John Lees on Relativity, BJH, Anxiety, and the Music That Still Heals
There are some conversations that stay with you long after the microphones are switched off. My recent chat with John Lees of John Lees’ Barclay James Harvest was one of them.
For many of us, Barclay James Harvest is not simply a band we admire. Their music is woven into our lives. These are songs that have soundtracked relationships, losses, hopes, changes, and moments of reflection. So to sit down with John and talk not only about the superb Relativity album, but also the wider BJH legacy, the Philharmonic orchestral performances, his guitar style, and the realities of living with anxiety, was both moving and deeply revealing.
What struck me most was how Relativity continues to grow in significance. When the album first arrived, it already felt like an uplifting and thoughtful piece of work. Living with it over time, and especially in the context of the darker world we now seem to inhabit, those songs feel even more poignant. John spoke about how the album had been in gestation since around 2019, long before COVID, long before the latest wave of global instability, and yet the themes now feel uncannily timely.
That is part of what makes Relativity such a powerful record. It is not preachy. It does not lecture. Instead, it reflects on time, love, humanity, conflict, and hope. John described how songs about war, consequence, and reconciliation have run through his writing throughout his life. As he put it, there has probably never been a year without conflict somewhere in the world. That awareness has always been there in his work. On Relativity, though, it is wrapped in music that keeps reaching for light.
The opening title track, with its expansive sweep and sense of movement through darkness into light, feels like a statement of intent. There is a spiritual optimism running through the album, even when the lyrics are dealing with difficult truths. Tracks such as “The Blood of Abraham” now feel almost prophetic, reflecting on division, bitterness, and the simple fact that human beings are not as different from one another as we often pretend. John talked about tracing things back to Abraham and the idea that, however small the drop, the same blood runs through all of us. It is a powerful idea, and one that gives the album real emotional weight.
Interestingly, John said the conceptual thread of the album was not there from the outset. It emerged during the process, sparked in part by a quote attributed to Einstein about relativity, time, love, and perception. That thought opened something up, linking the cosmic with the emotional, the scientific with the deeply human. Suddenly the songs related to one another in a new way. Time became one of the album’s recurring themes, whether through “Hourglass”, “End of the Day”, or the way “Picture World” flows into “Relativity Part 2”. The result is an album that feels coherent without being rigidly conceptual.
Musically, Relativity is a joy. It sounds like a band completely comfortable in its own skin, but not in any complacent sense. There is warmth, space, atmosphere, and depth throughout. John admitted that, left to his own devices, the process might not always have felt so positive, but working with musicians like Craig and the rest of the band brought a balance and optimism to the sessions. Because the album came together over such a long period, there was also a freshness each time they returned to it.
That spaciousness is one of the record’s great strengths. I told John that the production feels cinematic, and it really does. Rather than mixing it entirely themselves, the band brought in Stephen W. Taylor, whose work on earlier catalogue material had already impressed them. John felt that handing the album to a fresh pair of ears was the right decision, and it paid off. The stereo sound is superb, and the 5.1 surround mix is genuinely immersive. There is something special about hearing a brand-new BJH-related album given that kind of treatment. Usually, surround mixes are reserved for classic catalogue titles. Here, it enhances a modern record in a way that underlines just how much care has gone into the release.
One of the loveliest parts of our conversation was when we talked about John’s guitar playing. For anyone who has followed his work over the decades, his style is unmistakable. It is lyrical, melodic, expressive, and never overplayed. I mentioned that one of the things I have always loved about his lead playing is the way it feels almost vocal, as if the guitar continues the thought of the lyric once the singing stops. John immediately responded to that idea. That sense of melody matters to him.
He also confirmed something that made complete sense to me: Paul Kossoff was one of his heroes. The influence is not in imitation, but in philosophy. John has always embodied that “less is more” approach where every note counts. In an era when so many guitarists were striving to be faster, louder, and more technically dazzling, he chose a more emotional route. That is one of the reasons his playing still hits so hard. Those bends, those sustained phrases, the way a solo opens up rather than rushes forward — it all comes from a deep understanding that feel matters more than flash.
In one of the more surprising parts of the interview, John spoke about using a very inexpensive pink Squier Stratocasteron parts of Relativity. In fact, after an online shopping moment aided by a few drinks, he somehow ended up with two of them. Both were apparently superb, and one became central to the album. It is a wonderful reminder that magic does not always come from the most expensive instrument in the room. Sometimes it comes from the player, the phrasing, and the moment.
We also spoke about “Snake Oil”, one of my own favourite tracks from the album, with its striking interplay between Hammond organ and guitar. John confirmed that this was very much a conscious arrangement choice. It has a sombre mood and, to my ears, carries a little of that Robin Trower-style intensity in the way the guitar and organ speak to one another. Across the album, there are repeated moments like this where the arrangement quietly elevates the song.
For collectors and long-time fans, one of the attractions of Relativity is the accompanying box set, which includes the Live at RosFest 2009 performance. John explained that the recording was almost a rediscovery. The band had not really been aware they had such a good live document from the event until it resurfaced. Including it made perfect sense, especially as a way of adding something of real value for fans. And yes, it includes a magnificent version of “Mockingbird”.
John also made a fascinating point about that RosFest recording: because the band had not been told they were being recorded, the performance may actually have benefited from the lack of pressure. There is a certain freedom in playing without the awareness that every note is being documented for posterity. Tell a band it is a live album night, and anxiety inevitably rises. Don’t tell them, and you may capture something more relaxed and natural.
That led us beautifully into the Philharmonic release, featuring Slaithwaite Philharmonic Orchestra, which remains one of the most moving BJH-related projects I have seen. Watching that performance, you are reminded just how naturally Barclay James Harvest music lends itself to orchestral treatment. It is not an artificial grafting-on of strings or symphonic colour. That orchestral sensibility has always been embedded in the DNA of the music.
John spoke passionately about how much work went into bringing that project to fruition, and also with some sadness about how little recognition it received. He was keen to point out that the orchestra is made up largely of amateur musicians in the formal sense — people with day jobs who come together for the love of music — yet what they achieved was extraordinary. My wife, who is a professional violinist, watched the performance with me and immediately commented on how good the orchestra was. These were not token players brought in for effect. They were committed musicians delivering something heartfelt and accomplished.
John felt strongly that the concert deserved far more local and national attention than it received. I agree. To mount a production of that scale, with so few joint rehearsals, and to create something that not only works but genuinely moves the audience, is an enormous achievement. You can see it in the faces of the players too. They are clearly enjoying the moment, not just dutifully performing. That sense of shared occasion shines through the screen.
We talked about the challenges of performing in that context too. Limited space on stage, the pressure of filming, the nerves of bringing rock band and orchestra together with only a small number of combined rehearsals — all of it adds to the tension. John admitted that he was under huge pressure. What emerged in the conversation, perhaps more than anything else, was how deeply anxiety has shaped his experience both on and off stage.
This became one of the most personal and affecting parts of the interview. John was very open about the anxiety he still lives with, and how it affects his confidence, his sense of achievement, and even his ability to see his own success clearly. Here is someone who has played to enormous audiences, written songs that have meant the world to people for decades, and fronted what is unquestionably a successful band — yet he still struggles to internalise that. Success, for him, is always conditional, always dependent on the next thing. The validation fades almost as soon as it arrives.
I found that honesty incredibly powerful. It is important for us, as listeners and fans, to remember that the people we see on stage are not sealed off from the same human fragilities we all carry. The person holding the guitar may have soundtracked your life, but they can still feel fear, self-doubt, and uncertainty just like anyone about to stand up and speak at work or deliver a wedding speech. In fact, perhaps that imaginative sensitivity — the very thing that can make anxiety worse — is also what helps create music of such depth in the first place.
John described how, at 79, he is very conscious of time and increasingly aware of uncertainty. He spoke candidly about finding touring and live commitments difficult because of that uncertainty, and about working with therapists to try and manage it. Yet there was also an understanding that if he were not the person he is, he may never have written the songs he has written. That is a hard truth, but a real one. Sometimes the same imagination that creates beauty can also create fear.
That connection between vulnerability and artistry came up again when we talked about the enduring emotional power of songs like “Mockingbird”, “Hymn”, and the material from albums such as Gone to Earth. John said that if he does think of one album from the catalogue with especially strong memories, it is Gone to Earth. That made complete sense to me. It is such a beautifully realised album, from the music to the packaging, and “Hymn” in particular remains one of the most uplifting and spiritually resonant songs in the catalogue.
There was also a lovely tangent where John spoke about the house where he wrote songs like “Mockingbird” and “Galadriel”, a place of enormous personal significance which is now apparently under threat of redevelopment. It was one of those moments where music, memory, place, and personal history all converged. You realise again that these songs do not come from nowhere. They are rooted in real lives, real landscapes, real emotions.
As we drew the conversation to a close, I asked the question many fans will want answered: might any of the Relativity material be played live in 2026? John’s answer was understandably cautious. Never say never, he said, but he also made clear that his current struggles with anxiety make planning difficult. I think anyone listening will understand that. Above all, what matters is that John looks after himself.
What stays with me most from this interview is the humanity of it. Yes, we talked about Relativity, about the Philharmonic box, about RosFest, orchestras, guitars, and classic albums. But running through all of it was something deeper: the idea that music really does heal. It helps us carry things. It connects us. It says the things we struggle to say ourselves. And in the case of Barclay James Harvest and John Lees’ body of work, it often wraps those truths in music that feels like comfort, hope, and grace.
If John does happen to watch or read this, then I want to say it again here: thank you. Thank you for the songs, the records, the concerts, the courage it takes to keep creating, and for speaking so honestly. That honesty will mean a great deal to many people.
And to everyone reading this: I would genuinely love to know what Barclay James Harvest has meant to you over the years. Which songs have stayed with you? Which albums helped you through difficult times? And what do you make of Relativity?
Because this music still matters. Deeply.
Thank you for all your support
