"Searing Talent Rises Above Rough Edges"
Published in Berkshire Eagle, 11/3/09
By Jeremy D. Goodwin
GREAT BARRINGTON—Even when improvising and taking musical chances, some performers ooze a cool sense of total control, lulling the audience into a sense that any misstep is out of the question.
Rickie Lee Jones is not one of those performers.
Though her endlessly compelling show at the Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center over the weekend was at times unpolished—whether when Jones was openly grasping for what to play next or barking commands to her sidemen mid-song—these rough edges only drew into sharper relief the searing potency of her great talent.
Jones, who alternated between acoustic guitar and piano, was joined by Joel Guzman on accordion and organ; Rob Wasserman on bass; and Alan Okuye on Moog keyboard, a bit of percussion and a touch of organ. (Guzman and Okuye also contributed vocals.)
The constant throughout was Jones' eloquent power, be it her stab-you-in-the-heart vocals or the depth of her material, which was shown well in a series of relatively stripped-down arrangements. Yet at times it felt like band practice, with Jones frequently instructing a band member to sing or not sing, or change the tempo, or lay back.
Wasserman was the nonplussed anchor. Guzman showed great versatility as he switched instruments and emphasis to suit Jones’ evolving preferences. Okuye had more trouble fitting into the changing size of the hole that remained, frequently receiving onstage “lessons” from his boss.
Material from her new album “Balm In Gilead” held its own ably in a set dipping into various phases of Jones’ career. “The Gospel of Carlos, Norman and Smith” received a wonderfully piercing vocal, while Guzman refracted the song’s Gospel flavors through his graceful touch on accordion. Guzman was waved off his organ by the bandleader during “Wild Girl,” a jazzy standout from the new record; it was a thrill to see a light bulb go off as he looked around, noticed his accordion, and picked that up to deliver some understated shadings there instead.
GREAT BARRINGTON—Even when improvising and taking musical chances, some performers ooze a cool sense of total control, lulling the audience into a sense that any misstep is out of the question.
Rickie Lee Jones is not one of those performers.
Though her endlessly compelling show at the Mahaiwe Performing Arts Center over the weekend was at times unpolished—whether when Jones was openly grasping for what to play next or barking commands to her sidemen mid-song—these rough edges only drew into sharper relief the searing potency of her great talent.
Jones, who alternated between acoustic guitar and piano, was joined by Joel Guzman on accordion and organ; Rob Wasserman on bass; and Alan Okuye on Moog keyboard, a bit of percussion and a touch of organ. (Guzman and Okuye also contributed vocals.)
The constant throughout was Jones' eloquent power, be it her stab-you-in-the-heart vocals or the depth of her material, which was shown well in a series of relatively stripped-down arrangements. Yet at times it felt like band practice, with Jones frequently instructing a band member to sing or not sing, or change the tempo, or lay back.
Wasserman was the nonplussed anchor. Guzman showed great versatility as he switched instruments and emphasis to suit Jones’ evolving preferences. Okuye had more trouble fitting into the changing size of the hole that remained, frequently receiving onstage “lessons” from his boss.
Material from her new album “Balm In Gilead” held its own ably in a set dipping into various phases of Jones’ career. “The Gospel of Carlos, Norman and Smith” received a wonderfully piercing vocal, while Guzman refracted the song’s Gospel flavors through his graceful touch on accordion. Guzman was waved off his organ by the bandleader during “Wild Girl,” a jazzy standout from the new record; it was a thrill to see a light bulb go off as he looked around, noticed his accordion, and picked that up to deliver some understated shadings there instead.
"Wild Girl" from new album Balm in Gilead |
The Mahaiwe felt like an intimate jazz club for “Weasel and the White Boys Cool” from Jones’ classic debut album, with a smoky groove achieved between just Jones’ vocals and guitar, Wasserman’s bowed bass, and some just-right touches of organ, backing vocals and finger snapping from Guzman.
Near the heart of her nearly two-hour set, Jones stood at center stage and started a pattern on shaker, apparently unsure exactly what song to play. Guzman could be seen licking his musical chops as he darted over to the piano, and Okuye added some keyboard accents. It seemed a full minute or two before "Bitchenostrophy," from her 2003 album "The Evening of My Best Day," finally emerged from the wobbly jam.
Guzman's percussive, Latin-tinged chording placed the song's snaking rhythm—which sort of drifts in and out of the recorded version—as its centerpiece. With Jones' dreamy, French-language vocals, the song found legs as a swooning dose of hipster lounge music.
Late-period classic “The Horses” sounded absolutely wonderful as a duet between Jones (at piano) and Wasserman, stripped of the ultra-80’s studio tics that inform the version on “Flying Cowboys.”
Drummer Charlie Paxson is with Jones’ band for all but one other date of the current tour; I suspect Okuye may have been called upon to play more than usual because of Paxson’s absence. In any case, it made one squirm to see Jones emphatically waving Okuye out of a song or calling out “A little flat!” when he was singing. To my ears, his able touch on the Moog (and his background vocals) added an appreciated texture to the band’s sound; but if Jones doesn’t think he can handle a tambourine or an organ, or sing on key, she should either conduct a band practice in private or let him focus only on his strengths onstage.
Yet one senses a lot would be lost if Jones showed up next time with a firm setlist in mind and an airtight interplay with her band. Perhaps the cracks in the performance façade are where the rare flower of Jones’ talent best grows. On this night, it was in full bloom.
Near the heart of her nearly two-hour set, Jones stood at center stage and started a pattern on shaker, apparently unsure exactly what song to play. Guzman could be seen licking his musical chops as he darted over to the piano, and Okuye added some keyboard accents. It seemed a full minute or two before "Bitchenostrophy," from her 2003 album "The Evening of My Best Day," finally emerged from the wobbly jam.
Guzman's percussive, Latin-tinged chording placed the song's snaking rhythm—which sort of drifts in and out of the recorded version—as its centerpiece. With Jones' dreamy, French-language vocals, the song found legs as a swooning dose of hipster lounge music.
Late-period classic “The Horses” sounded absolutely wonderful as a duet between Jones (at piano) and Wasserman, stripped of the ultra-80’s studio tics that inform the version on “Flying Cowboys.”
Drummer Charlie Paxson is with Jones’ band for all but one other date of the current tour; I suspect Okuye may have been called upon to play more than usual because of Paxson’s absence. In any case, it made one squirm to see Jones emphatically waving Okuye out of a song or calling out “A little flat!” when he was singing. To my ears, his able touch on the Moog (and his background vocals) added an appreciated texture to the band’s sound; but if Jones doesn’t think he can handle a tambourine or an organ, or sing on key, she should either conduct a band practice in private or let him focus only on his strengths onstage.
Yet one senses a lot would be lost if Jones showed up next time with a firm setlist in mind and an airtight interplay with her band. Perhaps the cracks in the performance façade are where the rare flower of Jones’ talent best grows. On this night, it was in full bloom.
