John Martyn - 'Ain't No Saint' (Universal) Released 01/09/08

Here’s a theory. Somewhere around 1981, John Martyn was replaced by an infinitely less interesting specimen, the genuine jazzfolkbluesdubrocksoul-giant having been spirited away to entertain the finely tuned ears of green blobs populating some distant galaxy. Or at least it’s difficult to otherwise explain the swift downturn in quality the contents of this excellent 4-CD set, released to mark Martyn’s 40th anniversary as a recording artist, takes when the chronological running order hits the 1980’s, even if the dip offers some clues as to why Martyn’s been relegated to the margins whereas his folk-jazz songwriter contemporaries ala Nick Drake have become household names.

OK, it’s a bit of a crackpot scheme, but even so it’s far less far-out than the earth-trembling sounds Martyn was putting down in his pomp, between the mellow hippie vibes of 1970’s ‘Bless The Weather’ and 1980’s raw break-up anguish of ‘Grace and Danger’. The generous supply of 70’s live cuts is particularly superlative-exhausting, with the focused, noodling-dodging, near-telepathic improv on display on the likes of the stunning ‘Outside In’ – recorded as an acoustic trio but, thanks to Martyn’s mastery of delay pedals, packing enough hypnosis-inducing moves to match the combined efforts of an orchestra - belying the epic debauchery that reportedly accompanies Martyn’s every move. And for every extended jam, there’s plentiful supply of Martyn’s celebrated tender but never soppy songcraft, with the likes of ‘Head and Heart’, ‘Couldn’t Love You More’ and the languid ‘Go Down Easy’ packing enough undiluted beauty to melt the stoniest of hearts. The unreleased tracks from this era are ace, too, especially a smoky and mysterious alternative take on ‘Solid Air’, Martyn’s celebrated proto-chillout masterpiece.

All of which make the eventual appearance of the horribly aged 80’s stuff even more dispiriting. For a while, Martyn sounds like an extra in his own music, his trademark biting guitar and slurred vocals giving up the spotlight for soupy supper club sax and drum sounds resembling a whip lashing against sheet metal, even though the mid-80’s live coupling of ‘John Wayne’ – oozing with menace – and ‘Angeline’ – tear-soaked regret – not only proves he never completely lost the plot, but also summarizes the equilibrium of aggression and sensitivity that fuels Martyn’s best music. But the insistence on featuring something from Martyn’s every album, even if it means swapping the chill-inducing original ‘One World’ with its rotten, Micheal Bolton-esquely over-emoting 1992 remake, is the only fault of this expertly compiled set, perfectly balanced to please both completists (most of the stuff is rare or unreleased) and newcomers (all the “hits” are here). There’s a happy ending as well, for the stuff from 1996’s ‘And’ album onwards is, if not a total return to form, then at least a promising resurgence of inspiration for an artist renowned for refusing to pander to expectations.

With a lifetime achievement Folk Music Award under his belt and a new album on its way, maybe time is finally ripe for Martyn to reap the rewards his still fresh and totally unclassifiable music deserves. ‘Ain’t No Saint’ makes a very convincing case for the man’s inimitable talents.