Pyewackett – Pyewackett (1981)

Oh, how I have become unsuspectingly fond of this album, apparently unbeknownst to, or dismissed by, even most die-hard prog-folkies (perhaps misled by that 80's release date, when in fact no aesthetic carbon dating could ever trace this timeless performance back to that questionable decade). Traditional in inspiration and inventive enough in its arrangements to perfectly serve and highlight the material just shy of the point where that brilliance would become self-servient to the musicians themselves and not to the tunes they convey (e.g. Gryphon on a no-no minstrel day, i.e. their debut), this is, for the most part, as accomplished and perfectly balanced as recreations of folk music (or pop songs of yore, to be both more and less precise) can get: neither stifled by too restrictive cultural guidelines of how to interpret it right, neither using it as a perfunctory stepping stone to please the crowd, foregoing all links to the context that first gave it meaning. That means you're in for some instrumental finicky bliss, irreproachable polyphonies that still manage to avoid any vocal peacocking (The Bonny Hawthorn), a sensible production keeping with the different moods conveyed by each song (from a rowdy pub to the seashore), and little tricks here and there to keep the musical buff on point (like the metrically deceptive violin melody on Kettle Drum; such rhythmic delight). Only the two final old timey numbers, perhaps comedic in intent - something Pyewackett were regrettably a bit prone to -, bring this down a notch for me: it would have ended on the perfect (shorter) note with the foxy Reynardine.

Pyewackett would get a bit proggier, but still mostly enjoyable, in their sophomore effort, and a head-scratching hot mess of folk tunes, cabaret numbers, jazz standards, or the occasional flaming pile of sheet music that landed on their doorstep, from then on. This one, though, is a most definite keeper; a bit more every single time I hear it.