Recommended Albums #89

Hunter Muskett: Every Time You Move (1970)

I should say English folk trio Hunter Muskett come recommended to fans of Tir Na Nog, Fairfield Parlour, Heron and Duncan Browne–but it’s 2024 and I know it’s unlikely more than a few who read this have heard of any of the aforementioned five-decades-old acts.

So I write for the few who are hip to the wistful, sad and beautiful sounds these artists produced in the heyday of the British folk revival of the late 60’s and early 70’s, and for the few musically adventurous souls who would seek out something rare, precious, old…and yet new to their ears.

Terry Hiscock, Chris George and Doug Morter formed Hunter Muskett in south London and played folk clubs and colleges in that city until being discovered and signed to the Decca Nova record label, resulting in this 1970 debut album.

Since Decca Nova lasted less than a year, it was the band’s only release for the label.

Given the ephemeral nature of folk acts of the time, you’d think the story would likely end soon after.

But amazingly the band endures to this day, with recent album releases and a full slate of folk club tour dates around England through November of 2024 and presumably beyond.

And their music? I hope you’ll listen, because any description attempted here will probably fall short.

It’s quiet, contemplative, and evocative of an England that mostly no longer exists. And really the perfect antidote to our mad, unquiet 21st century existence.

To be topical for a moment, I write this one day after an assassination attempt on an American presidential candidate. Like 9/11 and Kennedy in ’63, a measure of innocence seems lost and today the world feels less safe than it did yesterday.

It’s perfectly sane to feel the need to retreat to a quiet place of the soul in times like these. I think music–particularly of this type–is a healthy antitoxin and countermeasure. It’s safe. It’s affordable. And it’s without side effects.

On a personal note, Hunter Muskett brings my oldest brother Jim to mind, who I lost about 20 years ago. I don’t know if he knew the band, but they were right in the wheelhouse of his musical taste, and I know he and I would have had an enthusiastic conversation about them.

You’ll know literally 30 seconds into the title song if this is for you. The gentle melancholy of acoustic guitar, acoustic bass and poetic lyrics sung in hushed harmony are arresting.

And by the time gently sympathetic strings insinuate themselves you just might be transported to a more pleasant, more obsolescent–more English destination…

_{I have a fire, I have my chair/I have an old man’s dream of other years/My silver watch was made a grandfather ago/My wife still laughs when I tell her I’m too old to make her smile}

^{I have tobacco, I have my pipe/And at the Rambler’s Rest I share a pint/I have a photograph of me when still a boy/I have a medal and a book I once enjoyed some years ago}

_{I have a path where I can walk..}