Listening to Margaret Barry’s astounding voice is becoming a more compelling experience as time passes. There is, never was nor ever will be anyone like her.
On this album there isn’t a single song where her soul isn’t fully bared. It feels like her heart opens in tandem with her mouth. The rough edges give it a rawness that is captivating. It forces you to pay attention. Barry started her life in music by escaping from home with a bicycle and the banjo on her back. From the outset this was a big step to take for a girl of 16 but she wasn’t lacking in resolve.
Once she got free she never stopped, freewheeling her way through fairs, markets and street corners countrywide. A troubadour on two wheels.
Not only did she bravely strive to make a life for herself by taking a totally new path but she found ways to adapt her talents for performing in the wide open spaces she favoured. Competing with the sounds of fairs full of hungry cattle and thirsty owners, both her furious banjo playing and singing developed an intensity she never lost. She pushed the boundaries of her voice to add decibels and attract more listeners. She learned the hard way to sing for her supper.
But for all that, it’s the beauty and tenderness in her voice and not the volume that pulls you in. This recording from 1965 finds her in stellar form and fine voice. It’s like watching a high wire act sometimes the way her wavering voice and her jagged banjo playing appear to be at breaking point. But of course they never crack and it’s all part of the thrill of listening to her now.
She brings all of her untamed spirit to the table all of the time. That’s what bestows her such soul. After Alan Lomax had discovered her the bicycle was dispensed with but through fame and acclaim she remained true to herself. She was fond of a smoke and a drink but she wasn’t keen on microphones.
With her career at its pinnacle she performed at the Royal Albert Hall singing a cappella to 3,600 people, without any front teeth.
It ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it.
