Jethro Tull: Songs from The Wood

This review was originally published on Green Man Review.

Songs From The Wood was released in February 1977 with Jethro Tull having avoided doing major concert tours for almost two years, and Ian Anderson having moved from the city to the countryside, which allowed him to indulge his interest in the more traditional forms of British music. Actually, Jethro Tull has always had an abiding affection for all things rural. Indeed their name is that of a countryman who was well-known in his day. As Ian explains in a 1989 ‘Up Close’ radio interview:

I was not the author of the Jethro Tull name. The original Jethro Tull was an 18th century agriculturalist . . . he was also something of an inventor. He invented the seed drill. He built his first prototype seed drill from the foot pedals of his local church organ . . . when it was suggested as one of our weekly names for our band in its early days by our agent we said ‘ok, we’ll be Jethro Tull this week.’ The reason for all that was that we were not a terribly good group when we first started, and the only way we could get re-booked into the clubs we played at was to pretend to be somebody different every week . . . often we didn’t know who we were — the agent forgot to tell us — so we would arrive at some club, and we’d look down the list of bands playing . . . whichever one we’d never heard of before, we knew that must be us. The time we got asked back to the Marquee club we had to stick with the name we had that week, which happened to be Jethro Tull. It’s not a name I feel particularly wonderful about. I feel faintly embarrassed about it because it’s not an original name. It’s somebody else’s name.

Songs From The Wood finds Ian’s songwriting skills to be at their very sharpest. It is one of several song cycles that Jethro Tull would do with the first two being the ‘Aqualung”‘and ‘My God’ cycles on the Aqualung album, and another being “‘ Passion Play,’ which took up the entire album of the same name. This is certainly the most detailed song cycle that Jethro Tull would do, as it covers — like James Joyce’s Ulysses — a day in the life of its protagonist. Yet, unlike Leopold Bloom who wanders the streets of Dublin in Ulysses, our unnamed narrator is a man of the country. Now, this is not your typical countryside as our narrator will encounter green men, a huntress who may or may not be the leader of a Wild Hunt, druids, mad whistlers, and maidens who are certainly no longer chaste by the time the song ends. Ian is indulging his interest in folk motifs in a very serious manner.

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know…

The song cycle begins with ‘Songs From The Wood,’ in which our narrator states who he is: the bard that brings ‘A singer of these ageless times/With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes./Songs from the wood make you feel much better . . . ‘ The wood in the Songs From The Wood certainly bears some kinship to the Ryhope Wood and Broceliande Wood that Robert Holdstock created in his Ryhope Wood series as it is a place where the fantastic becomes commonplace.

Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He sits quietly under every tree in the folds of his velvet gown.

The first fey creature our bard encounters is the Jack-in-the Green: ‘It’s no fun being Jack-In-The-Green — no place to dance, no time for song. / He wears the colours of the summer soldier — carries the green flag all the winter long.’ Like Mythago Wood, this is not the jolly forest of the Robin Hood celebrated in our time; this is the dark and haunted wood where sane folk don’t venture. But our narrator, being a bard, is a bit mad himself. He has left his dog and lover to seek his fate — whatever that fate might be. The ‘Jack-In-The-Green’ also comments on the increasing urbanization of Britain in the late Sixties and early Seventies: ‘Jack, do you never sleep — does the green still run deep in your heart?/Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart?/Well, I don’t think so — I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.’ But our narrator clearly believes that the old magic is strong enough to keep itself alive so long as we believe in it.

(The foliate Green Men show up everywhere in Britain during the Medieval period — see Kathleen Bashford’s The Green Man for more details on these beings.)

(The story of Jack-in-the-Green is worth telling, and I’ll let the folks of the Mad Jacks Morris team tell it:

May 1st has long been an important part of the annual Calendar. It is the start of summer in these latitudes and as such has always been a day for celebration: the Celts celebrated May Day as Beltane; The Romans dedicated the day to the Goddess Flora and would go to the woods to cut a tree and decorate it with ribbons and flowers, this is the origin of the May Pole. In the 16th and 17th centuries in England people would make garlands of flowers and leaves for the May Day celebration, they became increasingly elaborate. Works Guilds would try to outdo each other, in the late 18th century this became a matter for competition, milkmaids in London carried garlands on their heads with silver objects on them, but the crown had to go to the chimney sweeps. Their garland was so big it covered the entire man. It became known as Jack in the Green. In Hastings there were at least two groups who paraded a Jack in the Green until about 1889. By the turn of the century the custom was seen no more. The reasons were twofold: the Act which stopped boys climbing chimneys had been passed and these had been the main performers; secondly the Victorians had a different attitude to such customs, the prettification of customs took place, no more the giant maypoles with drunken and promiscuous behaviour, replaced by small poles imported from Germany with happy skipping children around them.The Lord and Lady of the May with their practical joking were replaced by a pretty May Queen. Certainly there was no place for the drunken noisy Jack in the Green.

Stir the cup that’s ever-filling
with the blood of all that’s born.
But the May Day is the great day,
sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay
will heed this song that calls them back.
Pass the word and pass the lady,
pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom,
pass the cup of crimson wonder.

Next is a charming song called ‘Cup Of Wonder,’ in which our narrator travels even deeper into the Wood by attending a Beltane festival put on by the Druids. (Beltane is also known as May Eve, May Day, and Walpurgis Night, as it happens at the beginning of May. It celebrates the height of Spring and the flowering of life. The Goddess manifests herself as the May Queen and Flora, while the God re-emerges from the deep of Winter as the May King and Jack in the Green. The folks dancing around the Maypole represent their union, with the pole itself being the God and the ribbons that encompass it, the Goddess. Beltane is a festival of life, fertility, sensuality, and — not surprisingly — sex.) As the narrator notes, this is the old time religion, pure and simple: ‘May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track/And those who ancient lines did lay will heed this song that calls them back./Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger/Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.’

Crop handle carved in bone;
sat high upon a throne of finest English leather.
The queen of all the pack,
this joker raised his hat and talked about the weather.
All should be warned about this high born Hunting Girl.
She took this simple man’s downfall in hand;
I raised the flag that she unfurled.
Boot leather flashing and spurnecks
the size of my thumb.
This highborn hunter had tastes
as strange as they come.
Unbridled passion:
I took the bit in my teeth.
Her standing over me on my knees underneath.

 
‘Hunting Girl’

High-born fox-hunting lady or leader of a Wild Hunt? This is the question posed in ‘Hunting Girl.’ Anderson appears to be using a feminist variant of the Ecken-Lied, a Swedish Wild Hunt myth. Kveldulf Hagen Gundarsson in Mountain Thunder (Issue 7, Winter 1992) recounts an 1860 version of the myth as collected by Jacqueline Simpson in Scandinavian Folktales (Penguin, originally published 1944):

My father and my grandfather were out hunting in Solerud Forest one day. That evening they heard a strange barking; there was one hound barking very shrilly, and there were also two with a deeper cry… All at once, a woman came running by with her hair streaming out behind her. Next came the hound that barked so shrill, and then the two others. Shortly after, along came a man with red hair and beard. He had a gun with him. He just went straight along. Father said this was Oden’s hunt.

The Huntress in this song is clearly interested in hunting and devouring the narrator: ‘Boot leather flashing and spurnecks the size of my thumb/this highborn hunter had tastes as strange as they come/Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth her standing over — me on my knees underneath.’ Ok, passion and sex are a strong current in Songs From The Wood – not surprising given the primal nature of both the Ryhope Wood-like setting and the earthy maleness of the narrator!

Now is the solstice of the year,
winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.

The next song, ‘Ring Out, Solstice Bells,’ continues this theme. ‘Now is the solstice of the year, winter is the glad song that you hear/seven maids move in seven time/have the lads up ready in a line.’ Ah, and the mistletoe: ‘Join together beneath the mistletoe/By the holy oak whereon it grows.’ Need I say more? Ian’s conception of this wood involves a lot of sweaty happenings. Mind you, these are all sacred happenings in his telling as these unions are blessed by ‘Seven druids dance in seven time/sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.’

(See John Matthews and Caitlin Matthews’s The Winter Solstice: The Sacred Traditions of Christmas for a look at the Celtic origins of many Christmas and Solstice traditions.)

Thus far, our narrator has encountered a Green Man, druids celebrating Beltane, a sexually powerful huntress, maidens and lads — under the watchful eye of yet more Druids — celebrating Winter Solstice. What could be next?

Now I may tell you
that it’s love and not just lust.
And if we live the lie, let’s lie in trust.
On golden daffodils, to catch the silver stream
that washes out the wild oat seed on velvet green.
We’ll dream as lovers under the stars
of civilizations raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on your battle scars.
As you walk home cold
and alone upon velvet green.

What’s next is yet another young lass cavorting in the wood with our narrator. The song ‘Velvet Green’ is best explained by a few lines from the Thomas the Rhymer ballad: ‘True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank/A fairy he spied with his e’e/And there he saw a lady bright Come riding down by the Eildon Tree/Her skirt was of the grass green silk/Her mantle of the velvet fine.’ The ancient ballads that are collected in Francis James Child’s English and Scottish Popular Ballads often referred to lasses wearing green in some form. For example, ‘Tam Lin’ (Child ballad #39A) has these lyrics: ‘There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh/But they leave him a wad/Either their rings, or green mantles, or else their maidenhead./ Janet has kilted her green kirtle a little aboon her knee…’

Like the lovers in Tam Lin, our narrator and the lady du jour engage in some illicit fun: ‘Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green./And the long grass blows in the evening cool. And August’s rare delight may be April’s fool./But think not of that, my love, I’m tight against the seam. And I’m growing up to meet you down on velvet green.’ (Busy little man, isn’t he? ‘Tis a wonder he was able to walk by this point in his day!) So, velvet green is both the forest itself and a symbol of her, err, lost innocence.

I’ll buy you six bay mares to put in your stable
six golden apples bought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune,
but I must be gone by the seventh day.

 
Appropriately enough, in ‘The Whistler’ our bard now encounters another teller of tales. This one is going to sing him a song: ‘So come on, I’m the whistler./I have a fife and a drum to play./Get ready for the whistler. /I whistle along on the seventh day — whistle along on the seventh day.’ It does make sense that other tellers of tales are in this Wood as it certainly is rich in stories! And this story-teller also has urgent needs of his own: ‘All kinds of sadness I’ve left behind me./Many’s the day when I have done wrong./But I’ll be yours for ever and ever./Climb in the saddle and whistle along.’

There’s a light in the house in the wood in the valley.
There’s a thought in the head of the man.
Who carries his dreams
like the coat slung on his shoulder,
Bringing you love in the cap in his hand.

After listening to The Whistler, our unnamed narrator in ‘Pibroch (Cap In Hand)’ encounters what appears to be a life of lost love as he watches through a window a man in a house in a clearing of the forest: ‘And each step he takes is one half of a lifetime: no word he would say could you understand./So he bundles his regrets into a gesture of sorrow, Bringing you love cap in hand./Catching breath as he looks through the dining-room window: candle lit table for two has been laid.’ He turns and leaves the old man to his lonely thoughts.

I believe in fires at midnight
when the dogs have all been fed.
A golden toddy on the mantle
a broken gun beneath the bed.
Silken mist outside the window.
Frogs and newts slip in the dark
too much hurry ruins the body.
I’ll sit easy … fan the spark
kindled by the dying embers
of another working day.
Go upstairs … take off your makeup
fold your clothes neatly away.
Me, I’ll sit and write this love song
as I all too seldom do
build a little fire this midnight.
It’s good to be back home with you.

Finally, like Leopold Bloom, he returns home to his lover (whom we assume has not been as busy as Molly was in Ulysses — or perhaps she has ). ‘Fire At Midnight.’ It’s been a long day as he notes in the above lyrics. As is the nature of magical journeys, our narrator has in the span of a single day actually experienced the passage of a full year!

Ok, it’s a great story cycle, but how’s the music? If you like Tull — and I certainly do — it’s a truly fantastic album: folk rock at its very best! This album is not as rock-oriented as much of the Tull output is; it has a gentler, more acoustic approach, fitting the folk tradition Ian was attempting to emulate. Ian’s vocals are earthy with a frantic edge to them that fits the journey through the day as our narrator plunges through the forest. His flute-playing is at its very finest here with the rest of the then Tull line-up performing quite well.

In summation, I can say that while Songs From The Wood is ripe with folk motifs, it is not folk music — it is as modern as Ian himself. Yet, despite the use of both electric guitar and a full drum kit, it is not rock music. It is an intricate composite of both folk and rock and perhaps more than a drop of not-so-gentle madness. As Anderson has said of Songs From The Wood ‘It’s a response to the music — that droning quality — of Celtic music. It’s something special. One can’t really pin down what. It has to be some kind of folk memory.’

The 2003 remastered CD also has ‘Beltane’ and a live version of ‘Velvet Green’.

Jack Merry

(Chrysalis, 1977)