Naturally, forward-thinkers have always been out of sync with the world. Too pre-occupied in their own sphere in a bid to expand it for others, one of these examples is Pat Gubler – a key figure in the ’90s British folk music revival, firstly through the murkier lens of Memphis Luxure before morphing into the New York group, Tower Recordings. Also comprising of Matt Valentine, Helen Rush, Samara Lubelski and Tim Barnes, the ensemble expanded the nerve centre of the mid-to-late ’90s underground that was largely dominated by post-rock and post-hardcore.
They say trends and revivals have a twenty-year cycle, but in fairness, British folk had been sleeping a lot longer than that, and following their releases, Rehearsal For Roseland (Superlux), The Fraternity of Moonwalkers (Audible Hiss), Let the Cosmos Ring (Spirit of Orr) and Furniture Music For Evening Shuffles (Stiltbreeze), Tower Recordings – alongside the venerable psych-folk odysseys in Sun City Girls and Jackie O Motherfucker – opened the gates of folk for many others to follow and explore. The subsequent years, seeing Six Organs of Admittance’s Ben Chasny as a key player, while bands like Grails’ showcased their Richard Thompson reverence with their first two LPs, The Burden of Hope and Redlight.
Some of the ’90s British folk revivalists also splintered off into the realms of alt-country. Barnes in particular, who was involved as a percussionist on Wilco’s finest moment, A Ghost Is Born, while Valentine remains as one of the most prominent voices in guitar-based experimentalism, forging a career under various solo guises in his quest to take folk and psychedelia to the wildest places imaginable.
Under the P.G. Six moniker, Gubler has arguably been the most understated voice out of them all. Following his debut album, Parlor Tricks and Porch Favorites (2001), still heavily steeped in folk tradition, the New York-based artist incorporated his own smatterings of psychedelia, and – depending on whom you ask – this subtle cross-pollination could be considered as one of the first attempts to open the portal that led to what would become freak-folk.
Still, though, Gubler remained slightly off-kilter, mining a seam unaccompanied. Alongside the guitar, Gubler adopted the folk harp, the 1940s bowed instrument in the ukelin, as well as the organ. It was this medley that formed the arsenal of Gubler’s greatest feat, The Well of Memory, which last week celebrated an expanded re-release via long-standing label, Amish Records, which includes six previously unreleased songs and four live tracks.
While the cynics may sneer at “bonus material” as something deemed as superfluous, in the case of The Well of Memory, it’s provided an opportunity to shine a light on an album that has been mysteriously eschewed in the modern folk pantheon. As the folk movement in Britain is as strong as it’s been for generations, with the benefit of hindsight, it really does feel like The Well of Memory was the first to arrive across the landscapes that many currently inhabit.
Revisiting The Well of Memory alongside its previously unreleased tracks, and it underlines just how “psych-folk” The Well of Memory is. Not particularly in sound but idea. The folk harp in particularly, perhaps not viewed as a “masculine” instrument to many, but it’s P.G. Six’s secret weapon, imbuing a tenderness through his songcraft that is completely unrivalled.
On Well of Memory, Pt 1 (and later with Pt. 2), both are organ-led off-the-beaten-track meanderings that you’d place between the earlier works of both Phil Elverum as The Microphones and Six Organs of Admittance. Despite Gubler’s British folk leanings, both tracks are a world away from these rustic climes – even more so, considering they are positioned as bookends to the album, throwing us further off the scent.
P.G. Six - The Well of MemoryHowever, it’s not long before Gubler guides us to his creative centre. Essentially split in two parts, Come In / The Winter it is Past is a wonderous journey that travels down British coastline. Part one sees Gubler adopting the ukelin with the kind of skeletal, whimsical folk that resonates the calmness and warm through much of his works. (Something that would see the likes of Faun Fables explore in the years to come.) The second part sees Gubler orchestrate the kind of nomadic traditional folk where, thematically, the usual contemplation of love and longing is brought into focus.
Sonically, Old Man on the Mountain follows down the same path. A story of solitude where two strangers strike up a kinship through sharing stories and a bottle of whisky. Both in sound and theme, there’s a beautiful virtue here. The product of more innocent times where people embraced the unmoored aspects of life instead of being slaves to their smart phones.
Gubler offsets the more conventional aspects of his songcraft with psych-inspired moments. The rich A Little Harp Tune and the electric wanderings of Considering the Lateness of the Hour and Three Stages of a Band, instrumentals that give the album another dimension, providing an opportunity for pause and reflection. It’s also Gubler not taking the easy way out, bound to the idea of experimentalism and making his listeners work.
The best moment comes via Crooked Way. A far-reaching piece as Gubler fluently works across the fretboard with shapes and structures that instantly stick to the mind. And as a story unfolds where the British, North East village of Allendale is the backdrop, Gubler’s adds to the gentleness that such locales offer. And like an unhurried jaunt into the sunset, The Weeping Willow follows the same arc. This is the thing about Gubler’s songs: they are never rushed. Patience, his greatest virtue, getting where he needs to in his own time.
The Well of Memory’s six previously unreleased tracks enhance the original songs, too. The highlight, A Song Is But A Song – a bare-boned piano-led piece seemingly conceived in some damp outhouse in North Yorkshire. And it feels like Gubler is anchored to the same place on Ferry St Soundscrape – his use of the ukelin, conjuring up the kind images akin to fog enveloping a valley.
The closest song to The Well of Memory, Pt. 1 and …Pt. 2 is From My Window. At just under 10 minutes, it’s another organ-dominated piece, but instead of the folk harp, Gubler’s acoustic guitar pulls it to a slightly different place in the seam only he continues to mine.
And 21 one years on, despite Britain’s folk resurgence, it’s still quite staggering that no one has at least tried to occupy the same space as P.G. Six’s The Well of Memory. Not even his subsequent releases – the latest being 2023’s Murmurs & Whispers via Drag City – have been overshadowed or stained by the pastiche of others.
To these ears at least, the only thing that remotely resembles the P.G. Six aesthetic is James Blackshaw via his left-hand turn on the excellent 2015 release, Summoning Suns (Important Records) – his only album to feature vocals. (Incidentally, Blackshaw’s new album, Unraveling In Your Hands, was recently released via Amish Records).
There’s always the argument of being too close to the culture, and while some of the current new releases in British folk feel contrived and, at times, a little too steeped in middle-class privilege, only time will tell whether this movement is fleeting or indelible marks will be left on the cultural fabric. Whatever happens on that front, the release of The Well of Memory is timely, giving P.G. Six the opportunity to – at the very least – be in the conversation he should have led so long ago. Largely overlooked for being ahead of his time, this renaissance simply wouldn’t be what it is without an album like The Well of Memory.
The Well of Memory is out via Amish Records. Purchase from Bandcamp.
