Donovan Leitch was undoubtedly one of the more interesting musicians to emerge from the British folk and psychedelic scene of the 1960s. He wrote good songs, developed a distinctive guitar style and, for a period, moved in very influential musical circles. He was also a friend of the Beatles.
Yet there is something about his public persona that can make listening to him discuss his career an exhausting experience. He appears to see his place in musical history in unusually inflated terms, and his recollections of important moments in popular music sometimes seem intended not merely to describe events but to establish the significance of his own role within them.
Consider his relationship with the Beatles. He was certainly part of their social circle in 1968 when they travelled to India to study meditation with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. He also taught John Lennon a fingerpicking technique that Lennon later used in songs such as ‘Dear Prudence’ and ‘Julia’; and Paul McCartney has also acknowledged learning fingerpicking techniques from Donovan.
These are genuine contributions to musical history, and he deserves credit for them. Yet his own accounts of that period have often gone substantially further. For example, he has suggested that he played a significant role in guiding the Beatles back towards their musical roots. It is, though, difficult not to raise an eyebrow at such claims, especially as the Beatles were already one of the most innovative and influential musicians of their generation.
In a 2005 Guardian interview by Dorian Lynskey, aptly titled ‘No Name Left Undropped’, Donovan's conversational style comes under mild scrutiny, when Lynskey describes long anecdotes in which famous acquaintances frequently appear. Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Paul McCartney, Keith Moon and many more make appearances in the narratives.
There is nothing wrong with this in itself, as he genuinely knew the people he mentions; and any account of his life he makes would naturally include extraordinary people. The question then is not whether these stories are true but how prominently they feature in the way he presents his career.
It is easy to comes away from his interviews with the impression that the associations themselves are being offered as evidence of importance. Thus, the emphasis can seem less focused on the events than on the fact that he was present when they occurred. Ths could make him appear as a sort of musical Forest Gump to some people.
Similarly, in a 2024 review of a Donovan concert at Manchester's Royal Northern College of Music, published by 'Northern Soul', Andy Murray (not the tennis player) praised his musicianship while also noting the lengthy introductions, reminiscences and stories involving the Beatles, the Who and other famous people from the 1960s.
Murray's criticism was not that these stories were in themselves boring, but that the repeated references to significant people were boring. He said, tellingly, that Donovan didn’t need to rely on them, as his own achievements were substantial enough to get attention without constant reminders of his proximity to other famous people.
That is a significant observation. Donovan's catalogue contains enough notable work to justify his place in music history on its own merits. Songs such as ‘Sunshine Superman’, ‘Mellow Yellow’, ‘Atlantis’ and ‘Hurdy Gurdy Man’ ensure that.
His relationship with Bob Dylan provides another example. In the mid-1960s, Donovan was frequently portrayed as Britain's answer to Dylan. Their “encounter” in D. A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back has become a well-known part of Donovan’s career. Many viewers interpret Donovan in the film as being a musician attempting to win the approval of an already established one. Over the years, he has repeatedly challenged that interpretation.
There is nothing unreasonable about disputing a narrative one believes to be inaccurate. However, listening to these accounts, one sometimes gets the sense that the discussion is as much about historical standing as it is about historical accuracy.
A similar pattern can be seen elsewhere. Donovan has occasionally spoken about friendships and interactions with Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and George Harrison. Whether discussing the Beatles, Dylan or other notable people, his recollections frequently return to the question of influence, significance and recognition.
Taken individually, none of this is particularly unusual, many artists reflect on the most important periods of their lives and careers. Yet Donovan's interviews sometimes feel less like recollection and more like promotion. He seems engaged in an ongoing attempt to establish exactly where he belongs in the hierarchy of 1960s popular music.
The irony, as noted earlier, is that he hardly needs to make the case, as his contribution to that era was real and significant. He was not just a witness to the cultural revolution of the 1960s but a participant. The odd thing is that the case would probably be stronger if he felt less need to make it.
