IN THE WEE, SMALL HOURS.

Ralph McTell, so sweet, so foot-tappingly twee; his heartfelt, poncey wee narratives, captives oF his leaden, mechanical, appropriated finger-picking, a horrible, morbid accompaniment to his bedsit-dwelling audience's own, sterile, uninventive, pastiched lives......Robin Williamson,however, a whole other thing, his staccato open tunings, running joyful riot, his spare, sawing cello, his riffs, reels and ragas and his instantly penetrating lines lay bare the bones of living and loving, as they are. In the wide hills and beside many's a long water, you have gathered flowers, but they do not smell for me. If I could have, in a lifetime's scribbling, written only one line, that would be it - you have gathered flowers, but they do not smell for me.