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**Bert Jansch - Jack Orion**
★★★★☆

In the pantheon of British folk guitar gods, few figures loom as large or as mysteriously as Bert Jansch, and nowhere is his otherworldly talent more hauntingly displayed than on his third solo album, Jack Orion. Released in 1966 on Transatlantic Records, this collection of traditional ballads and original compositions finds the Scottish fingerpicking virtuoso at his most spectral and compelling, weaving ancient tales with a guitar technique so advanced it would make contemporary jazz players weep into their pints.

By the time Jack Orion emerged, Jansch had already established himself as the crown prince of the British folk revival with his self-titled debut and the magnificent It Don't Bother Me. But where those albums showcased his songwriting prowess alongside his instrumental wizardry, Jack Orion sees him diving headfirst into the murky waters of traditional balladry, emerging with pearls of darkness that gleam with an almost supernatural lustre. This was Jansch at his most archaeological, dusting off centuries-old murder ballads and supernatural yarns with the reverence of a scholar and the intensity of a man possessed.

The album's centrepiece is undoubtedly the epic title track, a 22-minute retelling of the traditional "Jack Orion" ballad that unfolds like some fever dream conjured in a Highland mist. Jansch's guitar work here is nothing short of transcendent – his fingers dancing across the fretboard with the precision of a master craftsman and the passion of a true believer. The tale itself, concerning a supernatural harper's revenge, becomes a vehicle for some of the most complex and beautiful guitar arrangements ever committed to vinyl. It's a piece that demands complete attention, rewarding the patient listener with layers of musical and narrative complexity that reveal themselves with each subsequent hearing.

Equally mesmerising is "The Waggoner's Lad," where Jansch's delicate vocal delivery floats over intricate fingerpicked patterns like morning fog over a Scottish loch. His voice, never his strongest instrument but perfectly suited to these ancient tales, carries just the right amount of world-weariness to make these old stories feel immediate and relevant. The guitar work is pure poetry in motion, each note placed with surgical precision yet flowing with organic inevitability.

"Nottamun Town" showcases Jansch's ability to transform traditional material into something entirely his own. What begins as a simple folk song becomes, in his hands, a hypnotic meditation on alienation and belonging. The circular, almost minimalist guitar patterns create a sense of being trapped in an endless loop, perfectly complementing the song's themes of displacement and confusion.

The album's most accessible moment comes with "Henry Martin," a rollicking sea shanty that allows Jansch to display his more playful side without sacrificing any of his technical brilliance. Here, his guitar mimics the roll and pitch of ocean waves while his voice takes on the gruff authority of an old salt spinning yarns in a waterfront tavern.

"Blackwater Side" might be the album's most influential track, later inspiring everyone from Jimmy Page to Sandy Denny. Jansch's arrangement strips the traditional song down to its emotional core, his guitar providing both rhythmic drive and melodic counterpoint to his haunting vocal. It's a masterclass in how to approach traditional material – respectful of the source while making it completely your own.

What makes Jack Orion so enduringly powerful is Jansch's ability to make these ancient stories feel utterly contemporary. His guitar technique, heavily influenced by American blues and ragtime but filtered through a uniquely British sensibility, creates a sound that exists outside of time. These aren't museum pieces but living, breathing entities that speak to universal human experiences of love, loss, betrayal, and redemption.

The album's influence on the development of British folk rock cannot be overstated. Without Jack Orion, there would be no Fairport Convention, no Steeleye Span, no Led Zeppelin IV. Jansch's approach to traditional material – reverent but not slavish, technically brilliant but emotionally honest – became the template for a generation of musicians seeking to bridge the gap between ancient and modern.

Today, Jack Orion stands as perhaps Jansch's finest hour, a testament to the power of tradition filtered through individual genius. It's an album that rewards deep listening, revealing new treasures with each encounter. In an age of instant gratification and three-minute attention spans, it serves