Tag: Linda Ronstadt

Linda Ronstadt for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Linda was as eclectic as musical shapeshifters like David Bowie and Neil Young, but because she didn’t write her own stuff, she’s been dismissed.

One of my friends, remembering her popularity in the late 1970s, both musically and visually – posters of her image were on more few dorm room walls – wrote: “Now that we know Linda Ronstadt is living with Parkinson’s, can we please finally put her in the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame?”

Not sure about whether induction there really matters; it certainly does not diminish her remarkable talent over decades. Still, I support the notion of her getting into the Hall, and if it takes a sympathy vote because she no longer can sing to achieve it, so be it. But I think she has enough bona fides to get there without pity.

She had tremendous commercial success in the folk-rock milieu in the 1970s, yet ventured off to do the Pirates of Penzance; two albums of music of her Mexican father, in Spanish; three albums of standards arranged by Nelson Riddle; some great duets with Aaron Neville and Emmylou Harris, among others; the Trio albums with Dolly Parton and Emmylou, and much more.

Linda was as eclectic as musical shapeshifters like David Bowie and Neil Young, but because she didn’t write her own stuff, she’s been dismissed. You’ll find her on albums as varied as Randy Newman’s Faust and Philip Glass’s Songs of Liquid Days; from the latter, here is Forgetting, also featuring the Roches and the Kronos String Quartet. She’s one of the great backup vocalists, with Neil Young on Heart of Gold, and Paul Simon on Under African Skies, e.g.

It’s also true that I like Linda Ronstadt – not personally – based on what I’ve heard about her. I hear she’s a big donator to repertory theater in Tucson, for instance. Her birthday is the same as my wife’s (Linda’s a bit older, though).

She inspired a buycott by me. A buycott, as described by Arthur, is “to go out of my way to support businesses that support the issues I care about instead of boycotting the ones that oppose those issues.” In 2004, she was escorted from a Las Vegas casino after she had dedicated a song to the filmmaker Michael Moore. Her ejection and the attitude of the audience annoyed me so much that I soon ordered from Amazon The Linda Ronstadt Box Set, which is great, especially discs three, “Collaborations, ” and four, “Rarities.” Though the collection ignores her hits such as Heat Wave, Tracks of My Tears, That’ll Be the Day, It’s So Easy, and most of the Hasten Down the Wind album, it was a very satisfying purchase.

Let’s get physical music

If the digitization of music has rendered the perception of the album as defunct, I would still argue that vision of at least some artists are broader than the hit single.

 

I’m listening to the pre-show of the only musical podcast I listen to regularly, that being Coverville. Brian is setting up the show, realizes that some song is “protected,” so that we wouldn’t hear it if he played it, and decides to download a replacement song. He’s in Amazon when he discovers he can download the album but only if he also gets the physical album.

Getting the actual CD may have been a hassle for him; he goes through a couple of dozen songs a week, after all. Having moved a few times, I know that owning the tangible LP or CD is some work. Yet I still do.

I was at work, and we were talking about the death of the album in music. A pundit I read had suggested that the album, as a piece of musical expression, only existed for about a decade, from 1967 and Sgt. Pepper to the beginning of the punk era. I SO disagree; there were plenty of albums before ’67, and not just in soundtracks and jazz.

I know Frank Sinatra was creating something other than a group of tunes to support the single back in the 1950s. British bands such as The Beatles and Rolling Stones didn’t even put singles on the albums; that was an American affectation to put the single on the album and pad it with a bunch of presumably throwaway tunes.

In any case, the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds, the Butterfield Blues Band’s East-West, and the Beatles’ Revolver, all from 1966, all feel like albums, as opposed to a bunch of songs thrown together, to me.

If the digitization of music has rendered the perception of the album defunct, I would still argue that the vision of at least some artists is broader than the hit single. I suggested to my colleagues that the album may have died with Green Day’s 2004 American Idiot, but I was being too glib. Paul Simon put out an album, So Beautiful or so what, in 2011. Springsteen puts out albums. I’m sure there are others.

While talking at work, a couple of us are remembering a Linda Ronstadt collection. Neither of us could remember the album title – it turned out to be Simple Dreams – but we remember the album cover; our favorite song was I Never Will Marry, with Dolly Parton, BTW. The physical recollection of the artwork helped us to remember the music better, something often lost these days; one CAN download the art, but it seems that it doesn’t happen that often, percentage-wise.

My colleague’s daughter had gotten into the group the Shins. I went home and put away the physical music I had played over the last couple of months, and while refiling in the S section came across the Shins myself. I had forgotten that I had owned it! For me, it was a rediscovery, like randomly looking at the shelves in the library and picking a book to read. Could I have found it electronically? Of course. But the overwhelming number of songs on my iTunes makes me oddly less adventurous; maybe it’s just my affectation.

In any case, I’m also rather suspicious of all the music on the cloud or in iTunes, for reasons Dustbury touches on.

1917

They die in the trenches and they die in the air
In Belguim and France the dead are everywhere
They die so so fast there’s no time to prepare
A decent grave to surround them

 

Some weeks ago, I was listening to the great 1999 album by Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris called Western Wall: The Tucson Sessions. The fifth track on the album was described by the respected website AllMusic.com in this way:

“The album’s best track, ‘1917,’ was written by folk singer David Olney. It’s impossible to imagine anyone else singing this haunting tale of soldiers and women in World War I. Fragile and breathtaking, Harris’ voice is buoyed by the angelic harmonies of Ronstadt and Kate and Anna McGarrigle.”

I always find it extraordinary haunting.

Here’s the fourth verse:

They die in the trenches and they die in the air
In Belgium and France the dead are everywhere
They die so so fast there’s no time to prepare
A decent grave to surround them
Old world glory old world fame
The old worlds gone gone up in flames
Nothing will ever be the same
And nothing lasts forever
Oh I’d pray for him but I’ve forgotten how
And there’s nothing nothing that can save him now
There’s always another with the same funny bow
And who am I to deny them

Here’s a live version of the song 1917, also from 1999.

On Veterans Day, let us not glorify war, but always remember its horror.

 

Valentine’s Day

Both songs speak of yearning. I know, from vast past experience, that Valentine’s Day is not hearts and flowers for everyone.

At my core, Valentine’s Day is one of those mixed blessings days. Why, for instance, do I so connect with a song written by lyricist Hal David and composer Burt Bacharach, Anyone Who Had A Heart? It was performed originally by Dionne Warwick and covered by several others (Cilla Black, Luther Vandross, Wynonna Judd, Dusty Springfield, Shelby Lynne, among others).
Anyone who had a heart
Would take me in his arms and love me, too
You couldn’t really have a heart and hurt me,
Like you hurt me and be so untrue
What am I to do

Here’s Dionne’s version of Anyone Who Had a Heart.

I also relate to Don’t Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder). It’s a song from the legendary Beach Boys album Pet Sounds, written by Brian Wilson and Tony Asher
Being here with you feels so right
We could live forever tonight
Let’s not think about tomorrow
And don’t talk put your head on my shoulder
Come close, close your eyes and be still
Don’t talk, take my hand and listen to my heart beat
Listen, listen, listen.

Here’s a couple of Beach Boys versions:
a capella and traditional.

Both songs speak of yearning. I know, from vast past experience, that Valentine’s Day is not hearts and flowers for everyone. I guess that’s why I relate to the melancholy songs so much.

Not incidentally, these two songs are performed back to back on Linda Ronstadt’s Winter Light album, which appears to be out of print, AND I can’t find either track on the Intersnet. One can find them on her box set.
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I should say that Scott, who noted my mom’s passing in his blog, and Jaquandor, who had mentioned it previously, are each requesting that you Ask Them Anything. Here’s Scott’s link, and Jaquandor’s.

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