THE REVENGE OF THE BEAT TROUBADOUR
By Jim Mello
Just when it seemed that everyone has bought into the demise of 1960s
idealism and relegated that era to the dust bins of history and the rantings
of media mavens, Donovan Leitch, yes that “Sunshine Superman” Donovan Leitch,
has snuck below the radar of media hype and planted a mystical, magical CD
in our midst that reaches beyond the cynicism of the age, beyond the “god is
dead, love is dead, and hippies are dead” mantras. He has tapped into, not
only his own musical/philosophical roots, but also the Bohemian roots of the
beat movement and made a CD, Beat Café, that is both timely and
timeless, nostalgic in the truest sense of the word, a returning to home.
Drawing on his own interfacing with the beat movement of the 1950s and
1960s, Donovan reaches into the spirit of that movement at its best and has
created a set of songs that flow with the spontaneity of jazz and beat
poetry to bring us into a virtual Beat Café of the Mind. If Carlos Santana’s
huge return to form on Supernatural a few years back rode the wave of
media hype and push, Donovan has given us the equivalent of a mimeographed
broadside—a stripped down, simplistic affair that boasts only a four-piece
band, doing jazzy readings of both old and new Donovan lyrics. So seamless
is the groove that if you weren't aware that “Two Lovers” was penned in the
1960s, you'd never know that is wasn't written at the same time as the new
material, which could have been written in either period.
The whole CD carries the feeling not of a young beat poet carried away by
the movement but of a matured beat poet who adds the voice of experience to
the spirit of youth. It is a beautiful combination. And Donovan, unlike some
of his contemporaries, has lost none of his vocal power and magic. The
combination works best on his cover of the Dylan Thomas poem, “Do Not Go
Gentle,” a sterling example of the beat goal of fusing spoken word poetry
with musical accompaniment. In Donovan’s hands the poem/song becomes not
only a call to resist the encroaching specter of human mortality but also
is a clarion call to resist the darkness of the cultural moment.
In his liner notes, Donovan tells young musicians to “experiment in the
studio,” and then models that experimentation with his spontaneous
arrangements of these songs, accompanied on stand-up bass by the
jazz-renowned Danny Thompson and on drums by 1960s solid session man Jim Keltner, who sounds liberated on this CD with wonderful jazz flourishes. The
quartet is rounded out by John Chelew, the CD’s producer, on atmospheric
organ. Although, at times, the CD may sound a bit underproduced in this
overproduced musical environment, it achieves its purpose by coaxing you
into this virtual Beat Café and encouraging you to let your hair down long
enough to listen to songs about love and God (a wonderfully tongue-in-cheek
song called “Lord of the Universe”). Yes, there is even a song about
“flowers in her hair,” which could only be pulled off by Donovan, the
incarnation of the 60s beat troubadour spirit, and he does a terrific job.
It’s enough to get you searching for your tie-dye clothes.
Donovan’s arch media-fueled rival Bob Dylan has been flirting with
disaster and audience alienation because of his foray into Victoria’s Secretland, while just finishing a tour of Minor League baseball parks with
Willie Nelson. Steve Earle, alternative country renegade, has been blowing on the embers
of political revolution on his new CD The Revolution Starts ...Now,
and Joni Mitchell has tossed her hat back into the ring with a reissue of
her most socially overt material from the 80s and 90s. Crosby, Stills,
and Nash stoked the flame of protest songs at a summer appearance at the
Newport Folk Festival. Meanwhile, Donovan has reappeared with a beat vengeance, helping
us all to realize that 60s idealism may never have been lost at all; it was
just lying dormant for the right social conditions to bring it back to life.
Okay, Bob, we're ready for you to bring it all back home.
