The English folk maven sounds spry as ever, leading a light-footed exploration of traditional forms that also tips toward classic psychedelia.
Shirley Collins celebrated her 85th birthday on July 5, and even during the COVID-19 pandemic, her neighbors unrolled a polite but lively celebration of their local heroine. Circled by onlookers, an accordionist, and Morris dancers outfitted in bells and traditional garb, Collins sat in a shaded doorway, applauding the scene with enthusiasm. It was a fitting tribute to a woman who has dedicated her life to preserving English folk culture.
This convivial spirit reverberates across Collins’ new record, Heart’s Ease, her second after a break from music that lasted for nearly 40 years. Her absence was marked by the heartbreak of infidelity, but after reclaiming confidence in her voice, she returned in 2016 with Lodestar. On Heart’s Ease, Collins is spry as ever, leading a light-footed exploration of English folk traditions that also tilts toward classic psychedelia.
Heart’s Ease is soft but crisp, like freshly laundered sheets stretched along a line. Collins sounds at ease across the album, a typical hodge-podge of English folk styles: a traditional favorite (“Barbara Allen”), a working song (“Canadee-I-O”), a cheery dance number (“Orange in Bloom”). But Collins’ liner notes shape an autobiographical arc. She sang a version of “Rolling in the Dew” as a schoolgirl, and she learned opener “Merry Golden Tree” from Almeda Riddle while assisting Alan Lomax on his field-recording trip through the American South in 1959 and 1960. She adapted “Whitsun Dance” from a poem by record producer Austin John Marshall, inspired by his empathy for the elderly widows who gathered to dance at the Cecil Sharp House, the English folk music preservation organization where she often performed. In using Heart’s Ease to transmit other semi-forgotten bits of history, Collins covertly tells her own.
Heart’s Ease is beautifully rendered, presenting Collins’ voice in reverent focus amid acoustic guitars, mandolin, and the occasional fiddle. “Sweet Greens and Blues,” an exemplary number about savoring a quiet and happy life, gets a playful lift from a touch of slide guitar in the background. Picking in his typical rolling style, guest guitarist Nathan Salsburg adds another sylvan layer. Collins sings the frosty “Locked in Ice” with such somber clarity as to make the song sound autobiographical. The tune’s backing drifts of whispery cymbals and spacey electric guitar recall the haze of old memories, giving the song a slight psychedelic wriggle.
Britfolk aficionados have enthusiastically embraced Collins’ return to the public field, and the relaxed warmth carried over from Lodestar to Heart’s Ease affirms that she’s glad to be here. Having spent her life preserving the who-when-why of songs from history’s further reaches, she uses Heart’s Ease to apply that scrutinizing lens to herself. The impression she leaves is rich: Collins waits until the end of the album to stretch out with “Crowlink,” inspired by her own seaside ruminations. The piece recalls the woolier corners of 1971’s No Roses, her marvelous psych-rock foray with the Albion Country Band (an outfit that included her former husband). Her voice emerges amid the sounds of seabirds, crashing surf, and hurdy-gurdy and harmonium drone, winking at a sense of adventure undiminished by advanced years.
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