Rhode Island-based folksinger Allysen Callery began her musical journey as a child, first on violin and then, after her father passed at a young age, his classical nylon-string guitar, which she taught herself to play.
Life is life, however, and at a certain point she set aside music. As she explained to the Greenfield (Mass.) Recorder in 2012, she didn’t return to it until her late 20s. “After my only child was born, I began to write poetry. From poetry readings, I was given a feature performance and I dug my old guitar out from under the bed to put a few poems to music. That is when the writing really took off for me. The response was so good I kept going.”
In time, she signed with a European label, toured the continent, and found herself classified under “freak folk” and “ghost folk” due to her ethereal vocals and the haunting themes of her songs. As she told the Recorder in that same article, “I am not a political writer—I am more inspired by folklore and mythology. I love nature, but it is matters of the heart and mind I feel compelled to write about.”
Her latest release is an old-school single that comes with an A and B side. The acoustic “King Neptune” drifts from the speakers as if gentle waves lapping to shore from the long ago, her stirring vocals reminiscent of Sandy Denny, Pentangle’s Jacqui McShee, and—to my ears, at least—Jefferson Airplane’s Grace Slick. The same gentle vibe permeates the B-side, the too-brief “We Float Down the River.” The press release quotes her as saying, “These songs were written with my husband Ted in mind; we have a lot of fun on the water.” She recorded them with her longtime producer, Myles Baer, at his Black Hole Sound Studios.
Perhaps because of her acknowledged influences, which include Sandy Denny, Fairport Convention, Pentangle and Steeleye Span, the songs conjure the folk music I often played on my college radio show during the mid-1980s and, too, in my dorm room. I can easily imagine these tunes wafting from the grooves of a Fast Folk Musical Magazine sampler, for instance. They’re ethereal delights.
The Old Grey Cat 