Dar Williams at Guthrie Center (5/27/00)
(GREAT BARRINGTON, Mass., May 28, 2000)
Over the last five years or so, Williams has built an adoring, cult-like
following for her original songs, traversing territory mined for previous
generations by Joni Mitchell, Cat Stevens and Paul Simon on her way to the
pinnacle of new-folk success.
Williams’s songs variously address concerns of female childhood,
adolescence and young-adulthood, with a particular post-hippie, quasi-new
age sensibility that speaks pointedly to her youthful audience.
Thus, in “The Babysitter’s Here,” she reveals herself to be a child of the
‘60s by proxy, one who was too young to directly participate in that decade’
s radical cultural transformations, but not too young to absorb its style
and outlook through osmosis. As anyone who had a folk guitar-playing
babysitter in those years can attest, it was a romantic, powerful
attraction.
Similarly, “Are You Out There,” an ode to free-form radio that Williams
said was inspired by the recent battle over control of the left-wing
Pacifica radio network, was powered by more than a modicum of radicalism on
loan. And “The Christians and the Pagans” was a wry portrayal of a
contemporary holiday celebration which finds two ancient traditions amicably
co-existing around a family dinner table.
Williams evinced what is at the very least a more than passing interest in
spirituality, if not a full-fledged change in direction to more religiously
inquisitive material, on several new songs, including “Playing to the
Firmament” and “And a God Descended,” the latter about false messianism.
“Calling the Moon,” while ostensibly about getting in touch with nature, can
also be seen in this newfound spiritual light.
Perhaps her best-loved songs are those that variously address gender
issues, songs like “Iowa,” which finds sexual ambivalence reflected in the
soft hills of that state, “You’re Aging Well,” about female body image, “As
Cool As I Am,” about female solidarity, and “When I Was a Boy,” which
captures the carefree innocence and remarkable strength of pre-pubescent
girlhood.
Williams wears her influences on her sleeve, from the Paul Simon-like
folk-rock of “Are You Out There” to the Joan Baez-does-Joni Mitchell
sounding “End of the Summer,” a vivid portrait of the relentlessly cyclical
nature of time.
Equally as remarkable as Williams’s talent as a songwriter and her success
in her field is his woeful lack of control as a performer. When she sings
out, she is a forceful vocalist who approaches Baez at her best. But when
she under-sings, which is all too often, her voice is breathy and her
diction is blurry, rendering her lyrics -- especially on songs that tend to
pack way too many words per line – indistinct.
Williams’s vocals are further undermined by her poor guitar playing. There
is perhaps no performer who has made it as far as Williams has with such
poor command of her instrument, an instrument which all too often plays the
performer rather than vice versa.
While one isn’t looking for hot riffs and flashy licks, an audience should
at least be able to expect clearly played chords instead of the incomplete,
blurry notes that Williams leaves ringing. She strums irregular rhythms, is
often drowned out by her own playing, and even bounces around out of sync to
the meter of her songs.
As much as Williams tries to connect with her audience, an audience clearly
willing to overlook all her flaws as a performer, she still keeps an
arms-length distance. Her songs and her between-song patter actually reveal
little about the singer herself. This is both her art and her artifice; her
suburban, generic disposition is more mirror than painting, and perhaps that
accounts for her popularity among a crowd seeking its own reflection.
[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on May 29, 2000.
Copyright Seth Rogovoy 2000. All rights reserved.]
Seth Rogovoy rogovoy@berkshire.net music news, interviews, reviews, et al.
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