RIP, Eartha Kitt

We'll miss you, Miss Kitt.

RIP, Yma Sumac

I think it can be safely said that Yma Sumac had a unique voice that will not be easily duplicated.

Revisiting Toni Childs

I've been putting some old, nearly forgotten CDs on my iPod lately, among them Toni Childs's "House of Hope" from the early 90s. When one of those songs played in shuffle while I was housecleaning (the only way I can force myself to houseclean is by cranking the tunes), it stopped me in my sweeping and took me back to the emotional place that album used to occupy. Generally, I don't listen to music with the same intensity as I did once upon a time. Perhaps that intensity gets lost along with youth, or perhaps it's more difficult to find music that speaks to the longings of middle age. "House of Hope" spoke deeply to me in the early 90s. The combination of Toni's unmistakable, powerfully yearning voice (she has one of those big love-it or hate-it voices you can identify in one note) and unabashedly emotional lyrics hit me in the spine. It was a lights out, listen alone album. As much as I've changed in the past seventeen years, the songs on "House of Hope" (the title track you may remember from "Thelma & Louise") sound as rawly beautiful to me now as they did then. And I recalled the album dedication to "people who are growing, to people who are just getting by, and to people who are hanging on for dear life." Oh, how uncool and melodramatic, yet, listening to her, I believed she meant it and saw her as a kindred spirit with a fragile ability to cope with life's hurts. 

Since I hadn't heard about her in years, I did a bit of googling and discovered Toni is alive and well, after a long period of unwellness. Her MySpace page features new music (her first album in many years) and videos from recent appearances on Australian TV. On her website, she discusses each of her albums. She said neither her record company nor American reviewers particularly liked "House of Hope," but many people wrote to her about it, telling how the songs helped heal and even save their lives. Eve Ensler, writer of "The Vagina Monologues," was one of the people moved by the album, and Toni contributed "Because You're Beautiful" to Ensler's documentary "Until the Violence Stops." About the new album, Toni says, "I am so pleased and excited about getting another opportunity to make a record I love after all these years." Welcome back, Keep the Faith.

Suddenly, Last Summer

It's officially the first day of autumn, which puts an official end to my summer hiatus. American Idol is but a distant dream, until the new season starts up. There's apparently some kind of election coming up? Meanwhile, YouTube videos come but mostly they go, replaced by "We're sorry, this video is no longer available." Some blog housecleaning is in order.

The end of summer made me think of the phrase Suddenly, Last Summer, which brought to mind Montgomery Clift, who starred in the strange movie based on the Tennessee Williams play, which brought to mind another Clift movie, the one that inspired my nickname here and on Flickr. Which led to YouTube and finding my favorite scene from the movie: Tell mama, tell mama all. It seemed an appropriate way to start another blog season, a bit of timeless beauty (it doesn't get more beautiful than Liz and Monty circa 1950) amid the political ugliness of these current days.

Suddenly, Last Summer also made me think of The Motels, my favorite pop noir band of the 80s. Their ode to lost summer romance holds up pretty well as a song, though the video for it fares less well. A recent interview with Martha Davis, the band's sultry-voiced singer, confirms that she's still making music. My favorite Motels song is Total Control, so I found an old live version of it and a version from just last year. The old version has Martha holding a lit cigarette (how times have changed!) that made me fear for her fingers. The performance is rather affected, unnecessary melodrama accessorizing the naturally haunting voice. The recent version is pared down by comparison, smoke-free, and lovely. It's always interesting to see how musicians handle the youthful material that made their names. Some try to turn back time, as if the world and their fame has stood still. Others, like Marianne Faithfull, use the passage of time to bring new meaning to a song. (I think of her singing As Tears Go By as a pretty young waif and, years later, as a world-weary, rough-voiced reincarnation of her former self.) Few artists are as smartly self-conscious as Marianne Faithfull, but Martha holds her own, then and now.

Suddenly, last summer. Time passes, out of our control. Welcome to autumn.

My Divas ~ Linda, 1976

One of the pleasures of YouTube is coming across a rare, unexpected performance by an artist you've long been a fan of. Such was the case when I discovered this 1976 performance by Linda Ronstadt of "Down So Low," a mostly overlooked track from her underrated "Hasten Down the Wind" album. While Linda performances of "Blue Bayou" or "You're No Good" are a dime a dozen on YouTube, "Down So Low" is a true rarity. I've seen Linda in concert a number of times, but I never heard her sing this uncharacteristically bluesy song--one associated with Tracy Nelson--and it's not one she's likely to perform now. Linda has never been a loose or natural performer, and this version of "Down So Low" sticks pretty close to the recorded version, but she gets more emotion out of it live, and you can see her getting down (as the title implies) into the song instead of just hitting the notes.

Linda (followed closely by Emmylou) was my original diva. Her commercial heyday occurred when I was a teenager in the 70s. Inevitably, her poster was on my bedroom wall. I remember saving the 1977 Time cover-story showing Linda looking more sultry than usual alongside the title "Torchy Rock." I still have the article tucked away in a file cabinet. Though Linda was no stranger to the radio in those days, my friends didn't listen to her: she was my own personal diva. She wasn't the obvious gay-boy choice, either. She wasn't Judy, or Barbra, or Bette, or Cher. She didn't particularly act like a diva or dress like a diva or have camp value, aside from the odd Cub Scout hotpants or Jerry Brown jet trip. In photographs she pouted in a vulnerable looking way, and she sang mostly of heartbreak, but she didn't sound vulnerable. She was a straight-ahead belter mixing pop, country and rock, a vocal role model for today's country stars but not for today's pop divas. Only recently, when occasionally browsing the Linda Ronstadt Fans’ Forum, did I discover that Linda was the unlikely diva of choice for many a gay boy who came of age in the 70s. (She recently returned the favor by singing with the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles.) We responded to the voice but also to her imperfect looks: depending on the lighting and angle, she could look beautiful or plain, like a star or like a plump-faced girl with iffy skin who happened to find herself in the spotlight. Somehow, we could relate. She was our reachable diva.

With the exception of "Blue Bayou" (her version has become definitive) and a couple of other songs, Linda's big hits haven't really stood the test of time. (She sings them now only very reluctantly and only the ones that make some sense for a woman over 60.) But much of her earlier album material has held up, even if she herself has little use for it. As divas go, you won't find one who cares less about being a diva. Ronstadt seems not to have a nostalgic bone in her body. She's indifferent towards the songs that made her famous, records and performs infrequently yet speaks of retirement without fanfare. She hasn't tried to stay young looking, or slim. She hasn't become a trainwreck or checked into Betty Ford. She made headlines a few years ago for trumpeting Michael Moore during a Vegas concert, to the consternation of some fans, yet brushed the controversy aside rather than trying to capitalize on the attention. In essence, she seems to be a very talented ordinary person who put up with fame only because it has allowed her to do, musically, pretty much whatever the hell she wants to do. She doesn't tell her fans that she loves them, because she doesn't. She has too much integrity be a true diva. But some of us are still listening.

Happy Birthday, Emmylou

Happy 61st Birthday to Emmylou Harris. I've been a fan now for over 30 years, and she's a shining example of what it means to preserve one's artistic integrity through changing times. Many happy returns, Emmylou. Keep holding the songbird.

Emmylou Harris - Hall of Famer

In honor of Emmylou being named today to the Country Hall of Fame.

A few years ago, I paid tribute to Emmylou's long Brilliant Career.

My Friend Amy

My friend, Amy, cleaned up (so to speak) at the Grammys last night. Ok, so she didn't win album of the year (and, ok, she really isn't my friend), but she won a bunch of awards and she performed without collapsing or noticeably forgetting lyrics and, unlike a certain other troubled diva, she was actually singing, like, live. Fine as the album was, Amy's troubles probably helped her win. We love a comeback almost as much as we love a trainwreck.

They placed Amy's performance near the end of the show, of course, and relentlessly advertised it throughout to build in as much will-she-fall-apart-or-keep-it-together suspense as possible. I thought this was cruel to her (what time was it in London?! surely waiting up all those hours can't be good for an addict?) and to me, her worried friend. 

There were other nervous-making live-show moments along the way: What if Carrie Underwood falls down the stairs in that microscopic skirt? What if the Cirque du Soleil woman in the flowing red dress drops with a hideous thud? What if Tina (still rocking in an aluminum foil pantsuit at nearly 70) has a heart attack because she's trying to keep up with that chipper young Beyonce? What if Aretha's straps don't hold? (Was Fergie's dress made from Aretha's belt?) What if Kanye has weapons? What if Tony Bennett and Andy Williams are too old to read the teleprompters (remember poor Lauren Bacall, how the sweat broke out on your forehead?)? But it was all leading up to Amy . . . 

And she triumphed, in the moment. She played sly and loose with the songs, without letting them get away from her, then seemed poignantly bewildered when the music stopped. She looked genuinely moved by the victorious night, which must have been quite the contrast to much of her recent life, yet she didn't repent or give the sort of sentimental speech the Grammys were probably hoping she would. Maybe she cried, but she didn't cry for us.

Next up, the Oscars. When the awards will be the lead-up to Heath's moment in the annual In Memoriam slideshow. 

Sordid Lives Remix - 2007 - Tammy Wynette

Tammy Wynette + Leslie Jordon = Sordid Brilliance

Amy Meets Linda

An inspired mashup of two of my favorites.