[John] A couple of songs are much changed [in ‘Time’s Poems’] since first hearing or first writing: ‘Madamme Matussi’, on the new album, is much changed from ‘Rue de la...

[Ralph] ...Montagne Ste Geneviève’.

And the other one, which brings me on nicely to my next question, is ‘Small Voice Calling’, which I’m sure you’re not surprised I’m asking about.

No.

I first heard ‘Small Voice Calling’, I’m sure it was in 1971, at the Marquee Folk Festival, in Platt Fields in Manchester. You played that marquee two years running. The first year, you sang a couple of verses - clearly an unfinished song. The chorus line stuck with me:

‘There’s a small voice calling our names outside and he says that he knows us…’.

It was one of those ‘gasp’ moments: (a), because I knew that voice – it was quite clear to me who that voice ought to be; and, secondly, because there was nothing in my knowledge of you, or your background, that suggested it was the same voice I thought it was. So I was intrigued.

And the second year, you had completed the song, and sang a different line in the chorus, in which you said:

‘…but his name ain’t Jesus, that would be be too easy nowadays, don’t you agree?’

And I felt, “No, I don’t agree!”

[Laughs] No, you don’t agree, no!

Now, 37 years later, I can ask you - “Whose voice was it, Ralph?”

Well, of course, it was… This is so complex, John, it’s just such a complex question to ask, and I’ll have to pause to think how to answer this.

I understand, and I don’t want to put you in that position.

No. One of the things I did not want to… All right. If you care about your community, or about humanity, you normally fall into [one of] two groups. You’re either a Communist (or a socialist goody goody liberal sort of); or you’re a Christian. I wanted to be known as the former, you know, if you like, a socialistic humanist person. But I couldn’t deny that I heard that voice when I was younger; which you may choose to believe is one thing, and I may choose to believe is another.

And I almost felt like... Every now and then in a song, when I drift too far into an area that I’m not sure if I’m going to be misinterpreted (my brother always made me very well aware that I would be thought of as a Christian, because my views are Christian Socialist, I suppose, vaguely, if you were to say anything about them) I write a disclaimer in. For example, in ‘England’:

‘Don’t make this out a battle hymn or a song for victory.’

‘Don’t make this out a battle hymn.’

’Cause, you know... I could go on for ever. They wanted to put that song out when the Falklands War was on, with a military band, and all that; I don’t want that.

Or, don’t let’s just say this is a Christian voice because you’re hearing the voice of Jesus, or God, talking to you; even though Samuel heard the voice in the courtyard. It’s my favourite hymn of all time, I think - do you know that lovely hymn?

Hushed Was the Evening Hymn

by James Drummond Burns, 1856

Hushed was the evening hymn,
the temple courts were dark;
the lamp was burning dim
before the sacred ark;
when suddenly a voice divine
rang through the silence of the shrine.

The old man, meek and mild,
the priest of Israel, slept;
his watch the temple child,
the little Samuel, kept;
and what from Eli’s sense was sealed
the Lord to Hannah’s son revealed.

O give me Samuel’s ear,
the open ear, O Lord,
alive and quick to hear
each whisper of thy word,
like him to answer at thy call,
and to obey thee first of all.

O give me Samuel’s heart,
a lowly heart, that waits
where in thy house thou art,
or watches at thy gates;
by day and night, a heart that still
moves at the breathing of thy will.

O give me Samuel’s mind,
a sweet, unmurmuring faith,
obedient and resigned
to thee in life and death,
that I may read with childlike eyes
truths that are hidden from the wise.

‘Hushed was the evening hymn, the temple courts were dark; the lamp was burning dim before the sacred ark; when suddenly a voice divine rang through the silence of the shrine.’

Of course, that’s a Jewish song; that’s not a song about Jesus, it’s a song about God talking to someone, or making them believe. But god has spoken to people in so many ways and caused so much misery, if you have the wrong god or the wrong name, you know. Anyway, I don’t want to get into a debate about that.

But I actually put that in as almost a disclaimer, you know, just to say, “Maybe what you’re hearing is the voice of truth”, ie more than conscience. The voice of truth will come through whatever, if your intention is honest. I think that’s probably what I was trying to say.

I love that tune, I love that song. And when Jo Lustig, who was my manager, heard it, he said, “What do you want to waste a great tune like that? What’s it about? I don’t get it, Ralph, I don’t get it!”

I think it’s the best tune you wrote. I love it.

Well, it really fits under the hand of the guitar. It really does fit, in the key of C. I’ve got another that one I’m working on at the moment, which is the most satisfying tune. If you just look at the notes it’s not very much, but what’s gong on underneath it, you know, the swan’s feet of the music, it’s just absolutely lovely to play on the guitar. A lovely bass line that moves right through it. I find Nanna sings it around the house; it’s really quite a thrill when that happens.

’Cause everything I’ve ever written, John, has been born out of the guitar, or very nearly everything. It’s what the guitar dictates. I keep telling other people to put the guitar in one corner and write a tune without it. But it’s so hard, because I’ve got so used to it.

And so all my songs have got Ralph McTell’s print on them, because it’s the way I play guitar that gives birth to the melody line; and it’s often the bass line, rather than the tune, that creates the song. We’re very symbiotic, if that’s the word.

The other thing about ‘Small Voice Calling’ is: some years ago, when you started to put out the LPs on CD, ‘Not Till Tomorrow’ came out just as it was; and I was thinking inside, “Oh, he’s got to put ‘Small Voice Calling’ on ‘Not Till Tomorrow’, because it’s the B-side of the ‘Cowboy’ single, and has never been released anywhere.

So, to cut a long story short, I contacted Harry Farmer, who was your manager at the time, and made the suggestion. And the answer came back, “Well, we’re thinking about putting perhaps some tracks on the ‘Easy’ CD” - which you did; you put ‘Teacher Teacher’ on the ‘Easy’ CD – “But, ‘Small Voice Calling’, Ralph said, ‘No’, because he’s listened to the version he’s got, and it’s incomplete”.

Yes.

End of story!

Yes.

Now, of course, years later, I finally found a copy on eBay of the single, so I’ve got the words, and, for the first time in my life, heard the verses of course, after all those years ago recognising the chorus. And now, in ‘Time’s Poems’, the lyric is different.

The reason is that, when Tony [Visconti] recorded that song, I sang out of tune on verse one.

I hadn’t noticed!

Well, it’s not there, it’s been cut off.

Ah!

He edited verse one out, and started it on verse two. Doesn’t it start with, ‘Don’t ask me no questions’?

Yes.

Is that the opening verse?

It is.

Well, what’s the actual verse in the book? Is it different?

Oh, no, that’s the verse in the book: ‘Don’t ask me no questions’.

Yes, but it’s not on the song, is it?

And the song starts, ‘In order to judge me...’

That’s right.

Extract from Small Voice Calling

by Ralph McTell

Don't ask me no questions
You must know I can't give directions
When I'm finding the way myself
My bill for expenses
Was only a way of raising defences
Against getting filed on some shelf

There's a small voice calling my name
Outside and he wants to come in
He says he remembers me from way back
How can I avoid him

In order to judge me
I have to agree to put you above me
And that would not make sense
When the course you are taking
Is causing an aching I believe
From sitting too hard on the fence

The recorded version starts at the second verse.

And, of course, that lovely line, ‘The course you are taking is causing an aching, I believe, from...

...sitting too hard on the fence.’

A pain in the butt! There’s some story here you might not want to tell, but somebody’s been having a go at you.

Yeah. It was the critics that weren’t understanding what I was trying to say. I’ve had that battle with… I pity critics now, I pity music writers, because they have a wedge of stuff coming in, and they try to give it all a fair listen; and some of them really aren’t very intellectual at all, you know, they give three stars to something because they’re doing the potatoes when they listen. They’re not actually sitting down and listening to the words.

"The power of the music press is undeniably huge."

That was directed at certain critics in ‘Melody Maker’, which was the only other voice, the anti-voice. Everything was going swimmingly for me, but there were these narkers, and these people that were resentful and writing little niggles, you know, which actually do far more to forge a view of someone than those who come to see you. So, the power of the music press is undeniably huge, because you can do a concert at the Albert Hall, and 6,000 people there can have a fantastic time, go home with a song in their heart, and feel good, and “Wasn’t that great?” But one reviewer can write, “Oh, McTell is taking himself too seriously… immature or mawkish or sentimental songs…”, and 450,000 people who read that review say, “Oh yeah, Ralph played the Albert Hall and it wasn’t very good, was it? It didn’t go down too well.” And it’s always been a battle.

And all these reviews come to you, and you feel...

Well, you do. They used to be hidden from me when they were particularly negative. And I had a big... I was just so depressed. I couldn’t believe it, that someone could say nasty things about someone who was so obviously trying to do the right thing. It just bewildered me. It was all part of my growing up, you know. And a lot of people used to get sniped at, and I used to think sometimes, “Well, they deserve it, but I don’t, because I’m just trying to do things...”

So, the ‘You’ in ‘Small Voice Calling’ might be very similar to the ‘You’ in ‘You Well-Meaning’?

Well, it’s the same song, isn’t it, in a way? Its saying that... ‘You Well-Meaning Brought Me Here’ was... You know, poor old Jo came to me, and he was in tears, and said, “I didn’t know you’d written a song for me, Ralph!” And I said, “Jo, I’ve got to tell you, man, I didn’t write it for you. This is written for the people that have supported me, and left this rather bewildered, troubled young man” - with all the pressures of marriage, children, music, and all the other temptations that come your way, the insecurities that lead you into bad habits, and self-harming through alcohol, or whatever. And I was just trying to say, “Look, please don’t harm me. You brought me here. You did it with the best of intentions, but look what’s happening - look at the kind of falseness that’s around”.

It’s like the first time I met a hard-edged criminal who had long hair. Now long hair was a badge of alternative behaviour, the hippy, kind of hippy-dreamy philosophy that music and the world could be put right by a blend of philosophy and kindness, and sort of loose socialistic values. I met a guy that was a bank robber, and he had shoulder-length hair; because you meet criminals if you’re a minor celebrity. They come and talk to you; they have their picture taken, you know, with you, and all that. And I just, you know, had that sort of rude awakening.

Yeah, ‘You Well-Meaning Brought Me Here’ was the continuing saga of... and I knew that some people were beginning to bitch about me - contemporaries and musicians that felt they should have been further down the same track, or even further on than me... and it hurt.

That’s very interesting, because I used to buy ‘Melody Maker’ religiously for McTell news when I was a student in the early ’70s. Their first review of ‘Not Till Tomorrow’ was a damning piece...

I can’t remember that one.

The next week, Karl Dallas wrote a counter-piece. He started by saying, “If you listen to the chorus of Gypsy, you can see the fire, and see the Gypsies dancing”.

Well, they didn’t get it, did they, man? They just didn’t get it, you know, and I was probably in bits by that time, you know, and running away from ‘Streets of London’, and trying to expand my horizons musically. I played with time signatures on ‘Cowboy’, which was a difficult piece to play. I had to get Laurie Allan, a jazz drummer, to be able to play it. Danny Thompson said it was the best piece he’d heard me play. We loved playing it. Musicians love that sort of thing. And then dealing with issues on that album that came up… ‘Another Rain Has Fallen’… I know they were good songs, and somebody without much time to consider probably... The worst thing I had was probably a review of ‘Right Side Up’ – I couldn’t believe that he didn’t like that album, just couldn’t believe it.

It must be the time of day, and what you had to drink last night, and what you’re thinking about when you’re writing the review, and the deadline, and...

I know, but, God, you know, you spend years of soul searching. Clearly I haven’t made great records - they would have sold in vaster quantities - but the intent, and the lyric, and whatever, you know, I will stand by anything. I will stand by anything.

Absolutely, because it’s honest and it’s straight. And that’s what’s always been great about McTell - you’re straight.

I try to be.

The first album I bought was ‘My Side of Your Window’, and of course there are references to Jesus in some songs on that album.

Yeah, quite a lot, yeah.

‘If Jesus came back to lead us again, we’d make sure he met the very same end’ - and I think, yeah, they would.

They would, yeah. Well, I think that finally I rested Jesus in songs with ‘Jesus Wept’. I think it’s probably one of the best bits of writing I’ve ever done, because I achived the rhyme scheme: ‘wept’, ‘crept’, ‘wrecked’, and all that...

And kept it going for 73 verses in the true broadside ballad fashion!

[Laughs] Yeah! But, you see, the whole dilemma for me was personified by that marvellous man, I think he wrote a play called… Dennis Potter wrote a play called ‘Son of Man’. And it had a profound and liberating effect on me, because it brought it back to the socialist idea that, ‘What if he was a man?’, ‘What if he had that doubt?’, and ‘Didn’t he...?’.

I wrote other verses, you know, like the final cry: “Why have you forsaken me? At this point I’m hanging here dying of asphyxiation slowly” - because that’s how you die on a cross - “Have you left me? Is this going to all go wrong? Is it…?”, you know.

"“Why have you forsaken me?”

And then the kind of muddle of resur... - I say the muddle, I don’t mean to be disparaging – but the stories of the garden, and in three days they’ve forgotten what he looks like, and all those other vagaries, you know, which as Christians we must believe - or one must believe - in the resurrection, because that makes it all possible.

But, right up to that point, you cannot fault the man; you cannot find fault with him, and Pontius Pilate said the same. But, at the very end, he was left doubting himself, and crying out to his father, his believed father; you know, he didn’t know him. And that moment is the darkest moment in Christianity, I think, that one on the cross, just before he gave up the ghost; which was the most terrifying sentence that I’d ever heard as a little boy.

I wept when I first saw Jesus on the cross, and my mother says that, you know, “Why is Jesus on the cross?” was one of my questions to her constantly.

For you to see Jesus on the cross suggests a crucifix - which suggests a High Church background?

Well, the local church, which is where Miss Barker, the artist - you know, she designed the church window - she wanted me to go to High Church. I went in there, I think, with my mum. My mum preferred - she went to church sporadically - she liked the happy-clappy kind of thing, and she was raised vaguely Christian. She enjoyed going to the Congregational church. There was a big one in Croydon - lots of people used to go, man, it was busy. I didn’t go very often to that. I elected for the Mint Walk Mission.

What was Mint Walk – Congregational? Pentecostal? Or Anglican? What was it?

Mint Walk was Evangelical. The ‘Elim Song Book’, the ‘Elim Hymn Book’: great choruses and stuff, we used to sing. I know there’s a picture of Mint Walk Mission, but I can’t find it on the internet, and I’ve gone through old postcards. We wanted it for the third album. It was a tin cathedral, you know, it was absolutely marvellous. I’d love to see a picture of it again.

Miss Paul, who was my actual... who ran the children’s church, is still alive. She’s in her eighties now. They were decent, kind people, lovely people. Simple in some respects, not deeply complicated, but with hearts of gold. You're influenced by good people, aren’t you, if you’ve got an open heart? And they were certainly part of it.

There’s so much in your song writing which does draw on those Sunday School days, those Sunday School stories. There’s allusion, and sometimes direct quotation, in the most unlikely places.

Well, I love those stories. I’m still moved tremendously by ‘Songs of Praise’. I love to see people singing, and that shine that comes off of people that have that conviction, and the communal act, I mean. I actually find watching soldiers marching, funnily enough, or drilling on the parade ground, just as moving.

Isn’t that a strange thing, though? Because I love watching the changing of the guard and the parading of the colours, and yet it’s not a thing I’d want to be involved in.

No, no.

There’s something artistic about it.

It’s a corporate act. It’s like, ‘We are one and we will move as one. We will surrender our individuality for this moment in a bigger thing’. I probably cry once a day, or am moved to tears once a day actually, and sometimes more, and long may it continue, because it just means that I’m not entirely cynical.

Pete Seeger in 2008.

Although I have to admit that cynicism is something that one fights off all one’s life. I’ve got a picture of Pete Seeger – there’s no way that man cannot be cynical about some of the things that have happened in his life. But he remains to challenge, and to convert, and to bring people into his.. he’s 80-something, and still doing it.

Mentioning Pete Seeger reminds me of the incident when Bob [Dylan] first went electric at Newport, and Pete is reputed to have gone for an axe, wanting to cut the cable!

That’s right, yeah. Yes, a bit a betrayal there. Well, you know, even Jesus lost his temper now and then!

Absolutely! As you say in the song...

As you say in the song...!

...‘Is it Godly anger or manly temper?’ What is it…?