Wizz Jones

Who is Wizz Jones? Who? Precisely. A player of such gravity that an entire generation of Brit players coming up consider him their main impetus for the guitar, yet few know his name. Count legends in their own right like John Martyn, Richard Thompson, John Renbourn, Roy Harper, and Bert Jansch among your devout progeny should offer some hint at the stature of Wizz. Right, but who is he? And why are almost all of his records impossible to find, even the reissues from the late 90s (thanks be to whoever sold a CD copy of the now out of print Right Now, Wizz’s perfect solo album from 1972 to Waterloo Records in Austin, Texas late last year)? In the brief notes accompanying that disc, Pentangle guitarist John Renbourn notes that “Wizz’s style is elusive…and traces of the many and varied musicians that he has listened to can be heard…but the music always ends up very much his own.” Wizz does draw heavily on American songcraft, from Son House and Mississippi John Hurt to Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly, and Pete Seeger. And yet the results are singular, interpreted in such a way as to sound wholly like the isle. Or rather, an isle, perhaps one never quite glimpsed, as with such a heavy dosage of Eastern modality coursing through Wizz’s fingers, the results don’t quite sound like Emerald Isle/Ewan MacColl trad. academic folk exercise either. “Where is Wizz Jones?” then, able to weave the Celtic and American South together so effortlessly. How else to have a traditional ballad arranged by Seeger’s wife, Peggy, “American Land” returned to us in such a package, the postage unfamiliar? With Renbourn’s serpentine turn on sitar giving the song an hypnotic undertow, the effect is as subliminal as the fields of wheat flickering past a window on across-country trip. (On a side note, an all too rare appearance by Wizz in the US was scheduled and Wizz was mid-air across the Atlantic on September 11, 2001. His plane was turned back around and he hasn’t crossed over since.) Wizz then finds himself hanging out in “City of Angels,” a slinky, understated acoustic groove that chugs along, slowly gaining velocity. Wizz’s guitar playing is sneaky, never flashing the mettle beneath (even playing down his fine singing voice), the leads taken by Pete Berryman and John Renbourn instead. Wizz is interjecting and changing up rhythmic patterns and keys as they move though, that American dirt shifting underfoot with almost every step. Such small nuances of change is most critical; hear how he embodies the theme of Pete Seeger’s “One Grain of Sand,” and let his plainly sung refrain of “One little you, one little me” stay with you awhile. A folk masterpiece that easily has the best infusion of the sitar in a Western pop setting as I’ve ever heard, Renbourn’s felicity and sympathy on the instrument weaves buzzing lines around the song’s grain like a thousand silken strands. It makes both the Beatles’ and Stones’ turns on that Indian instrument sound like oafish Neanderthal clods. Not that Wizz would be one to revel in such craftsmanship. Understated as always, it’s of note to point out that the only thing not reflected on Right Now’s incredibly peculiar cover (which is (of course) trickier than meets the eye, all metallic rippling surfaces and strange distortions) are the man’s magical fingers. Elusive once again.

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