2003-12 Vital Source Mag – December 2003
Rickie Lee Jones
By John Hughes RICKIE LEE JONESThe Evening of My Best DayV2 Recordswww.rickieleejones.com Rickie Lee Jones’ new CD The Evening of My Best Day feels like two separate outings rolled into one. The first three songs make up Outing #1, and they are not compelling. They sound like a reprise of her great album “Pirates,” diluted heavily with a poor woman’s version of “The Hissing of Summer Lawns.” Cheerful flutes were never cool. The album then whips around a corner, beginning with the fourth song, “Little Mysteries,” and from that point on, for nine consecutive songs, Jones and band unveil a highly original sound. The songwriting is exploratory, novel, accessing the further reaches of pop creativity. The vocalizing, musicianship and production values synthesize to create an unprecedented experience for the listener. It’s as if Jones has invented a new genre of music. The effect of listening to this music must be something similar to the experience viewers had when first seeing Expressionist painting. Your primary reaction is a question, like ‘what’s she doing here?’ or ‘What is this?’ It’s an experiment in mystery through which flit the ghosts of soul, blues, gospel, jazz, folk and rock music forms. It’s a survey of human emotions, a cataloguing, from the foundational perspective of erotic melancholy. She signed some of the finest musicians available to help her on this journey: Los Lobos’ David Hidalgo, Ben Harper, bassist Rob Wasserman, her longtime associate Sal Bernardi, guitarist Bill Frisell, and rock iconoclast Grant Lee Phillips, along with her co-producer, David Kalish. The talent was allowed to breathe; you can feel their playfulness and good chemistry in every cut. Jones has made so much outstanding music in her career, with so little fanfare, that she can be called The Anonymous Legend. The last nine songs here are the most convincing evidence she’s ever recorded of that epithet.
Dec 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
The Fags
By Brian Barney THE FAGSThe FagsIdol Recordswww.thefagsmusic.com Stumbling across the vast wasteland of CD wreckage that has become my desk as a music writer, I happened upon a true gem. The cover of The Fags self-titled freshman effort on Idol Records sports a fashionably androgynous being smoking a cigarette (or fag) that would prompt an “I gotta hear this one” out of almost anyone. And, after a good couple dozen listens, I’ll wager this: if they are not drowned in the sea of anonymity, or ultimately eaten alive by the monster that is the record business, The Fags could be pop rock’s next big thing. From the first cut, “Truly, Truly,” the listener is drawn in by hooks that embed themselves in the brain. Standout tracks include “Hitman” and “List” (the record’s definite high point), where soaring vocals, hard-barking guitars and smart harmonies show incredible depth in what might normally be considered shallow waters. Love songs about girls unobtainable, viable or no longer wanted have broken no new lyrical ground since “Maybelline,” but it’s hard not to hum along and reminisce with chorus lines that are the crux of every teenager (or teenager at heart)’s lost logic defined in these three minute diddies. The only shortcoming here is… it’s too damn short! Being an EP with eyes no doubt trained on landing the big deal, the Detroit trio has obviously put their best foot forward. If you don’t reside in the Motor City, where The Fags are still pounding it out as local heroes (this applies to most of you), your best device to put yourself behind the wheel of this little beauty is to cruise online to www.thefagsmusic.com and place your order. ‘Cuz you won’t find it around here.
Dec 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
December 2003
Dear Readers, This is such an emotionally charged time of year. Colder weather, increased contact with family, insane schedules, and the pressures of our consumer economy settle themselves like a weight onto the shoulders of many. Depending on who you are, and/or where you are in your life, you might be heading towards a rush of anticipation, reflection, hope, stress, financial worry, love, antipathy or dread as the holidays approach. Or maybe all of them together. This is the season when I most wish I was a kid again. I grew up three decades ago in a small town in Iowa. Most of the year, we were the least conventional family in town. My mom was a divorced woman who owned her home, which she bought herself, even though it meant she made most of our clothes and doomed us to subsidized hot lunch at school. True to our activist roots, we were part of the “underground railroad” for objectors fleeing to Canada to avoid going to Viet Nam. Behind the water heater in the basement was a cot with a trunk next to it, on which sat a small lamp and an alarm clock. It wasn’t unusual for me as a five year old to enter the kitchen in the morning to find a tired-looking young man I’d never seen gulping coffee and eggs, on his way to the next place. The neighbors thought horrible things about my mom and her cavalcade of “male friends.” But what could she say in her own defense? It was from her example that I learned to keep secrets. At Christmas time, however, you’d have thought we sprang straight from a Rockwell postcard. Some of my dearest childhood memories are of painting wooden ornaments for our tree, making paper chains and listening to holiday music before bed, curled up on the couch with a cup of eggnog, the room illuminated only by the lights on the tree. I remember the thrill of opening the door to carolers, neighbors come to call. Despite their year-long suspicion of us, they didn’t skip our house, and we invited them in for chocolate and cookies, with something stronger for the grownups. Even as a kid, I could sense something about people getting along because of the holiday. I hope I can pass that on to my son, not just at the holidays, but all the time. In truth, people have more in common than in difference. And while I try to live and work according to my beliefs, I am not a friend of meaningless divisiveness. It’s such a waste of energy, and you miss out on the caroling. Speaking of memories, we all got to yakking at a recent staff meeting, and ended up spinning our own holiday/family yarns for each other. We ended up deciding to share them with everyone in this issue, and we hope you like them. On the other hand, you can skip over that piece if it’s not your cup of […]
Dec 1st, 2003 by Jon Anne Willow
