Van Dyke Parks, The Borderline, London

‘Smarmy and idiosyncratic adjectives’ are the words Van Dyke Parks chooses to describe the tools of misguided music journalists as he brings his unique Americana to a venue that seems far from its conception – London’s Borderline. It would be difficult to critically appraise any performer after such a belittling indictment, let alone when that artist is one of America’s most distinguished songwriters. Not only this, but also apparently one of the country’s best wits too. Parks rattles through anecdotes from his life on the fringes of ‘rock’ culture, mused on the greatest living songwriters (Loudon Wainwright, his vote, was in attendance) and grumbled about the ubiquity of YouTube culture, all with the same grace and poetry found in his music.

But though the show would have been a genuine pleasure were it only to have consisted of the man’s stories, when Parks struck up the band, the music more than exceeds the standards set by his southern hospitality. Perhaps best known as a collaborator, notably as lyricist on The Beach Boys’ ‘Smile’ and more recently as arranger on Joanna Newsom’s ‘Ys’, his esteem as a musicians’ musician is best understood through his own material. His orchestrations, seemingly meandering yet evidently meticulous, evoke perfectly the vignettes of Americana portrayed by his lyrics. Taking in elements of calypso, ragtime, classical, jazz and music theatre, Parks presents a widescreen image of pre-rock America.

After giving us a history lesson on the tenure of Franklin Roosevelt through the medium of calypso, Parks explains that the president could only be understood through the context of his time. A statement almost entirely lacking in contention, sure enough, but one wonders if he’s trying to give another hint to all of the ‘misguided music critics’ in the audience. Van Dyke Parks’ position as indelible contributor to the rock canon is arguably to do with his distance from it – he was a pre-rock connoisseur at rock’s peak. Tonight, he displays intricate orchestrations, flawless songwriting, and that forgotten American trait: subtlety. Taking in versions of pieces by 19th Century American composer Louis Gottschalk, through to covers of his peers Lowell George and Harry Nilsson, rock’s bombast is nowhere in sight. His own songs allow him to shine brightest, though, notably ‘The All Golden’, originally from his unparalleled debut, ‘Song Cycle’. ‘That’s all folks, them hayseeds go back to the country,’ he concludes, leaving attendants wanting to join him in his mythical escapist America.