Jamie Dickson: 10 Albums That Changed My Life

Feature Photo courtesy of Jamie Dickson

If you’re the guitar-loving sort, particularly acoustic sounds that move one’s soul like the still calm of crisp evening, UK guitarist and Guitarist Magazine Editor-in-Chief Jamie Dickson’s debut record—which, by the way, is a modern folk masterwork—Withershins is for you.

Yes, yes, that’s high praise. But how often does one come up against something that truly moves them in this day and age? To be alive and consuming music in 2024 is to be subject to a damned deluge of catatonia via music. Does that sound extreme? Yes, it does.

But then again—that’s the reality, isn’t it? It’s far too easy to press play on one’s iPhone and soak in the sounds of the zombified zeitgeist. Sure, there’s still good music out there, but there’s no denying that modern pop sounds can be a touch gutless. And really, who needs lyrics anyway?

That’s where Jamie Dickson’s Withershins, with its lush acoustic instrumentation, delicate arrangements, and carefully crafted melodies that leave you breathless, come in. Dig on this: opening track “Mother Sun” sets the tone, “Swallowtail” is akin to a sunrise on a warm Sunday morning in August, and a breath of fresh, cold air on a late December evening, all in the same breath.

On down the line, Dickson’s songs are stories that don’t need words to conjure memories, emotions, and unladen feelings of hyper-emotion. Like many great acoustic records before it, Withershins does what they did—evoke the aforementioned feelings, emotions, and memories via skillful instrumentation.

To that end, Dickson, through years of musical devotion via six strings and a metaphorical—or literal—journalistic pen, is a craftsman carrying the spirit of the records that came before him. Moreover, as long as he’s recording records like Withershins, there’s hope for the acoustic scene yet. As for less-than-subtle homages to the past, there are many—which is grand.

Also grand is Dickinson’s list of the ten albums that changed his life—and certainly influenced Withershins—which he was kind enough to share with us at ClassicRockHistory.com. If any of what you’ve just read sounds up your alley, or you’ve got a heart for supporting truly indie artists, you can find Jamie Dickson’s Withershins via all the places you stream your music (looking at you, Apple Music, and Spotify).

In the meantime, settle in and dig into Jamie’s ten albums that changed your life below. Surely, you’ll find some new favorites here, Withershins included.

Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) – David Bowie (1980)

I grew up in rural Suffolk, so when I visited my London cousins as a child, I always felt like a wide-eyed country bumpkin in the metropolis. One year, my cousins Alasdair and Georgia said they had something to show me – their dad had bought them the first Sony Walkman, which I believe is quite collectible now.

They placed the headphones on me, hit play and “Ashes to Ashes” by David Bowie was suddenly inside my brain. It was the most wondrous thing – it sounded alien, beautiful, and a little spooky, and it made me instantly fall in love with pop music. I will always feel warmly towards the Walkman because of that moment. That album, so modern and strange, became my “gateway drug” to the world of music and I revered Bowie forever after.

Are You Experienced – Jimi Hendrix (1967)

This was a huge one for me. Again, I have my cousin Alasdair to thank for getting me into Hendrix because one year, when he came to visit our house, he picked up my brother’s guitar and played the riff to Hey Joe. I thought it was cool and learned to play it myself. That must have been how I ended up buying the album, and, as with Bowie, I was instantly entranced by it.

Jimi’s sound was like a roiling magma of Marshall feedback and genius. I loved Jimi from the start, the exhilaration, the wildness, the brilliance. I still really love his debut album – it’s a little more punkish than what followed and hearing him for the first time in ’60s London must have been like being hit with a cricket bat of pure joy.

Hawkwind – Hawkwind (1970)

The first proper gig I ever went to was Hawkwind at the University of East Anglia. They were touring their Electric Tepee album, and Dave Brock’s guitar sounded monolithically massive – the collision of fantasy, counterculture, and rock in their music was really exciting.

Afterwards, I bought loads of their albums, but I think I started at the beginning, with their eponymous 1970 debut record, and I’m glad I did. It taught me that psychedelia wasn’t just a form of whimsical escapism.

It could be gritty, home-grown, and closer to punk than prog in some ways. Hearing Hawkwind then got me into Ozric Tentacles, Gong, and Steve Hillage, too. If psychedelia was a country, “Hurry on Sundown” would probably be its national anthem – and I still get a thrill when I hear it today.

Led Zeppelin IV – Led Zeppelin (1971)

It feels almost cliche to choose Zepp’s “Stairway” album, but this record has stayed with me as an influence in so many ways that I think I have to choose it. Page’s acoustic style on this record is the foundation on which my own – such as it is – is built upon.

I love that there’s this air of esoteric mystery that hangs over the whole album like incense smoke – “Four Sticks” is such a primal, powerful song, and the darkly majestic acoustic section of that track feels like music you’d use to summon a pagan god.

The outro of my song “Swallowtail” is inspired by it, actually. “When The Levee Breaks” is such an epic slab of electric blues, too – really, the whole album is a work of magic (perhaps literally).

Hejira – Joni Mitchell (1976)

Growing up, I had a friend, Dan, whose mother, Diane, had a great record collection. She used to play this record a lot, and it was my first introduction to proper, grown-up songwriting. No one, including Dylan, draws finer portraits of people and their complexities than Joni.

She has a novelist’s eye for truth and detail and a poet’s facility with graceful metaphor – and musically, she’s just such a fine songwriter. There’s something so lonely and beautiful about the track “Amelia,” while “Black Crow” is thrillingly free in spirit. I think about the songs on this album often. In this sphere of music, there’s really no one to touch her; she’s the best.

What Color Is Love – Terry Callier (1972)

I can’t remember where I first heard this – I think I maybe came to it via Gil Scott Heron, whose music I also love. The album is quite short, but it contains one of the most beautiful and profound songs ever written, “Dancing Girl,” which is somehow both sweeping and intimate, beautiful and full of bleakness.

It’s like a whole life in one song and it’s sung with such poise and grace. But there’s an understated funk to the traveling blues of “You Goin’ Miss Your Candyman” that’s irresistible, too. It’s just such a great album – if nothing else, it showed me how nuanced and beautiful songs could be.

Mirror Blue – Richard Thompson (1994)

I once called in on a friend after a long day at the beach, and he put this album on, which I’d never heard before. I was tired, and I fell into a trance while listening to “The Way That It Shows.” It’s a song about infidelity, and Richard Thompson has such a mercilessly truthful eye for human behavior that it really gets its hooks into you emotionally.

At the end, he plays a devastating solo that’s like listening to someone’s soul being torn to pieces and I never forgot it. But you also get “Beeswing” on that album, which is one of the most perfect, bittersweet acoustic love songs ever written. He’s a genius, and I’ve really tried to learn from his fingerstyle playing.

Countdown To Ecstasy – Steely Dan (1973)

When I was a teenager, I used to go ’round my friend Will’s house, and we’d talk and play records. We’d rave about the incredible guitar playing on certain albums, and one day, he put this one on. The opening track, “Bodhisattva,” blew my mind with that incredible Jeff’ Skunk’ Baxter solo – it seemed miraculous that someone could land licks like that and make it look easy.

“King of the World” gave me chills with its Californian vision of the nuclear apocalypse, and “Your Gold Teeth” seemed as intriguing as a Raymond Chandler novel with its oblique lyrics and grifter ambiance. Although I’d now probably rate The Royal Scam as my all-time favorite album by the band, this is where a long-time love affair with their music started.

Solid Air – John Martyn (1978)

Listening to this album is like being instantly transported to midnight, a couple of bottles of wine into a long and deep conversation with an old friend. It’s warm as a glass of brandy and full of soul. John Martyn had the reputation of being quite hard to handle, but from the tenderness and grace of this record, you’d never guess it.

Danny Thompson’s upright bass playing is the backbone of the album, smoky and mysterious, while Martyn’s acoustic work is always just enough and never too much to support his vocals, which are beautiful.

“Go Down Easy” is easily one of the most beautiful and intimate love songs ever written, while “May You Never” is such a lovely tribute to the redemptive power of friendship.

The sound of my album Withershins was really directly inspired by Solid Air, though I could never come close to the genius of this record.

The Black Balloon – John Renbourn (1979)

I’m ashamed to admit that I came late to John Renbourn’s music. I’d always loved Bert Jansch, who was a friend and collaborator of Renbourn’s on the ’60s British folk scene, but for some stupid reason, I just never picked up a Renbourn record until I chanced upon The Black Balloon at a market stall selling secondhand CDs.

When I got it home, I almost instantly kicked myself for not having listened to Reborn before because I just loved it. I first took up acoustic fingerstyle playing after learning to play Gordon Giltrap’s “From the Four Winds,” which had been tabbed out in Guitarist magazine in the ’90s – and listening to Rebourn felt like a similarly important step in my own relationship with the acoustic guitar.

The wit, dexterity, and magic of Renbourn’s acoustic playing are such a continuous source of inspiration to me now that I feel like he’s almost like my spirit guide on guitar! I particularly admire the almost harpsichord-like “The Moon Shines Bright,” which opens this record, while the title track is just a masterclass in how to make the acoustic guitar speak with eloquence, structure, and poise.

Listening to this album also got me into Pierre Bensusan’s beautiful debut album, Pres De Paris, which is almost as big an inspiration to me.

Jamie Dickson Withershins

DMCA.com Protection Status