here are comebacks, and then there are
comebacks. The gap between British folksinger Vashti Bunyan’s
debut, Just Another Diamond Day, and its follow-up, Lookaftering, lasted 35 years. By music-biz standards,
that’s an eternity, at least enough time for one pop tart to
be born (or, more accurately, spawned in the lab), to enact three
or four publicist-contrived comebacks (the triumphant return from
rehab! the newfound independence after the painful divorce! the
spiritual awakening!), and to oblige her handlers by retiring
before the cellulite and crow’s feet start to bum everyone
out. Bunyan spent the bulk of her self-imposed hiatus rearing
children and managing a small farm — the new album’s
title refers to her domestic responsibilities — and somehow,
with the help of well-placed admirers, overcoming her creative
insecurities. That Bunyan had a recording career in the
first place is a minor miracle. Discovered by industry impresario,
Rolling Stones producer, and noted lecher Andrew Loog Oldham, the
art-school dropout recorded a handful of singles in the late
’60s, only two of which were even released. Soon thereafter,
she fled London in a horse-drawn wagon, bound for the Outer
Hebrides. She continued to write songs during her lengthy
pilgrimage, however, and when a friend advised her not to
“hide her light under a bushel,” Bunyan called producer
Joe Boyd, the man responsible for seminal albums by Nick Drake,
Fairport Convention, and the Incredible String Band. Boyd, who had
tried unsuccessfully to lure her into the studio three years
before, jumped at the chance to record her. With support from
various Brit-folk luminaries (including Robin Williamson of the
Incredible String Band and Dave Swarbrick and Simon Nicol of
Fairport Convention), he committed to tape the 14 weird, lovely,
and impossibly fragile songs that compose her debut. Although
Boyd’s pristine chamber-folk arrangements were perfectly suited to Bunyan’s
otherworldly soprano and her little hippie idylls (featuring lyrics
about grubs, glowworms, sheep, swallows, and the elements), Diamond Day was
released in 1970 to zero fanfare. It remained mostly unheard for the
next three decades, the secret prize of fanatical collectors. After
being championed by freak-folk kingpin Devendra Banhart, the album was
reissued in 2000 by DiCristina, earning accolades from critics and the
admiration of underground scenesters such as Piano Magic and Animal
Collective. Bolstered by this encouragement, Bunyan
emerged from seclusion to make guest appearances on CDs by the
aforementioned artists. She also bought a Mac, taught herself how
to use its music program, and made demo versions of 11 new songs.
Under the direction of producer Max Richter, she rerecorded the
tracks with instrumental backing by Banhart, harp iconoclast Joanna
Newsom, and Mice Parade’s Adam Pierce, an endeavor that
culminated in Lookaftering, an album that picks up where Diamond Day left off. With
its gossamer orchestration and domestic/agrarian themes,
Bunyan’s sophomore effort successfully re-creates the
delicate magic of her debut without slavishly replicating its
sound. Her flutelike, slightly tremulous voice remains as ethereal
as ever, and Richter wisely keeps the instrumentation from
overpowering it. Graced by piano, harp, strings, woodwinds, and
bells, Bunyan’s reveries gleam like ice-glazed saplings at
dawn. Although the CD is so consistently, unimpeachably serene that
it may put some listeners to sleep (Joni Mitchell is a riot grrl by
comparison), its gentle beauty should appeal to anyone who has ever
swooned to Drake’s “Pink Moon” or mourned the
untimely death of Sandy Denny. Whether she’s singing about
the uncanny wisdom of a child (the Wordsworthian “Here
Before”) or the road not taken (the ennui-tinged
“Wayward”), Bunyan makes the everyday seem sublime.
This article appears in Dec 8-14, 2005.
