With what Rosemary Lane had accomplished for Bert Jansch just three years before L.A. Turnaround, it may be surprising to listeners just how far he pushes his sound. Jansch could’ve been a comfortable folk artist who continued to churn out similar-sounding but effectively sweet material for the rest of his career. He didn’t seem convinced by that and instead pushed his sound to an Americanised version of folk fundamentals, and that countrified style, the baroque tone which he finds on L.A. Turnaround, is masterful. It’s the missing piece to an already outstanding artist. Calm and mellow tones are a Jansch speciality, and he finds that groove time and again on L.A. Turnaround. It sounds so haunting now, decades on from its release, in that comforting isolation that comes with solo artists. That one musician and their guitar type of production is nothing new, but it’s what an artist like Jansch or Neil Young can do with it, that’s what matters most.
Make no mistake, Jansch is one of the greats. L.A. Turnaround proves that. He provides a massive spotlight on the country folk of his earlier years with the production value that gave country and acoustic sounds an edge even in the 1970s when most artists were veering towards pop and electric. Jansch stands firm with early songs like Fresh as a Sweet Sunday Morning and Chambertin magnificent. Poetic wordplay and contemplative acoustics, that’s all you could ask for to soothe the doubts and steady the course on a particularly cold night. But Jansch is a musician for all seasons, the stripped-back sentimentality, his beautifully rich voice, it lends itself to every occasion. Jansch adapts well to being somewhat outside of his comfort zone. There are instrumental additions, little slivers of gold on the likes of Travelling Man that push his work that little bit further.
A few daring moments appear across L.A. Turnaround and they still define the album. Country-heavy, toe-tapping thrills on the Open Up the Watergate (Let the Sunshine In) feel like slight knocks at Richard Nixon and the Watergate scandal, but they’re subtle enough to be softer blows. L.A. Turnaround would collapse with anything heavier. It’s not that Jansch cannot make that sort of comment, it just wouldn’t make sense in the context of the album. Tonal changes are the frequent joy of L.A. Turnaround, with the up-tempo Stone Monkey an excellent contrast to the slowed B-side starter, Of Love and Lullaby. It’s those moments where you can just about hear the extra instrumental work Jansch has offered, so subtle they’re nearly silent, but they’re there. They can be heard on Needle of Death and add such a brilliant atmosphere to what is a song that stands as a delightful contrast to its title.
Such is the case for many Jansch tracks on L.A. Turnaround. He dares to risk the tone of his style, the writing which had been so effective on previous records and with Pentangle. Doing so is not just refreshing for the listener, but for Jansch, too, who comes through with a career-best record. Rich instrumentals are crucial here and they’re constant, too. Not a bad song to be found and that comes through sincerity and risk. Both are in abundance as Jansch looks to round out the many changes in his professional life with an album that could completely upend the context of his work. Cluck Old Hen gives Jansch a chance to play with a lighter tone towards the end of the album, but he finishes with Blacksmith and brings a roaring conclusion to one of the best folk albums around.
