Richard Thompson - The great guru of UK folk-rock

Born near Notting Hill in 1949, Richard John Thompson grew up in a family of skilled musicians and music lovers, torn, in his listening habits and upbringing, between the tradition of British music, the acoustic style of folk singers, and the pulse of rock'n'roll coming from across the ocean - the bakersfield style popularized by Elvis Presley, the twangy licks of Chuck Berry blazing out of jukeboxes, but also the fiery drive of Bob Dylan's ballads. The young Richard was already a little ace at imitating both styles, and even when listening to jazz he tried to follow the typical back-and-forth between riff and improvisation, showing an attitude and versatility that put him on par with Davy Graham. But Thompson would also prove to be a master at blending these roots, first into a refined contrapuntal accompaniment, and later into a genuine second voice reaching truly transcendent heights.

When, in 1966, Thompson joined fellow strummers Ashley Hutchings and Simon Nicol in the attic of Muswell Hill, he played a decisive role in the birth of one of British folk-rock's most beloved acts, Fairport Convention. His rise left an indelible mark on the band's early maturity, revealing not only an unerring soloist, but gradually also a standout songwriter and even a behind-the-scenes ideologue.

The proud ballad of “Meet On The Ledge,” one of their most beloved songs and one of their earliest singles, along with the dancing “No Man's Land,” mark his first creative efforts. He then went on to craft some of the finest compositions of the band's most celebrated and cherished albums, Unhalbricking (1969) and Liege & Lief (1969). On the first, besides “Cajun Woman,” “Genesis Hall” stands out, a solemn progression split between the rustic guitar chords and singer Sandy Denny's soprano, destined to remain one of the band's masterpieces; the second offers at least the splendid lullaby “Farewell Farewell,” a small blueprint for his future psalm-songs.

On the following Full House (1970) his compositional input is instead marginal, overshadowed by violinist Dave Swarbrick, the band's new éminence grise. Here Thompson leaves the group, and it's no coincidence that Fairport's arc begins to decline from this point, gradually shifting from a band into an endless saga.

At first the departed musician has no particularly clear plans beyond continuing to write and play, but the good relationships he keeps up with the Fairport members (Denny and Hutchings, plus a host of respected folk musicians) allow him to sharpen his art, eventually pushing him to record his first album.

Henry The Human Fly (1972), his debut full-length, is not for nothing a continuation and advancement of early Fairport Convention's ideas, though lending them composure, polish, and a notable touch of eccentricity. True to his roots, Thompson employs accordion and dance steps in the prelude of “New St. George,” and even better in “Nobody's Wedding,” with a tempo change that breaks its linearity, followed by a series of ballads perhaps still too understated, among them “Angel's Took My Racehorse Away,” lyrical and pumped up with gospel choirs (which nonetheless anticipates Springsteen's by three years). But he truly comes into his own in the fatalistic fables, each adorned with a different timbre: from “Roll Over Vaughn Williams,” a saltarello shot through with fleeting Middle Eastern inflections, the fiddle in the dawn-lit refrain of “Poor Ditching Boy,” the transcendental pipe of “Shaky Nancy,” the harp in the majestic “Old Changing Way,” New Orleans-style horns and accordion in “Mary And Joseph,” and above all the highly ceremonious tone of “Wheely Down,” heightened by piano chords struck like a Tibetan gong and by violin drones, even with an electronic loop lurking in the background.

The singer-songwriter's subsequent evolutions are already all present here, not least one of the turning points of his career: Linda, whom he'd met three years earlier, already seasoned in folk circles since 1966 thanks to the invaluable friendships of the Fairport members, first and foremost Sandy Denny herself. Budding singer Linda Peters spent the following two years achieving rather anonymous success, recording an advertising jingle and a couple of covers released as singles with Paul McNeill, under the name Paul And Linda. Richard and Linda then met in 1969, right within the Fairport circle, and the two instantly struck up a great rapport, first artistic and then increasingly personal. After recording backing vocals for a Denny solo album, Sandy (1972), Richard wanted her specifically for the recording of Henry The Human Fly. Shortly after the album's release, their relationship officially became marriage. Their musical partnership had also grown and strengthened: the time was ripe to found a celebrated outfit built on Richard's solid talent and the newly-minted Mrs. Thompson, who went from simple backing vocalist to a true counter-voice, eventually blossoming into a lead singer in her own right.

Linda's contribution to the songwriter's aesthetic is more than decisive; her spontaneous, innate voice—crystalline, emotional, and faintly medieval—fills perfectly the gaps left by Richard's singing, not merely offering a new take on the vocal harmonies already in vogue in pop music or folk singing, but lending new, almost naturalistic emotional shadings.

The perfect result is I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight (1974), whose sacred aura spreads through and transfigures every song, even the most spirited ones (“The Little Beggar Girl,” “When I Get To The Border”), into creations of supernatural austerity.

Despite being practically a beginner, Linda enriches and even dominates Richard's acoustic filigree, in an everlasting, funereal process of attrition that leads the record toward a dark conclusion, steeped in a cosmic pessimism truly alien to much of the folk-rock movement (“Has He Got A Friend For Me,” “The Great Valerio”).

Buoyed by that success, the two immediately recorded Hokey Pokey (1975), reaching new heights of vertigo on “A Heart Needs A Home,” metaphysical, worthy of the “music of the spheres” (though shaped above all by Sidonie Goossens' harp), and on a couple more acoustic psalms (“I'll Regret It All In The Morning,” “Never Again”). The album, however, is a more vigorous counterpart to its predecessor, as shown by the title track, by “Smiffy's Glass Eye,” and above all by the iconic “Georgie On A Spree.”

It's Richard who, as director, handles the structure, the atmosphere, the arrangement, but the songs he personally sings are a clear minority. It's Linda who brings that candor which lends the songs both mystical magic and perfect melodic balance. At one point in the record (“The Egypt Room”) Arabic-tinged stylistic touches briefly surface, evidence of Richard's growing passion for Sufism, which that same year led the couple to fully embrace the faith and join a Sufi community in London. There, Richard's mullah pressed him to set aside the electric guitar and devote himself wholly to the asceticism of the acoustic, more fitting for prayer. The pagan counterpart, his producer at Island, pushed in the opposite direction, urging him to keep reviving his electric trademark sound.

Out of this compromise-laden conflict comes the churchly structure and mystical temperature of Pour Down Like Silver (1975). Thompson adopts the flat scales of Arabic folk as never before, his voice and his wife's are diluted into a cantillation recalling the muezzin's raga, and the songwriting unfurls songs that exhale one long last breath before fading into eternity. The rural meditations of Neil Young and Bob Dylan are pushed to their furthest extremes, revealing and amplifying their contemplative side. The accordion is free to wander endlessly, both in the solemn march of “Streets Of Paradise” and in “For Shame Of Doing Wrong.”

On “Beat The Retreat” the guitar paints and weaves transcendental patterns that hold mysterious touches and murmurs in suspension, right up until it brushes against the faintest dulcimer reverberations and sidereal silences on the interminable “Night Comes In.” And so on “Dimming Of The Day,” one of the duo's absolute masterpieces and one of the high points of the entire folk-rock movement, an almost subdued atmosphere built on liturgical touches and voices harmonized toward perfect ecstatic rapture, fading into a closing rendition of John Skinner's “Dargai,” the moment of deepest contemplation in the duo's career.

After reaching this peak the couple took time off to devote themselves to life in the commune, limiting themselves to compiling a rarities collection (Guitar Vocal, 1976). New songs began to appear in a brief tour toward the end of 1977, and the result is a new album steeped in Sufism, First Light (1978). Linda returns to the fore, an immaculate interpreter in the choral odes “Sweet Surrender,” “Strange Affair,” and the title track, and even a budding songwriter herself on the even more perfect “Pavanne.” The record's jewel, though, is the medley that moves from Richard's spectacular acoustic pastiche “The Choice Wife,” the first instrumental of his career, into the lively, piano-driven “Died For Love.”

While avoiding the previous record's dramatic religious depths, the couple proves highly skilled at guiding a gentle, harmonious shift of mood toward contentment and gaiety. The expanded lineup—a real contrast with Pour Down—turns the songs into small concerts and small cantatas featuring the two voices, acoustic interplay and measured electric solos, drapes of accordion and fiddle, a choir ready to underline their spirituality (sometimes rather on the nose), and even a small keyboard section.

The album, however, doesn't win over much of an audience. The label wanted Richard and Linda to complete a supposed transition toward an increasingly accessible, radio-friendly sound. So the following Sunnyvista (1979), heavily built around Richard's electric guitar, is—by the standards set so far—practically a hard-rock album that adds a touch of social criticism. The stride is proud and determined as in the most combative Jefferson Airplane (“Borrowed Time,” “You're Gonna Need Somebody,” “Civilization,” “Why Do You Turn Your Back”), the folk dances are even dazzling and stupefying (“Saturday Rolling Around,” the mazurka of the title track). As counterweight, the meditative side grows more outward and superficial (the ballad “Sisters” and the funk-leaning invocation “Justice In The Streets”).

Here something cracks. The label, once again disappointed by poor sales, drops the two of them outright. On top of the professional difficulties come growing misunderstandings that end up spilling over into their relationship: Richard and Linda no longer get along and begin a break that, deepening over time, will lead them to separation. During this period Richard restarts his solo career with Strict Tempo (1981), on which he indulges his fluent instrumental talent in his favourite dance steps, while also appearing on Dave Swarbrick's Smiddyburn (Logo, 1981), effectively an unofficial reunion with the old Fairport.

The couple's new songs instead end up forgotten until, after listening to the demos, Joe Boyd of Hannibal pushes for them to be recorded. Amid this turmoil the two former spouses go into the studio aware that the new album will be their swan song, in some sense even a posthumous record, which effectively makes it a concept album about the end of their story, and a meta-concept about their by-now legendary partnership.

On Shoot Out The Lights (1982) all of this is expressed through a sound that is no longer merely dark and transcendental as their previous works were, but also monumental, even grandiose. The folk-rock trappings of accordion and horns are by now faint murmurs that reappear only in the coda of "Back Street Slide", itself shaped by a splendid, macabre little ensemble piece. The bulk of the record consists of harmonic prisms constantly spinning on themselves, hosting, as in a call-and-response, only Richard and Linda's voices and guitar-only passages, never so resonant in the void.

Richard vents himself in the colossal two-chord riffing of the title track, indebted to Link Wray's "Rumble", with an oracle-like vocal and the freest solos of his career, in the sharp contrast between the trotting snare-and-guitar and the extremely understated refrain (bolstered by low choral voices) of "Don't Renege On Our Love", and in the mantra-like developments — which finally reveal him as a singer too — that tower over the impeccable little march of "Man In Need".

Linda, for her part, delivers a dazzling new display of her songwriting on the funereal tread of "Did She Jump", which drifts into a wonderfully hazy, arcane guitar-only meditation, on the lament of "Walking On A Wire", a desolation that is transfigured by guitar counterpoint and a choral crescendo, and on the fragile vocal of "Just The Motion", pervaded by an inaudible haze, an impalpable vibration that makes the sorrow of the arpeggios sumptuous. It all comes together in the black humour of "Wall Of Death", where the two ironically sing of isolation and separation over one of the happiest, most contagious jingle-jangle tunes, and even more ironically in unison, for the last time.

Richard essentially abandons the sound of this masterpiece with Hand Of Kindness (1983), his first solo album of songs since Henry. It's a work delightfully influenced by his growing interest in zydeco music, through which he filters the rock'n'roll of "Tear Stained Letter", the irresistible "Two Left Feet" and the more measured "Both Ends Burning" and "The Wrong Heartbeat", as well as the boogie of "A Poisoned Heart" and his customary tribute to Persian raga on "Where The Wind Don't Whine", dressing them all up with lively jams.

In truth, the album, entirely devoted to the separation from his ex-wife, is a direct descendant of the irony of "Wall Of Death": the showmanship of these numbers creates a harrowing contrast with the lyrics, which instead sing of a shattered heart. The author is indeed so devastated that on "How I Wanted To" he even puts himself in the shoes of one of Linda's typical psalm-like songs, sung with all the characteristic candour he had when she was by his side.

Next comes Across A Crowded Room (1985), which makes extensive use of choral vocals and tries to import new stylistic traits such as the jive of "You Don't Say" and the ashen shuffle of "Shine On Love", while elsewhere overindulging in allegories of his contemporary existential state. The endpoint of this process seems to be, for better or worse, the closing "Love In A Faithless Country", a faded version of "Shoot Out The Lights".

Daring Adventures (1986) likewise alternates between euphoria ("Nearly In Love", "Baby Talk" and the railroad Yardbirds of "Train Kept A'Rolling" reworked into "Valerie") and funereal melody ("A Bone Through Her Nose", "Lover's Lane", the gothic jest of "Cash Down Never Never"), ending up once again, on "Dead Man's Handle", recalling the days with Linda, still self-parodying "Wall Of Death".

After this long period spent recovering, by the end of the Eighties Richard's artistic personality undergoes a kind of split. The first and most immediate component is a progression toward an ever more classic, ever less austere singer-songwriter mode, unfailing even if ultimately minor, and also buoyed by a gradual reconciliation with life and with his own audience.

The start of this mature phase comes with Amnesia (1988). New gems of nostalgia include "I Still Dream", opened and closed by a trumpet-and-accordion duet in a sort of military silence, with the slow tread typical of his masterpieces, and the Hare Krishna meditation of "Pharaoh". Above all, though, it's the album that pretty much everywhere decisively renews his guitar style (the solo that closes the ballad "Can't Win") and his emotive, tenor-like singing (the almost rap-like rhymes of the Bedouin dance "Don't Tempt Me").

Richard now channels his craving for renewed strength and independence into martial tolling and imperious refrains ("Gypsy Love Songs"), brushing against the macho spirit of Springsteen ("Jerusalem On The Jukebox"), or, conversely, settling into a reassuring, confidential tone ("Turning Of The Tide").

The second of his classic albums is Rumor And Sigh (1991), shaped by a hedonism that is by now liberating and that yields songs of strong staying power, near-hits like "I Feel So Good". By this point Richard blends any stimulus to perfection, whether it's mellotron with psychedelic effects over marked cadences, on "You Dream Too Much" and "Grey Walls", or a sentimental yet resolute sing-along like "Blacklash Love Affair", or a cow-punk whirlwind like "Mother Knows Nest" or even a convulsive spoken-word passage à la Nick Cave, alternating with cabaret-style gags, as on "Psycho Street".

Even when the mood is subdued, as in the strumming and mantra of "I Misunderstood" and "Why Must I Plead", it ultimately flows into impeccable refrains. The song at the heart of the album, however, is once again a nostalgic turn back to his old folk style, and paradoxically it's the one that will remain among his best, "1952 Vincent Black Lightning", later reinterpreted by Bob Dylan himself.

Mirror Blue (1994) sounds too cerebral by comparison, tangled up in references to his own past and that of others ("For The Sake Of Mary" almost reproduces the riff of Neil Young's "Cinnamon Girl"), and a timid use of electronic backing tracks ("Fast Food"), which fails to inject any vitality into the songs. Even the Celtic-flavoured "Beeswing" ends up looking like a still life.

Two years later came an even a double album, confused and overflowing right from its title, You? Me? Us? (1996). The first disc, Voltage Enhanced, contains a couple of brisk, synthetic reinventions that draw on modern dance ("She Steers By Lightning", "Razor Dance"), but for the most part the vein has run dry, and it often sounds like a poor copy of his past work ("Bank Vault In Heaven", "Hide It Away").

The second disc, Nude, is devoted to acoustic songs – some of them rearranged from the first disc – that isolate his meditative side; aside from the jolt of "Train Don't Leave", once again danceable in feel, nothing stands out in particular.

In the following Mock Tudor (1999), at least, it becomes clear that Richard's efforts to re-examine his past aren't an end in themselves, but trial and error attempts to recapture that former greatness, albeit with an impoverished sound. The self-quotations are almost explicit, from "Sights And Sounds Of Londo Town" (which echoes "1952 Vincent Black Lightning") to "Hard On Me" (a new "Shoot Out The Lights"), while the pop ballads – "Crawl Back", "Two-Faced Love", "Walking The Long Miles Home" – lack a truly strong identity. The result of this exercise, however, does yield fresh proof of sincerity, both in the return of Arabic-tinged sounds on "Uninhabitated Man" and in the crystalline folk, in his finest style, of "Dry My Tears And Move On".

This less-than-thrilling run of studio releases nonetheless keeps him doggedly on stage – perhaps the best habitat for this phase of his career – and helps grow his fame. Many of his tours would be immortalized on just as many live albums, official or otherwise, including one that half-seriously, half-jokingly retraces the history of popular music, from traditionals to Britney Spears (1000 Years Of Popular Music, 2003).

In the studio too, when it comes to recording new songs, Thompson moves like a freight train. For Old Kit Bag (2003), spurred by the underwhelming sales of his immediately preceding records, he switches labels again (Cooky Vinyl) for a humble yet commanding cycle of songs (once again transcendent on "Gethsemane" and on the long, chromatic "First Breath", Islamic-tinged on "One Door Opens", heartfeltly hymn-like on "A Love You Can't Survive"). Things don't change, though – if anything they get worse with the acoustic Front Parlour Ballads (2005), which was given a lukewarm reception even by specialist critics.

On Sweet Warrior (2007), by contrast, everything sounds freer, starting with the production (handled by a coalition of indie labels), but above all in the songs, with "Dad's Gonna Kill Me" – his new signature tune, built on one of his typical galloping rhythms – which alone would help relaunch him in the latter part of the decade (along with "Mr Stupid", "Needle And Thread", "Bad Monkey", "Sneaky Boy").

Common to these albums, and perhaps also a drift of his later career, is the urge to stitch together social commentary in the typical vein of politically engaged singer-songwriters. The songs on these overly generous collections have by now become mechanical, but one way or another they manage to mask the repetition through the class and craftsmanship of an artist who remains ever true to himself. His vocal and instrumental achievements went on to inspire, if not actually shape, a certain strand of new singer-songwriters who emerged out of punk and new wave: Bob Mould (who on his early albums almost apes him), Mark Eitzel, Tom Verlaine and their descendants.

Among the later albums, Dream Attic (2010) stands out, attempting the live-in-studio approach to deliver the guitar-and-fiddle jam that closes "Sidney Well", the rustic "Here Comes Geordie" – one of his finest late-career ballads – "The Money Shuffle" and "Haul Me Up".

It is followed, slavishly, by Electric (2013), once again recorded "first take's the keeper" with an Electric Trio (Taras Prodaniuk on bass and Michael Jerome on drums): aside from a few brief near-funk solos, the bubblegum of "Straight And Narrow", and another transcendent folk ballad ("Good Things Happen To Bad People", with a crackling solo), the record simply rides on the strength of his sheer craftsmanship.

Still (2015) is effectively a collaboration with Wilco mastermind Jeff Tweedy, though his contribution is timid and conservative. The result is yet another album that recycles both itself and its predecessors. Besides another rustic dance number like "Pony In The Stable", "All Buttoned Up" at least bends one of his slogan-like choruses toward vaudeville entertainment, but a clearer glimpse of his eccentric side lies in the pseudo-Zappa-esque self-parody of "Guitar Heroes", a kind of excursus through his career as an instrumentalist.

For 13 Rivers (2018), Thompson lets Tweedy go and returns to the producer's chair himself, enlisting the seasoned and more congenial Bobby Eichorn, Taras Prodaniuk and Michael Jerome. Here the singer-songwriter rediscovers, or reasserts, his usual style of singing about melancholy subjects with vigour and grit – a contrast he's nailed since the days of Hand Of Kindness. It's no coincidence that he opens with one of his masterpieces of melancholy, "The Storm Won't Come", a Bo Diddley-style shuffle with a mournful vocal that builds to a towering jam, alongside "The Rattle Within", carved out of tribal ritual, the tough "Bones Of Gilead", and the somewhat convoluted baroque flourishes of "Trying". From there the album sustains itself with elegance and consistency, through lighter, wittier songs, solid ballads, and his classic folk-rock numbers. One of his best in recent times, especially in terms of technique, sparkling solos, and confidence, as well as the frankness with which he addresses death and life's weariness.

Preceded by the all-acoustic EP Bloody Noses (2020), recorded during the pandemic, his 17th album Ship To Shore (2024) further stretches his songbook, thanks above all to the numbers that open and close it – the thunderous "Freeze" and the country-folk of "We Roll" – even though the mood is now plainly subdued, starting with the single "Singapore Sadie". The album receives excellent reviews, sells well, and even sends the now-venerable artist out on yet another extended tour.

The eccentric dimension makes up the second strand of Thompson's career. Always just over the horizon since the earliest experiments on Henry The Human Fly, and already partly expressed in the instrumental-only tracks of Strict Tempo, this alter-ego gradually isolates and deepens itself in parallel, pulling him away from the role of mere singer-songwriter and projecting him into more experimental projects.

New wave, which had meanwhile been listening closely to his evolution as a guitarist, absorbs him into the orbits of Anton Fier and David Thomas, with whom he would collaborate on some of their masterpieces (respectively, the great Golden Palominos collective and a couple of gem-like solo albums by the Pere Ubu vocalist, "Sound Of The Sand", 1981, and "Variations On A Theme", 1983).

In the second half of the '80s he then joined the supergroup French Frith Kaiser Thompson, a sort of idiosyncratic CSN&Y, measuring himself against two other great exploratory guitarists, Henry Kaiser and Fred Frith, while also actively contributing his own compositions that crown the project's two albums, Live Love Larf Loaf (1987) and Invisible Means (1990): a "Drowned Dog Black Night" that is at once one of his finest ballads and one of his most irrational electric solos, "A Blind Step Away", "Peppermint Rock", the jokey divertissement "Killerman Gold Posse", and "Begging Bowl".

A more modest collaboration came with Industry (1997), an album made with Danny Thompson, one of the scene's most highly regarded session musicians (who, despite sharing the same surname, curiously has no family relation to the artist).

Thompson also had a parallel career as a soundtrack composer, starting with the compilation Hard Cash (1990), followed by Michael Jenkins's Sweet Talker (1991), and later Grizzly Man (2005) by Werner Herzog and Erik Nelson's Cold Blue (2019), as well as a highly personal musical, Cabaret Of Souls (2012).

His anthologies range from Watching The Dark (1993) to Bug Music Sampler (1998) to the monumental Life And Music (2006); one of the best is the quadruple-disc Walking On A Wire (2009). End Of The Rainbow (2000) includes an alternate version of "A Heart Needs A Home". The box set Hard Luck Stories (2020) collects the albums made with Linda plus unreleased material.

Linda Thompson's solo career began shortly after the end of her marriage and artistic partnership with Richard. Her debut, One Clear Moment (1985), is however effectively a collaboration with her friend, singer-songwriter and producer Betsy Cook, who handled the orchestration and arrangements of the songs amid a shock of electronic keyboards and disco rhythms; the familiar angelic whiteness of her albums with her ex-husband now shines through the technology, subtly shifting into fatalism. There was also an intention to make it a concept album about the separation — an answer record to Hand Of Kindness — which yields two gems of newfound lightness: the desperate dedication of "Telling Me Lies", which rises up on a dramatic pipe organ, and the lied sung into the void that is "Only A Boy", alongside a reworking of Ravel's "Trois Beaux Oiseaux De Paradis".

"Telling Me Lies" would be taken to chart success the following year in the version by the trio Linda Ronstadt-Emmylou Harris-Dolly Parton, but Thompson's own career — aside from the compilations Dreams Fly Away (1996) and Give Me A Sad Song (2001) — went into hibernation for almost twenty years, partly due to a laryngeal condition that prevented her from singing.

Buoyed by the support of family, colleagues and friends — chief among them her son Teddy and Rufus Wainwright, with whom she co-wrote some of the songs, and even her husband, who provided backing vocals in a reunion of sorts under disguise — she made a full comeback with Fashionably Late (2002), a work that restored her status as the delicate folk singer of old.

The formula was repeated on Versatile Heart (2007), with an even larger cast and an even more pronounced contribution from Teddy — arguably the most well-rounded work of her career — and on Won't Be Long Now (2013), in which Richard again appears on some guitar parts. My Mother Doesn't Know I'm On The Stage (2018) is a collection of old pop standards. Due to a recurrence of her vocal cord trouble, the entirety of Proxy Music (2024) — her first album of new songs in 11 years — is sung by the usual extended cast of family and friends.

These records end up being wonderful little family reunions, with almost everyone involved having a music career of their own, and this process of reconciliation takes concrete shape in Family (2014), with a line-up that includes the great former couple, their two children, and a handful of appearances from half-siblings and grandchildren.

For his part, Richard has stayed in nostalgic territory, recording solo revisitations of his golden era on Acoustic Classics (2014), Acoustic Classics II (2017) and Acoustic Rarities (2017).

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