‘His chords are like sheets of diamond ice’: the beguiling psych-folk of late cult songwriter Ed Askew

Are Like Sheets: The Psych-Folk Genius of Ed Askew Wanderstayfinder.com – His chords are like sheets of diamond ice—a description that perfectly

His Chords Are Like Sheets: The Psych-Folk Genius of Ed Askew

Wanderstayfinder.com – His chords are like sheets of diamond ice—a description that perfectly captures the ethereal quality of Ed Askew’s music. A grainy television recording from 1986 shows a distinctive figure: a troubadour with fiery hair and a neckerchief, strumming a lute-like instrument while a harmonica rests beneath his chin. The music flows in gentle waves before his voice emerges, carrying unmistakable longing. Though this performance was uploaded to YouTube only in 2010 and has accumulated merely a handful of comments, those few viewers have been deeply moved. Phrases like “Ed the Great!” and “pure gold” reveal the genuine devotion that Ed Askew—a somewhat overlooked American poet, visual artist, and musician—has cultivated throughout his remarkable life.

A Singular Voice in Folk Music

Askew’s collaborator Jerry David DeCicca describes him as someone “living in a world that was for people who didn’t fit in.” This free-spirited artist’s musical journey began when he discovered the ten-stringed tiple as a teenager during the 1950s and concluded with his passing last year at the age of eighty-four. His death came just as he was preparing to release The Final Painting, an album now being made available to the public posthumously this month. DeCicca, who produced the record, first encountered what he describes as Askew’s “singularity” during the early 2000s.

More recently, however, Askew has won over numerous contemporary musicians known for their distinctive character. Sharon Van Etten and Bill Callahan both contribute vocals to The Final Painting. Glasgow’s psych-folk ensemble Trembling Bells introduced Askew to London’s Cafe Oto venue in 2017, while indie-Americana artist Steve Gunn accompanied him during live performances in the early 2010s.

“I got to tour with him in 2011 and felt his Jesus-y vibes,” Callahan reflects. “Jesus with a little scamp mixed in.”

For Callahan, Askew’s music possesses something “primordial”—an element that “makes it feel like the world is evolving right before your eyes when his song is playing.” He identifies “a holy aspect to it,” particularly noting “those piano chords constructed like sheets of diamond ice.” This description echoes the opening sentiment: his chords are like sheets, shimmering and translucent, creating a soundscape that feels both ancient and immediate.

Observations of the Quotidian and the Tremendous

From the fragrance of a marigold flower to the passing of a Kennedy, Askew’s songwriting is characterized by flâneur-like observations that capture both everyday moments and profound experiences. In 2011, he named Kurt Weill, John Cage, and Erik Satie as his early influences. Others have drawn comparisons between Askew and artists such as Robert Wyatt, Bob Dylan during his Gaslight era, or the Incredible String Band.

Yet his baroque approach to songwriting aligns more closely with the multi-angled paintings of Cézanne—an artist he deeply admired—than with any musical counterpart. His work resembles the writing of Joe Brainard blended with the poetry of Lorca more than it does traditional folk or rock traditions.

One of his songs, “Moon in the Mind,” found its way onto the soundtrack of Netflix’s hit series Baby Reindeer in 2024. DeCicca notes this inclusion was both welcome and unexpected during the final year of Askew’s life. Despite such recognition, Askew remained largely unconcerned with commercial success or critical acclaim. “He just wasn’t wired that way,” DeCicca observes, explaining that Askew simply devoted himself to crafting his intricate songs on a daily basis.

A Life of Art and Music

Askew displayed his beatnik sensibilities from the very beginning. Born in Connecticut in 1940, he pursued painting studies at Yale School of Art during the early 1960s before relocating to New York. There, he performed for tips in the “basket house” folk venues of the East Village in 1967. It was during this period that ESP-Disk, a New York-based record company typically associated with free jazz pioneers like Sun Ra and Pharoah Sanders, took notice of him. The label released his self-titled 1968 debut—later renamed Ask the Unicorn—but shelved his follow-up, Little Eyes, which finally saw publication in 2002.

Throughout his lifetime, Askew released approximately fifty albums across various labels, archival collections, live recordings, and self-releases. “With more still unreleased in his vault,” DeCicca adds. This prolific output was largely home-recorded and self-published, funded through house painting, art instruction, and welfare assistance at certain periods—before he returned to professional studio work in 2011.

“I think if most people wrote a song like that it would be about their agitation but Ed’s point of view is so different,” DeCicca says regarding the track “Someone,” which features Callahan on vocals and depicts someone waiting in a social security office as numbers like “16,” “22,” and “46” are called out.

Whether the song truly concerns social security or something more universal remains open to interpretation—much like Askew’s music itself. His chords are like sheets of diamond ice, catching light from every angle, revealing new facets with each listening. The legacy of Ed Askew continues to grow, his songs finding new audiences through platforms like The Final Painting and streaming services. His chords are like sheets, vast and luminous, covering the world in their gentle, crystalline embrace.