The lesson a music fan can take away from the career of Kelly Willis may be this: If you resist the manipulation of major-label tools, you might not be invited to walk the red carpet at the CMAs. But at least there’s a chance you will earn respect through the virtue of solid songwriting and performing skills, and still get to be the same real you.
Recording three albums for MCA, beginning in 1990, Kelly was a promising, attractive — if not a little bland — act that the label had a hard time marketing. After being released from her contract, she recorded an EP, Fading Fast, for A&M. Although that was also not a happy relationship, it was a glimpse at what she was capable of. The highlight of the record, for me at least, was “He Don’t Care About Me,” written by her husband, Bruce Robison, and backed by members of Son Volt and 16 Horsepower. Friends and family would replace the support a label was supposed to provide, and Willis’ career has blossomed as a result.
The records that have followed, 1999’s What I Deserve, 2002’s Easy and 2007’s Translated From Love, are filled with songs the records that country music radio should be championing, if there was still country music radio. Willis has written some of her own best songs, but has also benefited by writing with hubby Robison, Chuck Prophet, and the Jayhawks’ Gary Louris, and has turned in great covers of the Replacements, Iggy Pop and Nick Drake — not the easiest choices for a waify ingenue.
The song that I keep returning to, and my iTunes counter would prove it, is Willis’ cover of Little Feat’s “Truck Stop Girl” on the 1996 compilation Rig Rock Deluxe. Again backed by members of Son Volt, Willis purrs the tale of heartbreak at the truck stop, the lovesick trucker so devastated by the rejection of his waitressing love that he drives off “without tightening down,” leading to his doom. I love the image of her with “her hair piled up high, the look in her eye that would turn any good man’s blood to wine.” It’s what country music really needs — a sea shanty set in the dusty bays of a giant truck stop, complete with tragedy, bloody wrecks and beehived sirens slinging hash.
And on top, as thick and sweet as melting cheddar on a slice of apple pie, is that voice. Thank God Kelly Willis’ Nashville career was cut short by MCA.
Ξ December 8th, 2008 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Women |
I know almost nothing about Jenna Fischer’s career outside of The Office. I know she had a major role in Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, but I haven’t seen the movie. She was also apparently in Blades of Glory — didn’t see it. I kind of remember her being on That 70s Show, but I don’t remember her character’s name or purpose.
But she has brought to life a believable and memorable TV character as Pam Beesley, the funny-while-put-upon receptionist who finally gets the love (though not the respect) she deserves on NBC’s Thursday night must-seer. Her character first appeared kind of frumpy and depressed and has blossomed as the storyline has developed. And I think the show’s writers have correctly judged that another “will they, won’t they” sitcom romance will hold so little suspense that it’s almost better to let the characters get on with it. (I feel I should here quote Cosmo Kramer, who was once enchanted with a bookstore clerk, “And that name! Pam. Pam! PAM!!!”)
Maybe it was her introduction, performed by boss Michael Scott — “If you think she’s cute now, you should have seen her a couple years ago”– or her long engagement to the unworthy warehouse lug Roy, or the distress she felt at office-buddy Jim’s declaration of love, or the yet-unfulfilled dreams of being an artist instead of a receptionist, fans have felt protective of Pam Beesley. We may not need to any longer.
In this past week’s episode, Pam plays hard ball when it comes to the employees’ recommendation on how to spend a budget surplus, obliquely threatening her co-worker/mate into agreeing with her. As much as I liked the hounded look of the ol’ receptionist, I love the daring, sexy character that she has become. Lucky John Krasinski.
And lucky us, the pathetic television-addicted guys, who have something to look forward to each Thursday.
For an Aussie lassie, Kasey Chambers understands the heartache hidden in country music — you can hear it in her voice, a tearing, weary note that streaks through every song. I first heard her in a crowded bar, a CD played as background to a room full of conversation. It doesn’t happen very often where I hear something that just blocks out everything else, that leaves me having to interrupt people to say, “What the hell is this?” I remember hearing Elmore James in a similar situation, but it was the guitar and voice combination. This was just a sweet clear voice, stopping time.
I no longer remember which song it was, but I found out that it was from her first LP, The Captain. Once I got my hands on a copy, I was able to listen closer. That voice was incredible, so natural and lean — when it breaks during the title track, I thought, they must have kept that take, specifically because it sounds so. . .I don’t know. . .adorable. I was smitten already, and it just added to her appeal.
Her songwriting seemed just a bit unpolished as well, but I loved a couple of twists like “I’m not much like my generation/their music only hurts my ears” (from “Cry Like a Baby”) and “This flower is my soul/but it’s not half of what I owe/I should give you every rose that ever grew” (from “This Flower”).
Shortly after this, she released her Barricades and Brickwalls record, as well as the single “[Am I] Not Pretty Enough,” which I usually warn people about. Cynics will hear an attempt to fish for compliments, especially given the album’s cover photo. But it’s a sweet, sad song about being rejected. Her high, clear voice is especially featured on this record, a mix of twangy country (including a great version of Gram Parsons’ “Still Feeling Blue”) and sparse acoustic ballads.
About this time, I saw her perform on Austin City Limits, looking like she was in her 12th month of pregnancy. There’s just something inspiring about seeing someone playing guitar and sounding so good, and looking so uncomfortable.
Since that breakthrough single (”Not Pretty Enough” was a number-one hit in Australia), she has released three more albums, including the latest, a collaboration with her husband, Shane Nicholson, called Rattling Bones. The previous two, Wayward Angel and Carnival seemed like much more serious, mature efforts, with stronger songwriting. I liked them (especially Wayward’s “Bluebird,” one of the prettiest songs she’s ever recorded), but I really miss the charmingly awkward moments from her earlier records. “Rattling Bones” is surprisingly strong, as she gives up a lot of the lead singing to her partner, but the songs are so good, they make a case for an Australian-led Americana revival.
Official site: http://www.kaseychambers.com/
Ξ September 17th, 2008 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Women |
Those who write about Neko Case are usually overwhelmingly adoring of her work and her performance; I’m not any different. From the first listen to Furnace Room Lullaby, hearing that unbelievable voice, I’ve been hooked. If you start to write about her gothic country sound, you’ll be forced to repeat favorite lines from her songs: “The girl with the parking lot eyes,” “looks a lot like engine oil and tastes like being poor and small, and popsicles in summer,” “you be my guest, and I’ll let you stay, leave me the check and I’ll pay with the rest of my life.” You can’t talk about the quality of her songwriting without noting the darkness of her best songs.
Her records (I’m not including the fine work she’s done as a member of The New Pornographers, or her other collaborations) are worth listening to with headphones: The Virginian, Furnace Room Lullaby, Blacklisted, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, and the live The Tigers Have Spoken all feature those dark, pretty melodies and lyrics — all demand your attention. But you’ll want the headphones to soak in that voice. Capable of transfixing you with its sheer power, like on the Furnace Room’s title track, or with a delicate phrasing, which fills Fox Confessor’s Edward-Goreyesque opening track, “Margaret vs. Pauline.”
I know she’s great live — as she demonstrates on her Live From Austin, TX (Austin City Limits) DVD — but I’m not planning on seeing her as she performs in Minneapolis tomorrow night. Although I’m sure she’ll be enchanting, I just can’t bear sharing the intimacy of her songs with a roomful of chattering drunks. I think I’ll just listen to her, alone in the dark.
Thank you Lord for Neko Case:
- For “Hold On, Hold On,” which (and I know I’ll never describe it exactly the way I want) sounds like the sweetness and the horror of the 1960s mixed together in a potion that you want another drink of. Like the Mamas & the Papas joining the Manson family and recording a single.
- For “Thrice All American,” a tribute to Tacoma, WA. “People they laugh when they hear you’re from my town, they say it’s a sour and used-up ol’ place,” she sings over a waltz, “There was no hollow promise that life would reward you. There was nowhere to hide in Tacoma.” Every teenager I’ve ever known — including me — was embarrassed about their hometown but looks back (or will look back) with sentimental fondness for the lameness and isolation that produced as a restless soul.
- For “Star Witness,” a poem, apparently about a murder. “Hey pretty baby, get high with me — we can go to my sisters’ if we say we’ll watch the baby, the look on your face yanks my neck on the chain, and I will do anything to see you again,” sung like a lullabye, with the gentlest round as a chorus. “Go on, go on, scream and cry, you’re miles from where anyone will find you,” she taunts as the song nears its conclusion, and you’re still unsure who’s holding the knife. But it’s so pretty, you’ll be surprised you don’t care.
- For “Hex,” Case’s cover of a song by her friends the Sadies Catherine Irwin of Freakwater, the sexiest siren song ever recorded. She stands in the woods, just outside the window’s glow, casting her spell. “Will you know, or must I tell you, this is my lover’s spell you have fallen into?” she whispers. “My voice is all you’ll hear.”
Neko Case official site: http://www.nekocase.com/
Ξ August 18th, 2008 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Women |
There’s a song by the Carpetbaggers called “Thank You Lord” in which my good buddy John Magnuson sings the praises of a creator who saw fit to create a variation on man that is superior in almost every way to the original. (I’m relying on country music AND the gospel here, so don’t get too upset.) They don’t seem too crazy about me, but I don’t care. I’m an enthusiastic fan of their gender, and intend this theme as appreciation of what Johnny Horton called “that little difference.” When a man equals the charm or the appeal of any female I include in the series, I’ll admit I was wrong and that’ll be the end of another awkward intended compliment.
Thank you Lord for Anna Faris:
- For being the sole reason for renting Scary Movies 1-4
- For channeling the physical comedy of Carol Burnett and Lucille Ball
- For being the first in a series of women from Washington state (stay tuned)
- For giving me a new movie to see, the House Bunny, which looks kinda good
- Other intangibles (see photo below)
Anna -
It takes a really smart actress to play a dumb bunny. I enjoyed your role in Lost in Translation, as well as every Scary Movie that I’ve seen. (Sorry, I don’t remember which is which.) Those have to have be the toughest roles — playing the straight (wo)man in a parody of horror movies, and being the funniest thing about them. Hope the House Bunny lives up to the promise of its trailer, and good luck in your promising future.
Expecting a restraining order and your continued indifference,
Jeff