MUSIC REVIEW : S.D. Performance Proves John Fahey Is Still the Daddy of Acoustic Guitarists

Twenty years ago, critics were calling John Fahey the “daddy” of contemporary finger-style acoustic guitarists. At the time, his adroit, self-taught fret-work--fashioned after country picker Sam McGee and blues man Charley Patton--was repopularizing the long-neglected style. But critics were also thinking of Fahey’s entrepreneurial chutzpah.

In the late ‘50s, Fahey borrowed $300 to start his own mail-order record company, Takoma Records. Years later, a young Leo Kottke recorded his first album on the label, which Fahey also used as the base for rejuvenating the careers of forgotten blues pioneers Skip (“I’m So Glad”) James and Bukka White.

In the late ‘60s, the catalytic guitarist introduced blues enthusiasts Al Wilson and Bob Hite to one another shortly before they decided to form the band Canned Heat. On a goofier note, Fahey was the first artist to record a live album in Tasmania (1981).

If he remains one of the most influential acoustic guitarists of his generation, Fahey still is paying the price of his notorious reclusion and infrequent touring. The native of Washington, D.C., who paid a rare visit to the Belly Up Tavern on Wednesday night, recently had the following exchange when he telephoned another venue on his California itinerary.

“This is John Fahey. I just got into town. What time would you like me to be there?”

“I’m sorry, what was that name again?” asked a hireling in the club’s office.

“Fahey. John Fahey.”

“And are you coming here for a meeting or something, Mr. Fahey?”

The instrumentalist’s reception at the Belly Up was markedly better, if modest in scope. A small crowd seated in a cabaret configuration listened attentively and applauded heartily as Fahey dispensed homespun magic on a battered old Martin guitar over the course of a 90-minute set. Local folk hero Sam Hinton opened the evening with a typically charming and educational selection of old tunes played on guitar, harmonica, and jew’s-harp.

At 52, Fahey has grown into the “daddy” sobriquet. Nearly bald, with a full beard and mustache, and wearing a horizontally striped, black and white T-shirt, he suggested a dissolute Mr. Smee.

Once seated, Fahey established the evening’s eccentric flight plan. He would play a tune, take a long drink directly from a pitcher of iced cola (audibly moaning with delight as he gulped), consult a note pad containing his song list, then introduce the next tune in the low monotone of one who believes he has only himself for an audience.

Peculiar tics aside, Fahey’s playing was a marvel of taut, economical virtuosity. His first extended piece was a suite of rearranged traditional tunes (including “My Prayer” and “O Holy Night”) that he framed with his own, country-ish “Twilight on Prince George’s Avenue.” Even while switching stylistic gears, Fahey maintained his patented thumb-and-fingers attack--one in which he mixes snapping plucks with slurs and bends to achieve a chugging, percussive momentum.

In this manner, Fahey executed unusual renditions of Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo” and Kenny Ball’s “Midnight in Moscow.” But the core of Fahey’s set was a long segment of novel reworkings of ‘50s rock ‘n’ roll classics that he introduced in his inimitable way.

“Last time I was here I hadn’t yet become a rock ‘n’ roll player, but now I have,” he said to a few snickers. “When I was younger, I wrote these 25-minute, I dunno, Wagnerian suites, I guess you’d call ‘em. I don’t know what I was thinking. Now, I prefer a good, three-minute rock ‘n’ roll song.”

He followed with instrumental readings of such Eisenhower-era classics as “Blueberry Hill,” “Sea of Love,” saxophonist Ace Cannon’s “Tuff,” “Come Softly to Me,” “The Great Pretender,” “In the Still of the Night,” and a somewhat halting version of “Come Go with Me,” all sandwiched around a Skip James blues. Tellingly, Fahey’s interpretations drew out the rustic roots of these seminal rockers.

A highlight of Fahey’s program was his “Banjo Street,” a composite of three tunes of contrasting temperament and structure inspired by musicians in the guitarist’s hometown.

“There are these three great banjo players on Prince George’s Avenue,” he explained in a droll delivery that elicited scattered chuckles, “and when you talk to one of them he’ll deny knowing about the other two. It’s a highly competitive field, I guess.”

Fahey played most of the concert’s selections in an “open” tuning, and retuned to the standard mode only for the last couple of pieces, which included a new bossa nova composition. “That tune will probably be on my next album on Rounder,” he offered at its conclusion. “The album’s called ‘Old Girlfriends and Other Horrible Memories.’ ”

Although Fahey maintained a relative sameness of tone and tempo throughout his performance, his loving, deliberate treatment of this rural classicism held one’s attention and precluded boredom; only a couple of people left before the guitarist closed his show shortly before midnight. Of course, he couldn’t end in any customary fashion.

“Well, my time is up,” he said, “so let’s pretend I just stood up, walked off the stage, and. . . .” Taking the cue, the audience began giving him his ovation even before he finished the sentence.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” the still-seated Fahey responded, as though just having returned for an encore.