Singaround by Leonard Pearcey, Jennifer Rice & Joy Hyman: A Folk Odyssey That Still Echoes
Let’s get real for a second—there’s something about Singaround that feels like sitting cross-legged on an old rug, sipping tea with people who’ve lived lifetimes in songs. Released back in ’69 (yeah, the same year we were all glued to Apollo 11), this UK gem from Pye Golden Guinea Records is one of those albums that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It’s folk music, sure, but not just any folk—it’s storytelling wrapped in melodies so pure they could make your heart ache.
The trio behind it—Leonard Pearcey, Jennifer Rice, and Joy Hyman—are unsung heroes if I’ve ever heard them. With Cyril Stapleton producing and Howard Barrow engineering, the sound has this warm, almost crackly authenticity, like flipping through pages of someone’s diary. And let me tell you, some tracks hit harder than others.
Take “Scarborough Fair,” for instance. Yeah, yeah, Simon & Garfunkel made it famous, but here? It’s stripped down, raw, almost haunting. You can hear every breath, every tiny waver in their voices. It’s less polished, more human—and honestly? That makes it unforgettable. There’s no flashiness here, just three singers weaving words together like lacework. When they sing “parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,” it doesn’t feel like a throwaway lyric; it feels like a ritual passed down through generations. I swear, listening to this version feels like stepping into another time entirely.
And then there’s “Wild Mountain Thyme.” Oh man, this one gets me every single time. The harmonies are tight, yes, but also loose enough to let the emotion spill out. It’s bittersweet, hopeful yet tinged with longing, and the way their voices blend—it’s magic, plain and simple. If you close your eyes while it plays, you’ll swear you’re standing knee-deep in heather somewhere far away, wind whipping at your face. No joke, this track alone is worth the price of admission.
But what really sticks with me isn’t just how good these songs are—it’s how alive they feel. This wasn’t some big-budget studio project; it was a labor of love, recorded during a time when folk music still carried whispers of rebellion and connection. These weren’t pop stars trying to cash in—they were storytellers keeping traditions alive.
Here’s the thing, though: listening to Singaround today feels kind of strange. Not because it’s dated or anything—it actually holds up shockingly well—but because it reminds you of a world where people sang together instead of doomscrolling alone. Weird thought, right? Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to it. Or maybe it’s just because hearing Leonard, Jennifer, and Joy sing “By And By” feels like getting hugged by someone who understands.
So yeah, give Singaround a spin if you haven’t already. Just don’t blame me if you end up daydreaming about dusty roads and forgotten legends.
