Regarded by many to the be the most original English songwriter to emerge during the first half of the 1970s, the breathtaking gift for composition Alan Hull had been blessed with was evident across the first three albums of folk-rock ensemble Lindisfarne and his brilliant 1973 solo release ‘Pipedream.’
Born in Newcastle-upon-Tyne (20/2/1945), after a short period playing clubs in his home city as an acoustic guitar-strumming folk singer, Hull joined forces with a group of fellow Tynesiders known as Brethren, who with their new member extended the line-up to a five piece outfit. The quintet went forward together under the name Lindisfarne and upon building a sizeable following on the club and university circuit were signed to Charisma records.
In 1970 came their debut set ‘Nicely Out of Tune‘ that for a first effort was almost too go to be true. Made up predominantly of Hull compositions, it revealed him as a songsmith of consummate accomplishment. While ‘Fog on the Tyne‘ (1971) and ‘Dingley Dell‘ (1972) were slightly less assured, all three sold in significant quantities to the extent that for two years Lindisfarne (also noted for being a major concert draw due to the good time nature of their live shows), reigned as one of, if not the most lauded homegrown act doing the rounds.
Due to internal tensions they split in early 1973, Hull and harmonica/mandolin player Ray Jackson retaining the Lindisfarne name and continuing on with four new members, while former bandmates Rod Clements (bass/violin), Simon Cowe (guitar) and Ray Laidlaw (drums) recruited Billy Mitchell (guitar) in forming Jack the Lad.
Before Lindisfarne II committed any material to tape, Hull cut the magnificent ‘Pipedream‘, an album that enhanced his reputation as a first rate songwriter. This instantly memorable collection was worthy of far more success than it achieved, barely cracking the U.K. Top 30 scant reward for such a finely crafted collection.
With the second incarnation of Lindisfarne he featured on two albums, ‘Roll on Ruby‘ (1973) and ‘Happy Daze‘ (1974), but when neither sold well the band lost momentum and went their separate ways – the dissolution bringing another chapter of their chequered history to an end.
Due to the poor sales figures of the two most recent albums, Warner Bros, for whom they had been recorded, were anxious to recoup some of the recording costs and while not supporting a third Lindisfarne II record, granted Hull a solo release – ‘SQUIRE‘ (1975) a vehicle not only for the man who would shape the record, but means of clearing some outstanding liabilities, as Hull once explained to Lindisfarne biographer Dave Hill:
‘The band had broken up with massive debts that were around my neck. I took them all on because the rest of them didn’t have any money. I had a budget to bring ‘Squire’ in on, so I could pay off the debts.’
In being pragmatic toward what the now defunct group owed, Hull also delivered some very fine music. While as an entity it lacks the cohesion of its ‘Pipedream‘ successor, there are still several instances of a supreme songsmith working to a high standard. Overall, ‘Squire‘ is a triumph, Hull returning to themes common in his writing such as social comment, fatherhood, familiar surroundings, drinking alcohol, observations on such matters often presented with a witty or poignant twist.
Handling production duties himself through sessions that took place at Morgan Studios, London as 1974 gave way to 1975, much the same crew who played on ‘Pipedream‘ are in harness, namely original Lindisfarne drummer Laidlaw, bassist Colin Gibson, Kenny Craddock (guitar/keyboards – a member of the MKII line-up) and Jackson who had been alongside him throughout.
Of the eleven tracks Hull pens all but a cover of 1958 Eddie Fontaine hit ‘Nuthin’ Shakin” (But the Leaves on the Trees), on which he is backed by British R&B outfit Snafu, whose lead guitarist Micky Moody later formed Whitesnake with David Coverdale. This rock and roll tear up offers variety to the more thoughtful material around it, but little in the way of substance. The 2001 CD reissue of ‘Squire‘ is supplemented by two unused Hull-penned tracks (‘Crazy Woman‘/’Carousel‘), either of which would have served the album to much better effect.
In between the break-up of Lindisfarne II and release of his second solo record, Hull had played the main character in a BBC television drama aired among a series entitled ‘Second City Firsts‘. The episode in which he featured, entitled ‘Squire‘, was written by playwright and poet Tom Pickard, another native of Newcastle. Pickard, who also asked Hull to write music for the piece, cast him in the lead role for his ‘sulky insolence‘ – which is apparent in the first up title-track of the album.
In his depiction of Alfy, a long-haired, out of work, urban philosopher living on Tyneside, Hull makes a creditable acting debut, the essence of the central figure captured in a superb song built on a mix of rhythmic acoustic guitars and the coursing electric guitar of Craddock:
‘Call me the Squire, and take off your hat/Don’t call me no liar, ’til you’ve called yourself that/You know I’ve hopped along the road, from the dole queue to the top/It’s a fool who says he knows, what is real and what is not.’
Alfy has no craving for the wealth or status of a squire, he simply wants recognition of his existence – a man with no wish to cause offence, but not wanting to be bound by conformity:
‘Like a seagull on the wing, heading for the sun/I swear I mean no harm, to you or anyone.’
For Hull taking a stance against privilege while offering unequivocal support to the less fortunate was nothing new, yet even by his own high standards this is still a track of great resonance.
Sulky insolence might also be deemed a personality trait of John Lennon, the former-Beatle referenced in charming side-one closer ‘Golden Oldies‘ – a song Hull said at the time was written in response to what he described as the ‘pap‘ being purveyed by acts currently appearing on U.K. music programmes such as ‘Top of the Pops.’
Over the ringing mandolin of Jackson and subtle electric guitar lines of guest guitarist Albert Lee, the piece has an instantly familiar Lindisfarne feel – Hull duly lamenting not just dissipation in the magic rock records once possessed, but how his heroes have apparently lost their way.
‘Do you remember back in 64/When Johnny Lennon opened every door/And Bobby Dylan sung a song for you/There was nothing better to do/And it was easy to say I love you/The melody was clean and true/And in the morning it did not desert you/You could still recall a note or two.’
In the chorus he asks ‘Tell me where are my golden oldies‘ and wonders ‘what went wrong‘, the line referring either to his disenchantment with chart records in 1975 or disillusionment toward Lennon and Dylan, both of whom had made below par albums in recent times – although the latter was heard in outstanding form on the monumental ‘Blood on the Tracks‘ earlier in the year.
Hull emphasizes his point concerning the paucity of present day pop by offering as a sleeve note to ‘Golden Oldies‘:
‘Inspired by a TV ‘pop’ show displaying grotesque parodies of the real thing.’
Real life inspiration was also to the fore in ‘Dan The Plan‘ – the misdemeanors of disgraced Tyneside politician T. Dan Smith relayed over a folk-blues melody, punctuated by Jackson on harmonica.
Smith, whose vision for Newcastle was one of modern architecture and contemporary amenities, became mired in corruption for which in 1974, he received a six year prison sentence. In 1995 Smith is portrayed as Austin Donahue (in a superb turn from Alun Armstrong) in the superb BBC drama series ‘Our Friends in the North‘ – but twenty years before Hull was passing comment on Smith and his errant ways:
‘What went wrong with your city, the Brasilia of the North/Isn’t it a pity, that no one knew it’s worth/But the Civic Centre shines like money in your hand/Let’s raise another glass to Dan the Plan.’
In skewering Smith for his wrongdoings, Hull throws in a tongue-in-cheek reference to himself (‘You know it used to be mine/Even the Fog on the Tyne’), but throughout sings with a Lennonesque-sneer and while never a fan of authority, acknowledges a court of law has served justice on the miscreant:
‘But the law for once was on our side and behind the bars you’ll stew/No one knows that better than you.’
From caustic social commentator Hull switches his mindset to that of doting father on ‘Picture a Little Girl’. An eloquent evocation of watching a child sleep – one of his three young daughters the stimulus – while wondering the thoughts behind her closed eyes, the gentle recorder refrain, played by Hull, adds to the wistful ambience:
‘Golden hair, falling upon your face/Silent eyes, see nothing out of place/Have you secrets, no-one else could know/All your secrets, never let them go.’
The longer he stays beside the sleeping one the more enraptured Hull becomes, ‘Are you dreaming, I only wish I knew/All your dreaming, I wish it to come true‘, the writer not for the first time finding something magical in the innocence of children.
Equally serene is the gorgeous piano ballad ‘One More Bottle of Wine‘, easily the best song ever written about the pleasure to be found in becoming steadily drunk. But this is no negligible, novelty number, more a beautifully constructed lyrical masterpiece that draws on friendship, frustration, reverie and regret as the emotions (and drinks) pour forth:
‘One more bottle of wine/Charge it up and make it out to peace of mind/One more drink to kiss my head/Ease my aching bones and put them into bed/We don’t see eye to eye always/We can, but only try in small ways.’
Decorated with a breezy string arrangement by Jean Roussel, (known most notably for his keyboard work with Cat Stevens) and sympathetic electric guitar solo from Craddock, all around there is conflict and consternation, so why not reach for a corkscrew, share out the contents and be merry – troubles can be acknowledged without being allowed to impinge on the moment:
‘One more bottle of wine/Opened up to the name of love in the nick of time/Drunk to the future of mankind/For in truth we are the blind leading the blind/Let’s have another drink for God’s sake/Though we’re on the brink of a bad break/Let’s have another drink for God’s sake.’
An altogether sublime example of his songcraft, few writers, if any, who sat at a piano to compose in 1975, were capable of coming up with something quite so compelling.
Sequenced to open side two, ‘I’m Sorry Squire‘, is a delicately played instrumental (most of it, piano, synthesiser, electric guitar, performed by Craddock) that had been used as incidental music in the play by Pickard. It is a vivid, sometimes haunting piece, although at almost four minutes starts to outstay its welcome. Like ‘STD 0632‘ from ‘Pipedream‘ it conjures feelings of melancholy and while clearly demonstrating his flair for melody, both would have been well served by the tender set of lyrics they are crying out for.
Left over from the ‘Pipedream‘ sessions of spring 1973, ‘Waiting‘ is also a touch overwrought, Hull, once again at the piano, is worried about the state of a relationship – although his concerns are not always apparent in the relaxed nature of the melody.
From the opening lines, ‘I was only waiting, took me time I was waiting/While the day went slowly round the bend/Could it be another sad song, coming to an end?‘ Hull knows the circumstances in which he is embroiled are going to provide basis for a composition:
‘Waiting, took me time I was waiting/Could it be, a love story going wrong/Making up another sad song, for her ears.’
While the track is not entirely without merit, managing to be charming and despondent in equal measure, the decision to omit it from ‘Pipedream‘ comes over as a wise one, increasing the sense of ‘Squire‘ being two-thirds inspiration and one third desperation, Hull filling the gaps between gems with whatever was to hand.
Falling in the former category, ‘Bad Side of Town‘ is an affectionate, sometimes bittersweet reflection on the Newcastle neighborhood in which he grew up – or as Hull himself states in the sleeve notes, ‘Benwell to be precise.’
While the locale itself may not have been quaint, later in this agreeable slice of layered pop he reveals it was deemed ‘bad’ by ‘nameless men‘ who ‘knew themselves as faces, never as friends.’ This contrasts sharply with the empathy Hull has with the people who live there and between those living hereabouts.
‘Where I was born was called the bad side of the town/But the people knew the difference between a smile and a frown/And it didn’t cost a penny to shake a hand or two/And if you help to make it through the dark/I would do the same thing to you.’
Once again Roussel makes his presence felt, contributing on organ and with a sweeping string arrangement. Hull would opt for a similar orchestral backdrop and evocation on where he was from in ‘Run for Home‘ a major U.K. hit single for the original Lindisfarne line-up when they reunited in 1978. Horns reminiscent of a brass band are filtered into the background as Hull draws vivid images of mothers giggling and children playing, the nearby Tyne conjured as a lifeforce through them all when he sings, ‘I can hear the river flow, inside of everyone.’
Like ‘Picture a Little Girl‘ in terms of when it was written, ‘Mr. Inbetween‘ had been on a shelf since the early days of Lindisfarne and while recorded by the group at sessions for their debut album, failed to make the final listing.
It is, however, revisited to fine effect, the jaunty folk-rock progressions immediately summoning up Hull and co in all their early-70s finery. So does the amusing the word play of the lyric, the man at the centre of things, walking a thin line between sanity and madness:
‘And I’m just Mr. Inbetween/I’d like you to know just what I mean/My bones are made of solid steel/And my heel is on my hat, and I don’t know where I’m at.’
By the last verse the protagonist is well on his way to becoming an outsider, the labels attached to him by those power while not refuted, should not be cause for alarm:
‘The magistrate thought I was a communist/The policeman he said I was a bum/Between them they arrested me for drunkenness/But I swear I mean no harm to anyone.’
The record comes to a close with the appropriately titled ‘The End‘ which amounts to barely 40 seconds of Hull at the piano saying effectively that – ‘Now it’s the end, ’til we meet again/I’ve sung my songs, I’ve tried to get along/I hope you enjoyed the show.’
But while the short lyric is delivered over deliberate and affecting chords, the song ends with some loose, throwaway notes as if he cannot decide whether to be serious or frivolous in wrapping things up.
The sentiments sound earnest enough, Hull perhaps deciding to undercut his own sincerity by throwing in a quirk on which to finish an album which for the most part has serious intent.
In regard to chart-placing ‘Squire‘ fared even worse than ‘Pipedream‘, in fact was nowhere to be seen. Reviews were favourable if not ecstatic, Steve Clarke, in the New Musical Express of the opinion: ‘While ‘Squire’ doesn’t enhance Hull’s reputation as one of the country’s best straight working class hero song-writers, it certainly does nothing to decrease it.‘
Despite the rock press being unanimous in their praise of the title-track and ‘One More Bottle of Wine‘, Warner Bros, passed on the option of another Hull solo album, the object of the exercise in backing ‘Squire‘ apparently achieved, as the artist later explained to Dave Hill:
‘I needed to get money to pay the Lindisfarne Mk II debts off, cause I had bank managers on to me and tax and VAT men. So I took the money out of the advance I got to make my album. That’s why it was rushed and cheap. ‘Squire’ should have been done properly.’
The following year the original Lindisfarne members reunited for a series of Christmas shows at Newcastle City Hall. These were the first steps toward a full-blown reunion that in 1978 yielded the album ‘Back and Forth’ from which the anthemic ‘Run for Home‘ was lifted, the band enjoying their most noteworthy chart success on the U.K. album and singles listings since the halcyon days of 1972.
As Lindisfarne advanced into the 80s and 90s ‘Squire‘ may have long gone, but was clearly not forgotten, the title-track and ‘Mr. Inbetween‘ making intermittent appearances on the set list. ‘One More Bottle of Wine‘ was revived in the emotional circumstances of their final concert that was played at Newcastle Opera House on November 1 2003, although by now, sadly, Hull was no longer around having died of a heart attack at the age of 50 in November 1995.
He was mourned by his family, bandmates, fans and critics alike, in fact everybody partial to songwriting where the downtrodden, disenfranchised and those hopeful of a fairer, more caring society were given a voice – the best of ‘Squire‘ testament to the importance Alan Hull placed upon such things.
ALAN HULL – SQUIRE (Released June 3 1975):
Squire/Dan The Plan/Picture a Little Girl/Nuthin’ Shakin’/One More Bottle of Wine/Golden Oldies/I’m Sorry Squire/Waiting/Bad Side of Town/Mr. Inbetween/The End;
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