Peter Blegvad (Gran Bretagna) Autore di canzoni, scrittore e disegnatore, Peter Blegvad è nato a New York nel 1951. Fondatore con Dagmar Krause e Anthony Moore degli Slapp Happy, una band a metà tra kabarett e naif rock, esordisce nel 1972 con Sort Of. Titolare di numerosi album in solo o in duo con l'inseparabile partner creativo John Greaves, ma presente in una marea di altre pubblicazioni discografiche, ha collaborato con John Zorn, Robin Holcomb e i Golden Palominos di Anton Fier.

Download this: Had To Be Bad; Sven; Way To Play The Blues; God Detector; Too Much

Artist, poet, illustrator, philosopher, cartoonist – so broad are Peter Blegvad’s other interests, and so protean his muse, that one sometimes has to wait for years for his attention to turn again to music. But the payoff lies in the way that those other pursuits feed back into his music in the form of songs that exult in their uniqueness. Blegvad is one of pop’s very few “true originals” whose work always bears out that status.

Probably best known for Leviathan, his long-running Independent On Sunday cartoon strip, Blegvad brings a similar level of abstruse conjecture and whimsical wordplay to his lyrics, whether he’s musing, in “Sven”, upon a leathery ancient corpse preserved “in a Finnish fen”, or offering a grim reflection, in “Mind The Gap”, on how a terrorist bomb destroys the collective isolation of Tube travellers: “Blown apart and blown together, now the two of us were one”.

However, it’s not usually that dark: “Too Much” is a jaunty ragtime rumination on excess, slipping from familiar physical indulgence to more abstract realms (“too much sturm, too much drang, too much yin, too much yang”); and in “My Father’s Face”, Blegvad pirouettes on the cusp of whimsy and something more sinister, relating how he once drew his sleeping father, then erased his face. But perhaps his most elegant and amusing aesthetic reflection resides in “Way To Play The Blues”, where he uses John Cage’s epigram “I have nothing to say and I am saying it, and that is poetry as I need it” as inspiration for a (probably apocryphal) tale of the Stones asking Blegvad to help them understand the way to play the blues, a question he denudes of dues, and ultimately of volition.

Blegvad’s band, comprising various Henry Cow alumni and sundry avant-gardists, provides flexible support for his musings, from the sinister cod-reggae shuffle of “Penny Black”, about a cursed stamp, to the more indefinable brew of languid, jazzy raunch-rock conjured to convey the enigmatic villain of “Had To Be Bad”. Elsewhere, there’s an aptly Kevin Ayers-y air to the Provençal tableau “Cote D’Azur”, while “God Detector” adopts a suitably Dylanesque tone for the tale of a man with a machine he claims can trace divinity – for which, of course, he searches in vain amongst humanity.