Is it time for the next Fred Neil revival? From the recent appearance of Everybody's Talkin' on television adverts and all the talk about his protegee Karen Dalton and the reissue of her back catalogue, people should be reminded of the pure genius of Neil. Fred's third recorded effort on Capitol was and remains one of my favourite albums. Re-releasing it on Creation back in the day was a personal highlight, and rather unexpectedly we got mail and phone calls from others artists wishing to get in touch with the magnificent Neil for advice. Neil wrote to everyone who wrote to him. Far from being a difficult character as he is often portrayed, we even got Christmas cards from him every year until he passed away.
His recording career is one of bizarre peaks and reclusive troughs. Having come to New York City, he fell immediately into the Zeitgeist, helping Bob Dylan, John Sebastian and David Crosby's introductions into the folk scene in New York City. He also wrote pop songs at the Brill Building, having success early on with a hit for Roy Orbison. The song provided enough money for Neil to do exactly what he wanted to do with his own career and what he did was fascinating.
He recorded an album for Elektra in the mid-60s with partner Vince Martin. While the album was not up to the later standards of Neil's work, his follow-up Bleecker and McDougal (named after the folk rock crossroads in New York City) delivered on the promise that Neil always threatened - the promise of a big talent. When the folk scene in New York began to die, Neil went and established his own scene in Florida, Coconut Grove, where other people such as Joni Mitchell, Tim Hardin and Gram Parsons flocked to jam with Neil or just take in the man's sounds.
It was when he recorded Everybody's Talkin' and the resultant self-titled album that he fulfilled his early promise. Everybody's Talkin' was covered by Nilsson and went on to become an American standard. Others, such as The Dolphins were just as loved, being covered by everybody from Tim Buckley to Beth Orton. Neil's low-baritone and casual inflective made for stunning interpretations of traditional songs such as Didn't We Shake Sugaree and Cocaine.
After Everybody's Talkin' was a smash, Neil was constantly asked to perform, and invited to both Woodstock and Monterey. He turned all offers down, working only when he wanted to work. Paranoid about the music industry, even his sporadic live shows would teeter on the edge of nervousness. Neil withdrew himself from the pop scene and became a recluse. I remember in early 2000 Mojo magazine printed an eight page article about Fred and his whereabouts to which he responded by letter, discussing not his music but discussing his love of dolphins and the Dolphin Project Charity he was involved in.
The two things that I find most interesting about Fred Neil are, first that he was a pop songwriter whose muse was folk music. Both his originals and his interpretations were melodically beyond reproach. He could turn that pop muse inward and easily veer into experimental territory such as Cyniccrustpetefredjohn Raga - a precursor to Sessions, an album of improvised jams. The other thing is his utter reclusivity - Fred didn't want to be famous, a refreshing attitude in these days of celebrity overkill. Just recently I was watching a rerun of the Sopranos when they used Neil's version of The Dolphins and that song still surprises me. Both the voice and the song transcend time and the catalogue that he had left behind as his legacy still remains fresh, inventive and relevant.
