Aural Fixations
DONOVAN
Try For the Sun: The Journey of Donovan
(Epic/Legacy)
When today's music fans hear the name Donovan, they more often than not think of two songs: "Sunshine Superman" and "Mellow Yellow." Probably the latter, in which case they've already pegged the Scottish singer/songwriter as a novelty act. But Donovan had a short career before "Mellow Yellow" and a longer one afterward, and Trying For the Sun: The Journey of Donovan attempts to prove that the psychedelic poet is more than just a two-hit wonder. Earnest folk song, psychedelic pop tunefulness, hippy excess, Celtic soul—it's all here, presented without apology.
The first disk of this collection shows an eager student of music evolving rapidly. Donovan began, of course, as a folk singer, equally in thrall to the poetry of William Blake and Alfred Lord Tennyson and the American folk tradition of Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. "Josie," "Catch the Wind" and "Colours" find Donovan at his folky, guitar-and-harmonica best, emulating Dylan in particular but already growing into his own style. He even does a reasonable approximation of the blues on "Hey Gyp (Dig the Slowness)," which was later covered by the Animals. Following his establishment as a rising star on the folk circuit, Donovan's fame and growing reputation allowed him to mix in rock star circles, and the young troubadour absorbed every influence he came across: pop melody, Zen Buddhism, Middle Eastern folk drone, psychedelic production, etc. (He was also able to procure the session services of Paul McCartney, Suzi Quatro and three-fourths of Led Zeppelin.) The irresistible pop hit "Sunshine Superman" is the biggest payoff, a classic single with a giddy hook and even giddier love lyrics. Further experimentation continues: the Eastern cadences of "Three King Fishers," the winking silliness of "Mellow Yellow" (the liner notes explain the origin of the "smoking banana peels" rumor), the dark folk rock of "Season of the Witch," the gentle pop of "Museum" and Donovan's bread-and-butter, the melodic, mystical acid folk of "Sand and Foam," "Guinevere," "Hampstead Incident" and the menacing "Young Girl Blues." That all of this came within a mere two years is remarkable in itself; that most of it is of a fairly high quality, well in line with the innovations of his U.K. contemporaries, is eye-opening.
Disk two begins in the Summer of Love, 1967, and no one believed more strongly in the love/peace/flowers philosophy than Donovan. Though he eschewed drugs, the Scotsman spent the rest of the 60s "Preachin' Love," as he claims in that surprisingly jazzy track. One's mileage may vary here, according on one's tolerance for what is either dedicated countercultural idealism or unremitting hippy bullshit, depending on the viewpoint. He still indulges in psychedelic excess to entertaining effect on "Hurdy Gurdy Man" (covered a couple of decades later by the Butthole Surfers), "Barabajagal (Love is Hot)," which features backup from the Jeff Beck Group, and the Beatlesque (except for the painfully earnest spoken intro) "Atlantis." Some songs, such as the fussily arranged "Jennifer Juniper," the impossibly twee "To Susan On the West Coast Waiting" or the dewy-eyed "Someone's Singing," do indeed succumb to preciousness. But when Donovan gets the balance between a lovely melody and heartfelt conviction just right, as on "To Try For the Sun," the previously unreleased "Lord of the Reedy River" and the archetypal "Wear Your Love Like Heaven," he's difficult to deny. He still mixes in some straight-up folk music, as with "The Tinker and the Crab" and "Epistle to Derroll," just to keep himself and his audience honest. Donovan's sentiments threaten to overturn his embattled ship here, but his talent keeps everything on an even keel.
On disk three, which covers 1969 through the present, Donovan continues down the path he set for himself, oblivious to the changing world around him. That's probably as it should be; no one wants to hear the Love Generation's favorite hippy mystic go disco, punk or grunge. Besides, he still has moments of inspiration. He borrows Rudyard Kipling's "Riki Tiki Tavi" for a playful pop song that somehow becomes social commentary, and adapts William Butler Yeats' "The Song of the Wandering Aengus" to music without embarrassment. The previously unreleased "The Ferryman's Daughter" and the live-in-Japan "A Working Man" find his folk songwriting muse fully intact. Digging into the voluminous Celtic songbook always pays off for Donovan; his takes on "Young But Growing" and "She Moved Through the Fair" are moving and beautiful. Plus he's able to poke fun at his psych pop past with the quirky "Clara Clairvoyant" and "Maria Magenta." The 70s stuff leaves only the vaguest impression, but the comeback tracks—"Please Don't Bend" from 1994 and the overtly psychedelic "Love Floats" from 2003—indicate that Donovan isn't ready for retirement quite yet.
The set also includes a DVD of There is an Ocean, a brief documentary about Donovan's trip around the Greek Isles that has some nice music but is otherwise fairly pointless. (Note to future filmmakers: don't let Donovan do his own narration.) There's also a substantial booklet, with a long article by critic Anthony DeCurtis, information on the individual tracks and a remarkably self-aggrandizing introduction by the artist himself. Only a true fanatic can tell if Try For the Sun is definitive or not, but as an introduction to an overlooked body of work, it's right on the money. Michael Toland [buy it]
