The joy of Richman
(Published in Berkshire Eagle, 10/17/08)
By Jeremy D. Goodwin
GREAT BARRINGTON—If he didn't mean every word he says, Jonathan Richman could be considered the godfather of ironic hipsterdom.
But he does mean every word—or so it certainly seems.
So when he writes a song called "You're Crazy For Taking The Bus" or "He Gave Us The Wine To Taste It," the pleasure comes in just accepting it all at face value. Sure, he knows it's often goofy. But ever since his days in the early 1970's hashing out proto-punk songs about speeding on Route 128 and romantic interests with nose jobs, at the center of Richman's artistic project has been one, thoroughly un-ironic sensation: joy.
He's the only popular artist I can think of who could base a chorus around the phrase "I was dancing at the lesbian bar, ooh ooh ooh" and have the song come nowhere near novelty. (See Art Brut for a contemporary band profoundly influenced by Richman that never quite sound like they're not going to pull the ironic rug out from under your feet at any moment.)
This native of Natick, Massachusetts earned his place in rock and roll history by making one proper record with The Modern Lovers, belatedly released in 1976 after the band broke up. Its sound anticipated punk rock not with snarl, ennui and volume but with its raw garage band sensibility amid a greater rock world caked in glam and concerned with concept albums about King Arthur. He still lugged around his old band name for about a decade, but Richman soon spun off into a sort of alternate musical universe, authoring a series of acoustic albums influenced by country music and both Caribbean and Spanish folk traditions.
The constants have been his endearingly nasal voice and lyrics that would sound like those of a sarcastic-savant if their author didn't sound so thoroughly, emotionally invested. I was dancing at the lesbian bar? Ooh ooh ooh, indeed.
Accompanied by longtime drummer Tommy Larkins, Richman delighted a sold-out audience at Club Helsinki on Wednesday with a two-set show culled entirely from his latter day musical life, including several songs from his latest album "Because Her Beauty is Raw and Wild," released in April. He spent most of the night singing through a broad smile, moving on-and-off mic constantly, frequently wandering offstage and milling amid the patrons seated at tables like a one-man mariachi band with a Boston accent.
In one song (I wasn't able to locate it in his extensive catalog) Richman told a story about meeting an alluring but sadly unattainable girl on the school bus in eighth grade. "The smell of her coat, the smell of her hair in the cold New England air/ She smiled once and that got me thinkin' about her/ But the very ice and the snow seemed to say 'Young man, no,'" he sang. Underneath the story is a deep satisfaction in the vicissitudes of human emotion. It's not great poetry, but it's affecting. Once you stop chuckling, you realize Richman has suddenly gotten deep under your skin, tugging at childhood memories and evoking a situation and an emotion as effectively as a great novelist.
Richman employed a surprisingly accomplished technique on acoustic guitar, playing without a pick and taking many a short solo. Larkins mostly lived on his kick drum, high hat and the rim of the snare, supporting Richman in an appropriately understated way while following the twists and turns of a set list that appeared spontaneous.
Frequently interspersing spoken word interludes and sometimes breaking off to sing in Spanish, French or Italian, Richman offered a steady stream of songs that blurred the line between comically whimsical observations and honest-to-goodness insight. The new material came off particularly well, though slightly older gems like "Give Paris One More Chance" and "Couples Must Fight" were also standouts.
"When we refuse to suffer, when we refuse to feel/ We bore our friends to death with small talk that evades the real," he sang in "When We Refuse to Suffer," from the new album.
This is the sort of earnestness that would never survive vetting by the arbiters of indie cool who've inherited Richman's musical legacy. In its insistence on savoring the full spectrum of human emotions, I posit that this song is about joy. And that's something that won't come across if you don't, well, mean it. What a concept.
GREAT BARRINGTON—If he didn't mean every word he says, Jonathan Richman could be considered the godfather of ironic hipsterdom.
But he does mean every word—or so it certainly seems.
So when he writes a song called "You're Crazy For Taking The Bus" or "He Gave Us The Wine To Taste It," the pleasure comes in just accepting it all at face value. Sure, he knows it's often goofy. But ever since his days in the early 1970's hashing out proto-punk songs about speeding on Route 128 and romantic interests with nose jobs, at the center of Richman's artistic project has been one, thoroughly un-ironic sensation: joy.
He's the only popular artist I can think of who could base a chorus around the phrase "I was dancing at the lesbian bar, ooh ooh ooh" and have the song come nowhere near novelty. (See Art Brut for a contemporary band profoundly influenced by Richman that never quite sound like they're not going to pull the ironic rug out from under your feet at any moment.)
This native of Natick, Massachusetts earned his place in rock and roll history by making one proper record with The Modern Lovers, belatedly released in 1976 after the band broke up. Its sound anticipated punk rock not with snarl, ennui and volume but with its raw garage band sensibility amid a greater rock world caked in glam and concerned with concept albums about King Arthur. He still lugged around his old band name for about a decade, but Richman soon spun off into a sort of alternate musical universe, authoring a series of acoustic albums influenced by country music and both Caribbean and Spanish folk traditions.
The constants have been his endearingly nasal voice and lyrics that would sound like those of a sarcastic-savant if their author didn't sound so thoroughly, emotionally invested. I was dancing at the lesbian bar? Ooh ooh ooh, indeed.
Accompanied by longtime drummer Tommy Larkins, Richman delighted a sold-out audience at Club Helsinki on Wednesday with a two-set show culled entirely from his latter day musical life, including several songs from his latest album "Because Her Beauty is Raw and Wild," released in April. He spent most of the night singing through a broad smile, moving on-and-off mic constantly, frequently wandering offstage and milling amid the patrons seated at tables like a one-man mariachi band with a Boston accent.
In one song (I wasn't able to locate it in his extensive catalog) Richman told a story about meeting an alluring but sadly unattainable girl on the school bus in eighth grade. "The smell of her coat, the smell of her hair in the cold New England air/ She smiled once and that got me thinkin' about her/ But the very ice and the snow seemed to say 'Young man, no,'" he sang. Underneath the story is a deep satisfaction in the vicissitudes of human emotion. It's not great poetry, but it's affecting. Once you stop chuckling, you realize Richman has suddenly gotten deep under your skin, tugging at childhood memories and evoking a situation and an emotion as effectively as a great novelist.
Richman employed a surprisingly accomplished technique on acoustic guitar, playing without a pick and taking many a short solo. Larkins mostly lived on his kick drum, high hat and the rim of the snare, supporting Richman in an appropriately understated way while following the twists and turns of a set list that appeared spontaneous.
Frequently interspersing spoken word interludes and sometimes breaking off to sing in Spanish, French or Italian, Richman offered a steady stream of songs that blurred the line between comically whimsical observations and honest-to-goodness insight. The new material came off particularly well, though slightly older gems like "Give Paris One More Chance" and "Couples Must Fight" were also standouts.
"When we refuse to suffer, when we refuse to feel/ We bore our friends to death with small talk that evades the real," he sang in "When We Refuse to Suffer," from the new album.
This is the sort of earnestness that would never survive vetting by the arbiters of indie cool who've inherited Richman's musical legacy. In its insistence on savoring the full spectrum of human emotions, I posit that this song is about joy. And that's something that won't come across if you don't, well, mean it. What a concept.
