This great Celtic band deserves wider renown, and Live Wizardry is arguably their best album
The nebulous sound known collectively as "Celtic music" has gained tremendous popularity in recent years. Artists such as Loreena McKennitt, Clannad and Enya have gained devoted followings with their Celtic-derived sound. Still, there are some lesser-known bands—Celtic Storm, Stonecircle, The Nettles—offering a wilder, more folky sound that comes much closer to the source. Then, too, there are a handful of artists whose zenith of popularity came long before the current rage for all things Celtic.
Silly Wizard is one such group. They started in 1971 as a band of three (Gordon Jones, Bob Thomas and Johnny Cunningham) playing gigs at local folk clubs in Edinburgh, and ended up as a five-piece band (Gordon Jones, Johnny Cunningham, Andy Stewart, Phil Cunningham and Martin Hadden) touring all over the world. Their official final gig was in April 1988. Luckily for fans of Celtic music who have not yet discovered this band, Silly Wizard has enjoyed a small but very devoted following over the years, and many of their albums are still in print through the Shanachie and Green Linnet labels.
It was a common practice among UK folk-rock bands in the '70s and '80s to "jazz up" the traditional sounds in order to appeal to a larger market (see especially Steeleye Span for examples), and most of the Silly Wizard albums show this influence. In my opinion, although the band's genius still shines through, the too-heavy reliance on string synthesizers makes most of the other Silly Wizard albums sound dated.
Little such weakness is in evidence on Live Wizardry: The Best of Silly Wizard in Concert. The entire album was recorded live in concert at Sanders Theatre in Cambridge, Massachusetts, near the very end of the band's official existence—and throughout, they stick almost exclusively to traditional instruments. Silly Wizard is a band that sounds markedly better performing live than in a studio; the band members seem to gather enthusiasm from the audience and release it through performance.
The album starts with a lively rendition of "The Queen of Argyll," an original tune by Andy Stewart (the band's primary composer and lead singer). Stewart's vocals are sweet and plaintive, with a definite Scottish burr, and the lyrics invite the audience in:
Gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you of one beauty
Though I'd ask of you a favour not to seek her for a while
Though I own she is a creature of character and feature
No words can paint the picture of the Queen of all Argyll
And if you could've seen her there
Boys, if you had just been there
The swan was in her movement and the mornin' in her smile
All the roses in the garden
They bow and ask her pardon
For not one could match the beauty
of the Queen of all Argyll
The tune is followed with a mixed set of instrumentals: one original, "Mrs. Martha Knowles" by Phil Cunningham, and two traditional, "The Pitnacree Ferryman" and "The New Bob." The band really gets into this, near the end driving the tempo up so fast that you wonder how on earth the fiddler is keeping up.
"The Parish of Dunkeld," is a traditional tune about a very unorthodox Highland parish; it could be called "Churchgoers Behaving Badly." Stewart sings almost a cappella (you can barely hear the accordion beneath him) and is joined up by the band between verses; without pause, they slide effortlessly into another traditional jig, "The Curlew."
Next comes a mournful, nostalgic look back at a lost love, "The Valley of Strathmore." The refrain is simple yet touching:
But if time was a thing man could buy
All the money that I have in store
I would give for one day by her side
In the Valley of Strathmore
To jump-start the audience, the next instrumental set begins with some fantastic fiddling on "Miss Shepherd," blending into the accordion sounds of "Sweeney's Buttermilk" and passing on to "McGlinchey's Reels."
"The Ramblin' Rover" is another Andy Stewart original, and as he points out in the spoken introduction, is dedicated to all the "fabulous, well-meaning lunatics" the band has met over the years. The band sings this drinking song wholly without instrumentals, and near the end you can hear the crowd join in with singing and clapping:
Oh, there's sober men in plenty
And drunkards barely twenty
There are men of over ninety
That have never yet kissed a girl
But gi' me a ramblin' rover
Frae Orkney down to Dover
We will roam the country over
And together we'll face the world
A sad tale of unrequited love, "The Blackbird," follows. In the refrain, Andy Stewart dreams of a simple, magical way to be near his loved one despite her scorn of him:
Oh, if I was a blackbird could whistle and sing
I'd follow the vessel my true love sails in
And in the top riggin' I would there build my nest
And I'd flutter my wings o'er her lily-white breast
My favorite instrumental on the album follows, the "Scarce o' Tatties/Lyndhurst" set. In the opening moments of "Scarce o' Tatties," the rumble of the background offset by a pennywhistle playing the main tune, swiftly taken over by riotous fiddle, then blending into a jaunty dance tune—for some reason it never fails to give me goosebumps.
"The Banks of the Lee" is here kept to a minimal arrangement, just piano and voice. This seems very fitting for the song, which with other handling could have become excessively maudlin; instead, it almost breaks the heart:
For I loved her very dearly
Most truly and sincerely
There is no one in this wide world
I loved more than she
Every bush and every bower
Every wild Irish flower
Reminds me of my Mary
On the banks of the Lee
The next song, a traditional tune called "Donald McGillavry," has lyrics that are perhaps most difficult to follow—but it is spirited and fierce, a great song about an angry, feisty man who is prepared to battle injustice.
When I first heard the song "Golden, Golden" on another album, I wasn't terribly impressed. It took the Live Wizardry album to give me any appreciation for it. This version begins with simple acoustic guitar and Stewart's unassuming voice:
Slowly, slowly walk the path
And you might never stumble or fall
Slowly, slowly walk the path
And you might never fall in love at all
The sound continues to build with strings and (alas) synthesizers. It's still not my favorite, but this album offers what is easily the best available version of the song.
A long set of reels follows: "The Humors of Tulla/Toss the Feathers/Saint Anne's Reel/Lexy McAskill," all traditional, and "The Limerick Lasses/Jean's Reel," both composed by Bobby MacLeod. As far as I can discern this whole set is performed solely with fiddle and accordion, and they COOK. The audience is spellbound, nearly breaking into a riot at the end of the set.
Silly Wizard closes the album with "The Broom of the Cowden Knowes," a song that was very popular in concerts but never does very much for me; the pacing seems plodding rather than simply slow. Again, this album offers the best arrangement you're likely to find.
It's impossible to get a band's sound across in a music review; the best any reviewer can hope to do is spark enough interest that the reader will go out and have a listen, and that's what I'm hoping to do here. Go find Silly Wizard—this album if at all possible—and listen. It's out of print, but is occasionally available through sellers at Amazon.com.