Cassandra Wilson: Waters of March
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Listen to the words to Waters of March, and you may not hear why I am posting it for this week’s theme. There are a few mentions of rain, but it doesn’t appear to be the subject of the song. Actually, there doesn’t appear to be a subject, just a list of things and impressions. The music offers no particular assistance, offering the cascading gentleness that is a hallmark of Brazilian music. The key is that many of the objects named in the song are things that might be carried away in a sudden flood. Waters of March is by Antonio Carlos Jobim, and he hails from Rio de Janero. In Rio, the month of March marks the end of summer, and the month is known for sudden heavy rains. So Jobim sees this as a cleansing process which inspires a hope for spring. Jobim wrote versions of the lyrics for the song in both Portugese and English. The English version reaches for universal appeal, so it removes cultural references from the Portugese version that are specific to Brazil. Cassandra Wilson’s interpretation of the song is up to her usual high standards.
Cassandra Wilson: You Gotta Move
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You Gotta Move is an old song, originally by Mississippi Fred McDowell. There are any number of cover versions, done as gospel, blues, and rock n roll. The Rolling Stones and Aerosmith have both done versions. And yet, at its heart, this is one of the simplest songs you will ever hear. There is barely anything to the lyrics, and the song moves along on a slow blues groove that is almost unchanging. So what is the appeal?
Actually, the simplicity is the source of the song’s power. You Gotta Move is a chant, a plea for mercy at the moment of judgment. Cassandra Wilson understands this, and strips the song down to its essentials. There is the groove, played first on solo guitar. When the percussion joins in, it’s not even a full drum set, but just a plastic tub, playing not much more than a heartbeat. There are handclaps, echoing the heartbeat, and that’s it for instrumentation. The background vocals make this a shared experience, but also emphasize that the song is a chant. Nothing else is needed. The power of the song comes through loud and clear.
Herbie Hancock, ft. Luciana Souza: Amelia
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Dianne Reeves: River
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Cassandra Wilson: For The Roses
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Call this entry Jazz Does Joni, Part Two; The Vocalists.
On my last post I focused on tunes that ripped away the awesome lyrics of Joni's songs. For this go-round, I'm re-introducing them as interpreted by three terrific female jazz vocalists. Can I just say it was hard to pick only three? With Joni, we're spoiled for choice.
I waxed poetic about Herbie Hancock's "River" in my last post, and you lot all went out and bought it, didn't you? Well, you should have, IMHO. Because it was really hard to pick just one of the many tunes on that CD to feature today: do I go with Tina Turner or Norah Jones or Corinne Bailey Rae? Or even Joni herself? In the end, I went with my personal favorite: the Brazilian jazz artist Luciana Souza. There just isn't a better fit than this song and her slow, sultry alto. And listen up, there's Wayne Shorter's soprano sax again. Like Icarus ascending on beautiful foolish arms…
The next one's by a local gal (well, to me), Dianne Reeves, who hails from Boulder, Colorado. This song pops up on people's Christmas playlists, but to me it never seemed all that…restrictive, I guess. Meaning, it's not at all weird that I'm posting it on what for most of us is the hottest day so far all summer. So instead of noticing how it's so hot that your underwear is clinging to you like lichen, think of this frozen river, and ice skating, and how much we're all gonna be whining about how cold it is in a short 6 months.
Just now I noticed that all three of my choices are women who sing in the lower ranges of the female voice. Maybe that's because I myself sing in that range, so I can wail away to these songs in the privacy of my SUV, like you do. I mean, you all do that too, right? You're the people I see in my rear view mirror, mouthing words you alone can hear? Thought so. Wave at me next time, 'k? It'll be our secret. Me, I'll be singing to this one, by the supremely talented Cassandra Wilson. I've had this line running through my head all week: It was just the arbutus rusting, and the bumping of the logs, and the moon swept down black water like an empty spotlight… This is from a wonderful 2007 CD, "Tribute to Joni Mitchell", that also features other great artists like Prince, Sufjan Stevens, k.d. lang, Sarah McLachlan, and Emmylou Harris.
John Mellencamp: Death Letter
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Cassandra Wilson: Death Letter
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You may hear that the blues is dead. It has been done to death, and there is nothing more to say. After all, the blues consists of one simple structure, and the lyrics are just someone complaining. Unfortunately, a lot of the blues music that is out these days supports this point of view. But, if you love the blues as I do, you will want to have a rebuttal handy. And here it is.
Consider these two versions of Death Letter. The original is by Son House. A man receives a letter, informing him that his lover is dead. As he reflects on this news, he comes to realize just how much he loved her.
John Mellencamp takes the song and delivers a version that feels old. The arrangement is spare, with no bass that I can hear. The guitar and national steel have knife-like parts that cut through the singers heart. Mellencamp sings this with a passion. His performance makes you wonder how you could have heard him sing all of those hits, and never realized how perfect his voice was for blues. His version burns like a fresh wound.
Cassandra Wilson takes the same song in a completely different direction. Of course, she changes the genders, but that is the smallest part of it. Her version is new, a combination of sounds no one ever thought of before. There is a solo on a tenor banjo. The other instruments create a wall of support that wobbles, reflecting the unsteadiness of the singer’s emotions. And Wilson sings this as a sob. Some of the words almost disappear, as if singing them aloud will make them true.
So here are two different versions of the same song, two completely different approaches. Both are emotionally valid. Taken together, they demonstrate that there is plenty left to do with the blues.
Cassandra Wilson: Last Train to Clarksville
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Let me introduce a new term: guilty displeasure. A guilty displeasure is a something a person once liked, but know longer does, and now finds completely embarrassing. Case in point: I remember watching the Monkees TV show when it originally aired.
In my defense, I was about 7 at the time. I also remember, from around the same time, carefully clipping a 45 by the Archies off the back of a box of Honeycomb cereal. Yes, you could do that with vinyl. I got over the Archies too.
Of course, Last Train to Clarksville was a big hit for the Monkees. As such, I had lumped the song in with all the other trivial and shallow songs of the Bubblegum genre. That is, until Cassandra Wilson covered it. The album Full Moon Daughter was actually my introduction to her music. I had read an intriguing review, but track 8 had me very anxious. Well, the first seven songs are good. But why would an artist like this cover the Monkees? Then the song started, and my jaw went to the floor. Cassandra Wilson has completely reimagined the song. Lo and behold, she actually finds depth in the lyric. What had been nothing more than a piece of pop fluff is now a powerful song of yearning. And I have been a Cassandra Wilson fan ever since.
Announcement: One of the most remarkable train songs I have heard in a long time is called God’s 9:05. It’s by J Shogren, who was new to me as well. I posted the song with my review of his latest album on Oliver di Place. Come have a listen, and let me know what you think.
Cassandra Wilson: Hellhound On My Trail
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Rory Block: Hellhound On My Trail
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Two of my favorite still-living blueswomen from opposite ends of the blues spectrum -- one a sultry jazz-pop chanteuse, the other a 5 time WC Handy award-winning acoustic folkblues guitar player of the Mississippi Delta Country Blues style -- deliver vastly different but equally powerful interpretations of this old country blues tune usually attributed to Robert Johnson.
"Hellhounds on my trail" may be merely a metaphoric mannerism, but each in her own way manages to bring the weariness of a sinner's life to what is otherwise a pretty standard sneakin' 'round song. As an added bonus, given the subject matter, the gender-bender approach is reasonably empowering, all things considered. Especially nice to hear powerful musicianship coupled with such powerful, sparse narrative.
