Posts Tagged ‘rickie lee jones’

Cratedigger: Various Artists, “The Village” (Win a Copy!)

The VillagePlease read to the end for information about how you can win a copy of this album.

The Village in question is Greenwich, and 429 Records has gathered together an accomplished cast to celebrate the music that shook the world from that corner of New York City in the Sixties. Lest you think my use of phrase “shook the world” is an overstatement, I offer the first three songs on the album as evidence. Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” finds Rickie Lee Jones putting a pin in the balloon of pretension that surrounds Dylan these days. Though not of his making, it marks his every movement. Jones jabs at it with, of all things, a slide whistle, returning the humor inherent in the song.

Songs two and three are Dylan covers too, albeit more serious in tone. There’s nothing funny about “It’s Alright Ma I’m Only Bleeding,” and Winnipeg band the Duhks perform it with requisite intensity and respect. Lucinda Williams makes Dylan’s bitter rant “Positively 4th Street” her own by bringing it from a less angry, more heartbroken place, and very few people do heartbreak like Lucinda Williams.

Sixpence None the Richer contribute a wonderfully inventive take on the traditional “Wayfaring Stranger,” and John Oates’ retelling of another traditional song, “He Was A Friend of Mine,” is something of a revelation. The extremely underrated Philadelphia singer/songwriter Amos Lee closes out side one with a typically understated, soulful version of Fred Neil’s “Little Bit of Rain.” (more…)

Cratedigger: Rickie Lee Jones, “Pirates”

Rickie Lee Jones - PiratesI have to admit that I was hesitant to make Rickie Lee Jones’ Pirates the subject of this week’s Cratedigger. The weather has been gloomy here in New Jersey all week, the Yankees dropped the first game of the World Series to Philadelphia, and my finances are in the sewer. Since Pirates is perhaps the most heartbreaking album I’ve ever encountered, I was afraid listening to it again would throw me into an even deeper funk. Despite the sorrow, when pressed, I will tell you that Pirates is one of the best albums ever made, and it is easily ensconced in my personal Top Five, where it has resided since its release in July, 1981.

Rickie Lee Jones burst on the scene with her eponymous debut, and it’s massive hit single, “Chuck E.’s In Love,” in 1979. She was part of a bohemian L.A. crowd that included the aforementioned Chuck E. Weiss and singer/songwriter Tom Waits, with whom Jones was in a relationship. The songs on her second album, Pirates, are largely a wistful reflection on her time with Waits, following their breakup. “We Belong Together,” “A Lucky Guy,” and the title track all refer to her relationship with him, and “Living It Up” and “Traces of the Western Slopes” (written with new boyfriend Sal Bernardi) are peopled with characters from the bohemian milieu that they moved in. The most devastating heartbreak of all, however, comes in the song “Skeletons,” based on the true story of a young man who was killed by the Los Angeles police in a case of mistaken identity as he was driving his wife to the hospital to give birth. (more…)

Bottom Feeders: The Ass End of the ’80s, Part 47

I’ve started a new collection! For those who haven’t followed the series from the beginning, the original “collection” that I was aiming to complete was to get every Hot 100 song from the ’80s on either record or CD; I’ve accomplished that save for Shamus M’Cool’s “American Memories,” which I’m resigned to never owning, so that part of my collection is as complete as it’s going to get. Then I moved to all the other charts: mainly Adult, Rock, Dance/Disco, and R&B. But a promise to my wife and myself to stop spending all my money and the fact that I’m out of room in my house to store the thousands of records I own have slowed down the new projects considerably. But since music is so dismal these days, I was getting bored and had to try collecting something new — ’80s metal!

I’ve always been a metal fan — my iPod will shuffle from an ’80s tune to something from Slayer, Carcass, Annihilator, Electric Wizard, Sunn O))), you name it. I have this calm side that can listen to Air Supply tunes and this aggressive side that thinks God Hates Us All by Slayer is the best record ever made (I’m not kidding). My new collection, however, began a few weeks ago after I picked up Martin Popoff’s Collector’s Guide to Heavy Metal, Volume 2: The Eighties. It’s a menacing book with over 2,500 reviews of metal records from that decade. It’s the only thing I’ve ever read from Popoff, but he knows his metal, even if he isn’t the best writer (which he admits), often putting a string of words together that make absolutely no sense. He has a passion for power metal and a definite man-crush on Ian Gillan, but for this purpose, who fucking cares? The guy has introduced me to bands I’ve never heard of before and great albums like God, Guns & Guts by Agony Column and Bound to Break by Anthem. I’m still working my way through the letter A in the book; I clearly have a long, headbanging journey ahead of me. But I’m finally feeling good about music again, so it’s all worth it.

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Listening Booth: Laura Nyro, “Season of Lights … Laura Nyro in Concert”

Christmas Eve, 1970. I was at the Fillmore East to see Laura Nyro. A month earlier, Nyro had released her fourth album, Christmas and the Beads of Sweat, and it had taken up more or less permanent residence on my turntable, alongside all of her previous albums. There I was, about to see the artist whose music spoke to me more profoundly on a personal level than any other, and by my side was the woman for whom I’d been nurturing a deep crush for several years. In other words, it couldn’t have been a more perfect evening. Did I mention that it was Christmas Eve in New York City? If you’ve been there, you know the silent magic that the holy night brings to the great city.

All was right in my world, but that was certainly not true of the world as a whole. Nixon was in the White House; Vietnam was raging on. Bobby Kennedy and Dr. King were recently dead. A few lines from the album’s most powerful statement, “Christmas In My Soul,” pretty much summed up the condition of the world in those days:

“Black Panther brothers bound in jail
Chicago Seven and the justice scale
Homeless Indian on Manhattan Isle
All God’s sons have gone to trial
And all God’s love is out of style
On Christmas.”

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