Dave Cartwright
A Secret Life ?
Thirty-five years ago Dave Cartwright was being hailed as one of our best performing-songwriters, appearing up and down and all around the country in folk clubs, festivals and universities to critical acclaim.
Well, it took him a long while to recover
from the disastrous treatment of his first album in 1972 on the legendary Transatlantic
label. Naive dreams of sympathetic, like-minded musicians swapping
ideas and licks late into the night in state-of the-art studios
were unceremoniously shattered when, against all protestations, he found his own
demos had been cheaply embellished and would be released as is.
The twelve great songs were literally thrown to the dogs by a cash-strapped
record label. ‘All we need is a title, Dave,’ smiled the PR men, and having
been freshly plucked from his gloriously happy times in the
then booming folk club scene, it wasn’t hard for him to add a touch
of irony to the situation:
1972
It was indeed. But despite all this, the gigs poured in. He guested and compered Cambridge alongside heroes John Prine and Steve Goodman, he toured Holland and Germany, he kept busy. Then along came an offer to put down another album, this time with silver-tongued promises to record him ‘like the grown--ups do.’ It didn’t happen, of course. Fortunately songs had never had been a problem, only which ones to choose, and so March 1973 found Dave edging nervously into Olympic Studios, this time to record a classic album containing many songs written for his live appearances on the groundbreaking BBC television magazine programme Pebblemill At One, including the sadly prophetic environmental warning To Make Tomorrow Green — written almost thirty years before this olde worlde started worrying.
1973
By now his phobia for recording was developing almost as quickly as
his talent for songwriting, but he was under contract, and so his enviable and
rewarding six gigs a week lifestyle was once more interrupted. They pushed him
into the soundproof box again, turned on the red light and out came another album,
which proved to be his last for the now struggling label…
1974
‘I had developed a lovely relationship
with Nat Joseph’, he says, ‘but it only went as far as socialising: he put
me up at his home whenever I was in London for a session, treated me very
kindly, but with Nat—because he owned the company— it was always the
bottom line and I didn’t realise how shaky the financial circumstances of
Transatlantic were.’
1976
Everyone along the way showed great faith in Dave’s talent, but not in his state of mind. No one seemed to notice that here was a performing lion stuck in a birdcage. True, it was a means to an end, but that red light and a voice saying ‘It’s rolling Dave,’ would reduce him to a nervous wreck. So in 1977 he decided to abandon the recording scene completely and concentrate on doing what he does best. He moved out of the folk clubs and into the concert hall venues, playing support to Horslips (being ecstatically received by die-hard Celtic rock fans, even at the notorious Glasgow Apollo) and then with Jasper Carrot (until he was pulled out because he was stealing the show. Honest. I was there). For the next twenty years he continued performing across Europe, Canada, Australia and the Emirates. A good living, yes, but with no product on sale in the foyer after the show, it was an ephemeral one. In the fickleness of time he was forgotten. There was no scandal: no drinks, no drugs, no mental breakdown (although a High Court management scam cost him dearly), but it was a situation where too much depended on other people and Dave suddenly realised that, despite his deep love of The Music, he could never be part of The Business. "A cruel and shallow money trench, where thieves and pimps run free," he quotes. As he told us in one of his songs, he had a decidedly delicate skin…
He retreated to rural Herefordshire, briefly plucking a few bars in the twilight
zone of the Welsh night clubs before joining Radio Wyvern to initiate and host
what were to become the station’s two finest shows: Folkus and The
Rock’n’Roll Years.’ The shows ran for thirteen years before the
accountants moved in and created yet another Radio Ga-Ga. But he had never
stopped performing, or writing songs (753 in total he tells me: ah, but that was last
week…) and recording them alone (he always was a loner) in his own time in the
converted basement of his Georgian home, on a Yamaha MR-8 mini disc recorder. A
typical Taurean Luddite. The occasional hermit. In between songs he even managed
to write the highly acclaimed biography Bittersweet — The Clifford T Ward
Story.
He had also begun collecting, amongst other things, vintage guitars. Looking online for a Harmony H-75 — the first electric he’d owned way back in ’63 — he came across John Montague of Leicester. Those of you who know John are lucky. He has a heart of gold, a great humour and is possibly the friendliest wheeler-dealer in the country. He also possesses boundless enthusiasm and enormous talent. It was a meeting of minds. They did a couple of concerts together. Rumour has it that après-gig one night John pinned Dave against the wall and expressed the futility of stockpiling his songs. ‘Dave, you’re selling yourself short, m’duck [they talk like that in Leicestershire...]. The audience are salivating: they want a memento, something to take home and enjoy again and again. Get them fookin' songs onto disc,’ said young Montague. Even the illustrious Dave Johnson of Loughborough nagged and pleaded, offering advice and encouragement. 'Gadzooks sire, tis time' they both said. 'Yea, verily.'
So, here we are. Somewhat reluctantly, DC is finally joining the digital world and releasing his secret songs. They are not professional studio recordings (it seems nothing will coax him back into ‘a studio’), some are even Revox multi-tracks. But they are none the less impressive for that. These songs — as indeed have all his songs — stand out for their sheer beauty, simplicity and form; the recordings stand up for their honesty. Despite having successfully fought to prevent the above vinyl LPs appearing on CD because of their sloppy production, Dave is now a ‘first take believer,’ besides which, there are far too many songs to begin recording them all again. Honesty is the first of three—maybe even four, maybe five—CDs for The Tinder Box, a long overdue collection sampling the finest songs from his vast catalogue.
All those years ago, he was one of our best writers. He still is: maturity has not withered his talent. Oh, and he has never stopped being a terrific, engaging performer, as many will bear witness. For those special party occasions he fronts The Clippers, who must surely be the longest surviving rock’n’roll group in the world (certainly the oldest!) formed in, ahem… 1958 yet still going strong with the original line-up! Six pensioners dealing out three hours of high-octane vintage r’n’roll. It beggars belief.
But he is best, and more at home, alone with just his trademark Guild 12-string and unique harmonica playing. On any given evening he can bring you the best acoustic rock’n’roll you will ever hear, covering all the classics of the last century. Or he can bring you jazz/lounge standards for that intimate night, or he can give you a complete show of his own songs, guitar and voice with hooks and laughs to die for. No pre-recorded tapes or programmed drums, just music without machines. Catch him if you can. An instinctive entertainer, he is out there, somewhere.
"You'd think a man of my age would have
something better to do…"
