Watson family standards, including eleven previously unreleased performances. A Folkways classic. ‘This is gorgeous music, one of the best collections of old time music ever captured’ (Victory Review).

‘Bridging the gap between American primitive pioneers John Fahey and Leo Kottke and the California Modernists… the private side of the solo guitar movement from 1966-81.’ 40-page booklet, usual Numero class.

Male folk singers mithering and dithering all the way from 1970 to 1983: very introspective, sombre, spare and intimate, most of it originally pressed privately, plenty of it beautiful and haunting.

‘Gram Parsons had been orbiting the idea of Cosmic American Music for some time. In ‘68, he’d parted ways with the Byrds and was looking to take air with a new project. “It’s basically a Southern soul group playing country and gospel-oriented music with a steel guitar” he told Melody Maker, on the subject of The Flying Burrito Brothers. So it was that when A&M’s Burrito Brothers debut The Gilded Palace of Sin made it to shelves in February of 1969, early adherents to the Cosmic American gospel were already echoing its message from areas flanking Gram Parsons’ Southern California hills and canyons. There was F.J. McMahon in coastal Santa Barbara, Mistress Mary further inland in Hacienda Heights, and Plain Jane of Albuquerque, New Mexico…’

A trippy, littoral compilation of blissed-out folk-funk, Balearic, AOR, and softly fizzing electronica, from long-forgotten early 70s cassettes, right up to date.

Electrifying extracts from a Sunday service in the last snake-handling church in the Appalachians: the trance-like rhythms of a demented kind of rockabilly punk, with duelling guitars, concussive trap drums, and possessed, howling vocals.

“I’d sworn to stay far away from the snakes at the service,” recalls the recording engineer, “but instead they were waved in my face as they coiled in the preachers’ hands, and I crouched down at the foot of the altar tending to the equipment. The pastor soon was bitten and blood splattered, pooling on the floor. The female parishioners hurriedly came to wipe up the mess, and it instantly became clear just what the rolls of paper towels stacked on the pulpit had been for. You can actually hear this moment transpire towards the end of the track ‘Don’t Worry It’s Just a Snakebite (What Has Happened to This Generation?)’. The congregation leapt to its feet and a mini mosh-pit formed. The tag-team preachers huffed handkerchiefs soaked in strychnine, as they circled like aggro frontmen and an elderly worshipper held the flame of a candle to her throat, closing her eyes and swaying. The church PA blew out from the screams as a bonnet-wearing senior whacked away at a trap kit that dwarfed her. It was the most metal thing I’d ever seen, rendering Slayer mere kids play.”

Wonderful, half-enraptured, half-stoned, full-blown re-imagination of vintage country soul sublimity. (He likes Washington Phillips; you can hear Curtis.) Five star reviews everywhere.

The Nordan Project, combining Swedish folk and jazz improvisation. With Palle Danielsson on bass, from various Charles Lloyd, Keth Jarrett and Jan Garbarek lineups.

Mostly this is slow, stricken Lucinda, as moving and compelling as she gets, grieving for her mum and furious with an ex. Worth putting up with the Patti Smith impressions.

With Big Joe Williams, Robert McCoy, Henry Townsend, Yank Rachell and co.

The 1984 Hollywood novel, captivatingly read by Will Oldham. (Wurlitzer wrote the Two-Lane Blacktop screenplay for Monte Hellman, and Pat Garrett And Billy The Kid for Peckinpah, amongst other illustrious works.)

1950s recordings by Bob Copper and Peter Kennedy — selected and presented by Shirley Collins in ways weighted towards the social lives and values of the performers.

Wonderful early recordings, some of his very best, from a small club, six yards by twelve, in 1973.

His debut LP, a little over-produced by Jack Clement for Poppy in 1965; including precious first goes at songs like Tecumseh Valley and Waiting ‘Round to Die.
‘It seems a lot of people in Nashville write by phrase, or by the line. As opposed to writing by the word. A lot of my best songs are where every single word is where it’s supposed to be… For the Sake of the Song was written by the word. I once sat down and wrote out the rhyme scheme for that song, and it was amazing. Pretty complex. But it didn’t seem that complex when I was writing it.’