve the perfect balance of that dazed blend of psychedelic pop and progressive rock.

The Fall And Rise Of… (2013) is a dazzling, ironic and dreamlike mix that ranges from Soft Machine to the singing of Robert Wyatt, from the dandyish irony of Kevin Ayers to the fairy tales of Daevid Allen. The opening "Ultrasonicmetaglide", with its pianistic melody, is a clear example, as is the disarming irony of "I Forgot My Big Idea" or the playful piano intro of "Wholetoner", which combines minimalism and childlike music.

A masterpiece of poetry and simplicity is the little gem "Slow Down", just four minutes in which it feels as though a dazed Syd Barrett had swapped his guitar for a piano. There's no shortage of simple pop melodies either ("I Will Never Hurt"), which, transported into decidedly different sonic worlds, take on quite a different kind of interest.

The masterpiece is the incredible ride of "Trip In D", which in ten minutes namechecks Terry Riley, psychedelic rock, Canterbury, jazz and who knows what else. But the whole record is a treasure to discover, and I'll leave that pleasure to the readers. After a debut like this, it took five whole years to see the brilliant Lectern back at work. The follow-up perhaps even manages to surpass the debut.

Happy Endings (2018) could easily stand tall even within the original Canterbury discography. That bizarre, ironic yet erudite streak of his persists, rediscovering 1920s jazz, from ragtime to swing ("Barbara's Persecution Complex"), and offering up prog synths free of any excess virtuosity, ever more melancholy singing, and a tragic symphonic finale.

The album opens like a treasure chest with the unforgettable flight of "Rescue Mission", but more surprises are waiting inside. It's impossible to listen to the tiny three-minute gem "Submarine" without being enchanted by such poetry, born of the genius of Robert Wyatt. Crayola Lectern's music grows ever more eccentric, ironic and, in certain respects, disenchanted - a disenchantment that becomes an antidote against banality and superficiality.

What initially might seem like simple melodies quickly turn into complex, convoluted compositions ("Lux") that confirm an extraordinary imagination. Piano and acoustic guitar intertwine beautifully on "(Don't) Let Go". A work so full of ideas closes with a psychedelic pop track somewhere between the Beatles and the Byrds: the enchanted melody of "(No More) Happy Endings", almost a melancholy yet carefree anthem to a future in which no happy ending can be glimpsed anymore - ironic and childlike, like a fleeting thought from a child, and all the more authentic and sincere for it.

Preceded by the single "Gaslighter's Blues", though not included on the album, Disasternoon (2025) marks the English artist's return with the blessing of Robert Wyatt and his partner Alfreda Benge, who also created the album's cover artwork. 

The first seed was the title track: a fabric of folk melodies steeped in psychedelia and post-glam decadence, a musical postcard best enjoyed over tea with Brian Wilson and Paul McCartney, while the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band stumbles into sweet, demodé-flavoured British-jazz notes. In this dreamlike, late psych-prog tableau, there's also room for the brief but striking flourish of piano and keyboards on “Stars Over Louth”, over which Al Strachan's trumpet rises triumphant. It's an instrumental track, simple yet evocative, born out of a pleasant exchange of letters with Robert Wyatt's partner, Alfreda Benge. In its first, untitled draft, the piece is said to have been greatly admired by the former Soft Machine man. But the connection with Alfreda and Robert isn't confined to the title alone: Louth is in fact the town where the two artists live, and the album cover was drawn by Alfreda herself, already the artist behind Wyatt's record sleeves.

Two tracks act as opening and closing credits: first “Sad Cornetto”, which introduces the various instruments (including, naturally, a cornet), leaving them free to stir up disorder within the classically-tinged, crystalline harmonic sequence; then the final track, “Coscoroba”, which revisits the theme with a more mournful, sorrowful body of sound, before a drum roll, like that of a band of tin soldiers, opens the way to a progressive-rock jam that seems to emerge from a parallel world where the souls of English rock's rosiest season have found refuge.

Disasternoon is an album born during the pandemic, with minimal technological support – a rudimentary Logic Pro X, a piano, Casiotone, a small Korg, Casio CZ1000 and a Logic Mellotron – but don't bother hunting for imperfections: the elusive, cosmic charm of “The Sky Over The Sea” thrives on those stray, unruly shards that other purists would scrub away without hesitation. Never inclined toward a fleeting approach, Crayola Lectern's music doesn't shy away from moments of naive bliss, as happens in the gorgeous Beach Boys-style melody of “Dissolve”. “Disasternoon” is a concentrate of erudite musical arrangements and few, well-chosen words, a project that follows in the wake of artists like Pink Floyd, Caravan, Soft Machine, Beatles and, why not, David Bowie, all without losing its own originality.

Contributions by Gianfranco Marmoro (“Disasternoon”)

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