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October 20, 2005
* "precious secrets of the truth, withholding nothing..."
Sometimes the simplest and most satisfying little musical side-trips are spurred on by the strangest circumstances. Tonight, my wife and I were channel-surfing at the end of the night when we stumbled upon some gawdawful singer gracelessly butchering Leon Russell's "A Song For You" (we eventually realized it was Christina Aguilera). Lisa was similarly unimpressed, but I mentioned that the song was in fact one of my all-time favorites, when it isn't being pummeled through the melismatic equivalent of a rendering plant.
Naturally, that led me downstairs to find something on the shelves that could provide the evidence. I first turned toward the Carpenters but was disappointed to find that I don't seem to have their version on CD. Then I remembered the movie Honeysuckle Rose and checked under Willie; no soundtrack disc, but I did have a live album that included the song, in what turned out to be a really nice solo acoustic version that quite effectively demonstrated the reasons for my fond memories of the tune.
As that was on the stereo, it occurred to me that I probably also had a Leon Russell collection with the original version of "A Song For You". Sure enough, his Retrospective was on the shelves, so we checked that one out. I'd forgotten just how strong of an impression Russell's recording left -- obviously enough to have launched countless cover versions in the years that followed. I expect the song remains Russell's most valuable asset many decades later, and with good reason.
Lisa asked about Leon and I told her I really didn't know as much about him as I probably should, though I was aware of his involvement with Shelter Records -- which led to a discussion of Willis Alan Ramsey, whose self-titled Shelter release from 1972 is an unqualified singer-songwriter southern-soul classic. I was thinking maybe Russell had produced Ramsey's disc; checking the liner notes, I found that was not the case, but Russell did play piano on the album's best track, "Goodbye Old Missoula", so I played that for Lisa as well.
She asked whatever became of Ramsey. I explained that he's still around even though he never has managed to put another album out, but that he had co-written a few songs with Lyle Lovett over the years, including the best thing Lyle has ever recorded, "North Dakota". OK then, back downstairs to check the shelves; Joshua Judges Ruth was AWOL, but fortunately the song's also on Lovett's live album, so we checked out that version. (I was somewhat surprised to find that Rickie Lee Jones sang on the live version as well.) As much as that song has always meant to me, I expect it's even more sentimental to my brother and sister-in-law, seeing as how they included it in their wedding ceremony.
All of which just seemed like sharing with y'all before I went off to bed tonight. As I sat down to write this, I suddenly remembered that i DID in fact have the Carpenters' version of "A Song For You" somewhere -- only it's on vinyl, a 33-year-old LP that was one of the first records I ever owned. The turntable, fortunately, is down here in the office, so as I write, Karen's immortal voice echoes across the room, sweetly serenading that incomparable melody and those ageless words Mr. Russell etched into the soul all those years ago....
"...and when my life is over, remember when we were together, we were alone and i was singing this song for you."
Posted by Peter at 2:27 AM | Permalink
October 6, 2005
* "hold your head up high right through the doubt..."
Tuesday brought the first chance in a couple years to see the Frames, a band that I've now somehow managed to catch in five different cities (Chapel Hill, Austin, Boston, New York, and Seattle). It was February 2002 when I first encountered them in small Chapel Hill club called Go; they were opening for the New Pornographers, but they ended up making the greatest impression on me that night -- enough to where I flew to the northeast that fall specifically to see a couple of their shows. At the Boston show, they brought up local singer-songwriter Josh Ritter during the encore to do one of his songs with them.
This time the two acts were touring together. For Ritter, who has since moved up to the major-label ranks for a V2 Records disc due next April, the Seattle show was a homecoming of sorts; his new album was recorded just outside here at Bear Creek Studios in Woodinville, and Ritter recently moved back to his hometown of Moscow, Idaho, just across the eastern Washington state line. Judging from his performance on this night, his V2 debut should be one of the more significant releases in the early part of '06.
It was somewhat surprising to find how strong of a crowd response both acts received, and how large of a crowd turned out at the Showbox (around 500-600, it appeared). The Frames in particular had a great deal of the audience singing along to several of their songs; I'd witnessed this back in '02 at the Knitting Factory in New York, but surmised it was in large part due to expatriate Irish folks now living in NYC who'd become familiar with the band back in their home country (where they're considerably better-known). Word seems to have spread over the last year or two, though, likely assisted by the band's ascendance to the semi-major-label ranks on the Anti- label.
The one Frames record that remains unavailable in the States is, in my view, their best. 1999's Dance The Devil includes a couple of songs that remain staples in their live sets -- "Star Star" and "God Bless Mom" -- plus a great many other highlights in which the band perfectly balanced its sense for a good pop melody with the dramatic dynamic shifts of its musicianship (including my personal favorite, "Seven Day Mile", from which this entry's subject-line is taken). Onstage is where those those elements get communicated most forcefully and powerfully; they remain one of the most engaging live acts I've seen this decade.
Posted by Peter at 11:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)