RIP BILL FAY

Perhaps to not come off as old as I actually am, I try to avoid any “back in my day…” cliches when scribbling these posts. Whether or not I adhere to this rule is up to you, the agitated reader. Nonetheless, I hope the below doesn’t come off like an old man pining for a better time. To use another tired cliche’, “I’m just tellin’ it like it was”.

Prior to having the entire world of recorded music streaming off your pocket phone, a record nerd of a certain vintage seeking far-out sounds was usually at the mercy of a sympathetic record store clerk. There were also these gargantuan-sized encyclopedias of psychedelic/weird music compiled by men who probably should have raised a family instead. It would have saved most of us from wasting our best years damaging our knees browsing through below-the-rack dollar bins and breathing in dust mites in the pursuit of the next vinyl treasure.

Working from either sheer word-of-mouth or the album photo/description in one of these encyclopedias, certain records built up a persona in my head. Since most of what I was craving was as obscure as shit falling from a mechanical bull’s butt, the personalities of these records had time to percolate before they were found. Looking back at the money wasted and how these records are no longer in my possession, it’s apparent that most of the time, whatever I cooked up in my brain was far more interesting than the actual product.

My first knowledge of Bill Fay’s Time of the Last Persecution did not come from someone cooler than me or some book, but a CD of improvisations between two Brits – guitarist Gary Smith and drummer John Stevens – released in 1995 on Thurston Moore’s Ecstatic Peace label. In the inlay of the CD cover, Smith sat in a chair with records scattered around him. In the photo, I noticed the gatefold of Blue Cheer’s Outside Inside, Clark Hutchinson’s Retribution and the Spontaneous Music Ensemble’s Karyobin. Strangely, these were all recent discoveries of my own in this aural quest for sounds more challenging and erudite than the floorcore I was drooling over just a year earlier.

It was the image of Fay on the cover that intrigued me. It looked like he was just awoken to snap the pic; an apprehensive face covered in an unkept beard with an even thicker nest of hair covering his head. My immediate reaction when peering at the teeny-weeny panel photo was, “Who the hell thought putting that photo on the cover was a good idea?” That question was soon silenced by my next thought: “I must find this record!”

It wasn’t until three years later that I finally heard the record, and it was unfortunately in the poser format of CD, a disc compiling his first, self-titled album from 1970 with Time… recorded a year later. I can truthfully write I didn’t know what to expect from Bill Fay, but the first album threw me for a bit of a loop. His reedy, desperate voice and the melancholy lyrical content didn’t seem to mesh with the somewhat schmaltzy string and brass arrangements accompanying him, but I certainly found the clash interesting. When the CD moved onto Time of the Last Persecution was when I knew my instincts did not steer me wrong.

Backed by UK Avant Jazz guitarist Ray Russell and members of his group, this was most definitely not a schmaltzy affair. Working within the framework of the type of singer/songwriter record synonymous with the early 70’s, the group wormed their own sonic idiosyncrasies into it. The rhythm section of bassist Daryl Runswick and drummer Alan Rushton always seemed a little behind the rest of the ensemble, giving the record a looseness that appealed to the kid in me who always leaned towards the Hardcore bands who ran on passion rather than finesse.

Then there were the shards of discombobulated, ear-popping leads Ray Russell scattered throughout the record like landmines, with the finest examples being the closings of the harrowing-as-fuck “Release Is In The Eye” and “Come A Day”. But unmistakably, Fay was in the spotlight with a mountain of stark imagery conveyed with his words and a voice that can be both delicate and haggard all within the same song. I recall trying to turn a friend onto Bill Fay at my same time of discovery. They shut the disc off after a few songs telling me, “I’m a manic depressive and you already turned me onto Nick Drake. How much more damage do you want to do?” Yikes.

The fourteen tracks of Time of the Last Persecution grabbed me with the kind of human despair I’ve craved in music all my life, from Black Flag to The Wrecks to Agnostic Front to Void to Rites of Spring to John Coltrane to Nick Drake to Peter Brotzmann to Patty Waters to No Neck Blues Band to Magik Markers to…you know, maybe I should just nip this exercise in the bud before it just becomes a roll call of hipster music tastes. (is it too late already?)

At a time when death notices on social media have as much of an effect on me as someones’ pious political spoutings, the announcement of Bill Fay’s death this morning made me pause and reflect. Although I thoroughly dug the material that came about after he came back to music in the early 2000s, Time of the Last Persecution is a musical landmarker for my life. In my priority-deranged brain, to not acknowledge Fay’s death and the impact that album had on me would be blasphemous.

I know it’s been stated many times over on this newsletter, but these inanimate objects and the music contained on them have been more understanding and loyal companions to me than any family member, partner or pet. As time goes on and I can conveniently hear them bleed into my ears via streaming services, it proves whatever format you hear it on is irrelevant. I’ve learned it’s actually the intangibility that makes it so precious. It reminds me of a song I heard once at the end of an episode of The Sopranos. Something like, “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory?”

Do you know who does that ditty? Whomever it is, I’m sure he’s one straight-laced, sober gent who is still with us…