Adrian Legg Sleeve Notes

Sleeve Notes

Inheritance - Adrian Legg

Without the help and support of many people, my endeavours thus far would not have been possible.

Thank you, particularly -

Phil Hilborne, who produced this album, for skilful work, and devotion above and beyond the call of duty. Neither Inheritance nor Guitar Bones would have been possible without him. Contact him via www.philhilborne.com

Raj Naik for beautiful photography and artwork. See www.rajnaik.com for more.

Bill Puplett for building and maintenance work; he made and maintains what has been my main road guitar for the last few years, and took care of the Graphtech installations.

Lea Rawlings at Graphtech for parts, expertise, and patience when I ask the really stupid questions.

Steve Blucher and Eric Corpus at Dimarzio, Staten Island, for the Waffair Theene magnetic pickups that function sublimely in spite of the extreme physical restrictions I placed on them. It is no mean feat of pickup making to fit them in that space _and_ turn heads in the Mandolin Bros workshop the first time I plugged one in.

Brook Guitars in Devon. I used a Brook Creedy for My Blackbird Sings All Night and A Waltz For Leah. Ask Phil about the miking; I remember a grey one and a black one.

Dean Markley for strings; I use Alchemy and SLP. Dean and his colleagues are old friends, we talk nerdy together a lot.

Tony Gravel at Tascam UK. All my preparatory and experimental recording work for three years has been done on a Tascam 788. As of now it will be done on a 2488.
Emneth was also produced on a 788 and mastered into my laptop, as was Jam Today on Guitar Bones.

Sibelius for being terribly brainy. I do all my scoring in Sibelius, and have found it quite liberating.

Nefertiti - What A Sweetie!

Reputedly one of the most beautiful women in Egyptian history, Nefertiti was also one of the most powerful. English television ran a Discovery Channel programme showing English Egyptologist Joann Fletcher's investigations into Nefertiti's life. Ms Fletcher looked uncannily like my sister, so I was hooked just as this tune was evolving.

My Blackbird Sings All Night

We're lucky in London to have a lot of wildlife moving in, perhaps because intensive farming has poisoned so much of the English countryside. Whatever, the blackbird population is one of the joys of living here, and they do indeed sing all night – possibly because it never actually gets completely dark. They nest and raise young regularly in a hedge below our home, as do great tits and a few robins. The English blackbird is a part of the thrush family - all beautiful singers - and their singing is how they establish and maintain their territories. Our local family seems to produce some powerful singers who are adept at using architectural features to project their song further and thus maintain a good sized estate for themselves.

A Waltz For Leah

One of my beautiful grand-daughters. She seemed to need a waltz, so I made her one.

More Fun In The Swamp

I live by natural cycles. When the moon is full, the Thames' high tide can cover the roads beside it, and my bike gets clean as I cycle through it. When the tide is low, I cycle along the riverbank, and my bike gets filthy until the next high tide. I love the Thames dearly - it is probably the part of home I miss the most when I'm out on the road. It reeks of London's evolution and history, and when I die, my ashes are to be thrown off Hammersmith Bridge on the penultimate hour of a rising tide so I can have a last ride up to Kew.

Nail Talk

I'm not at all sure where this came from, but suspect a trawl through Hymns Ancient And Modern would turn up a few suspiciously similar bits and pieces.

Doublejigs

The hymn tune is an adaptation of St. Ann, written by Williiam Croft in 1706 when he moved from being organist at St. Ann's, Soho, to an appointment at the Chapel Royal. It has been a favourite in my family for generations, and some of them will spin in their graves at my disrespectful alteration. The double-jigs are also variations on old favourites. I put the English and Irish roots all together because that's how we've lived in London for a long time.

English Blue

I have joked that the English don't get the blues, we just get depressed. A minor key expresses sadness much more traditionally for us than the African rooted pentatonic.

Decree

When the rich and powerful want more, we hoi polloi suffer and get on with getting it for them. The only thing that has changed over the centuries is the presentation of their requirement for us to die or suffer for them and their greater glory. It used to involve more ceremony, and then at least a few musicians got a gig out of it.

The Good Soldier

My maternal grandfather was blinded at Neuve Chapel during the 1914-1918
European war. His pals were killed. He never talked about his experiences, but got on with life honestly and successfully enough. He stood straight, walked - or rather, strode - fearlessly, with nothing more than a white stick and a very good memory, was utterly honest in his affairs, impeccably courteous with and considerate of his neighbours, and affectionate with his friends. We, his grandchildren, thought being blind was perfectly normal, and a squeeze of his arm before a kerb allowed conversation during an outing to flow uninterrupted. We used to go swimming with him in the sea near Brighton, and our job was to let him know when he was heading out to sea. He was probably a strong enough swimmer to have made it back to France.

Psalm With No Words

My father died in 2002. He was a trained musician, a choirmaster and organist, and eventually an Anglican priest. This piece derives from the kinds of musical textures and structures I lived with as a child. I owe a lot of my musical abilities to his good church choir, and to school and local young people's orchestras.

Emneth

My maternal great-grandfather, John Thomas Handley, was choirmaster at the church in Emneth, Norfolk. He farmed there too, but had to sell the farm and move to a rented farm near Thetford. Prior to the move, he had financed the flight abroad of one of his brothers who had been caught stealing a wagon-load of turkeys, and then had financed the emigration of another brother and his family whose fruit crop had failed disastrously. Finally, JT was hit by the failure of his own crop, and had to sell up and move on. One of his younger daughters is still alive and well, and playing the organ for a church near Milton Keynes.