CONCERT REVIEW
Emmylou Harris a one-woman music foundation
by Seth Rogovoy(LENOX, Mass., May 4, 1997) -- Emmylou Harris scored big before a nearly packed house at the Berkshire Performing Arts Theatre on Saturday night, as in concert the singer displayed a rich, deep musical vocabulary befitting a one-woman music foundation.
Aided and abetted by Spyboy, her startingly inventive, electric trio, Harris -- nominally a country singer -- brought her classic, rootsy sound into the '90s, giving it a post-modern twist equipped with enough dash and rhythmic complexity to build a bridge to reach well into the 21st century.
The foundation of Harris's new sound was laid on her 1995 album, "Wrecking Ball." Constructed largely by producer and sonic philosopher Daniel Lanois -- best known for his work with such modern-rock performers as Peter Gabriel and U2 -- the setting is one of stark contrasts, with harsh, post-industrial textures rubbing up against rootsy, organic sounds.
An early version of this approach was heard on Lanois' work on Bob Dylan's 1989 masterpiece, "Oh Mercy," which Harris credits as the main inspiration behind "Wrecking Ball." On that landmark, Dylan's froggy croak seemed to rise up out of an irradiated, post-nuclear swamp, well- suited to the poet's Biblical lamentations.
But as realized on "Wrecking Ball" and in concert on Saturday night, the matrix of sounds seems even better suited to Harris, whose utterly otherworldly vocals soared above the swampy, country-funk laid down by Spyboy, which replicated Lanois's studio-engineered, sonic stew with grace and agility.
The sum result was an almost unclassifiable style of music. Harris is typically thought of as a country singer with deep gospel and bluegrass leanings, and indeed she paid tribute to those roots on Saturday night with a number of songs from her back catalog.
But what Harris really displayed was the art of a singular vocalist allied to no particular genre or style. Rather, Harris used her spectacular instrument as a musician, playing her voice with its spectacular range and variety of color and tone. Her resonant, natural vibrato sailed effortlessly into falsetto and back down, and its shimmering texture -- full of earthly and spiritual struggle to match her material -- opened a window that made this true soul music.
Harris's band was a remarkably versatile ensemble, reflective of its diverse origins, drummer Brady Blade and bassist Daryl Johnson from New Orleans and guitarist Buddy Miller from Austin. Each was a virtuoso in his own right, but together they were a catalog of Americana.
Their version of Neil Young's "Wrecking Ball," for example, was rendered as a slow dance at the apocalypse, with Miller's evocative, Hawaiian slide licks cutting through Harris's plaintive wail, while the rhythm section laid down some funereal, New Orleans polyrhythms. Harris's vocals on Lucinda Williams's "Sweet Old World" -- a love song to a sibling suicide -- were absolutely heartrending, and Miller sent out shards of sound that came seemingly from a world beyond. Then Miller turned around on Bob Dylan's prayerful "Every Grain of Sand" and augmented the spirituality with some very appropriate, Roger McGuinn- style fills.
Harris's impeccable choice of material alone was enough to garner her acclaim for her singlehanded effort to preserve and perpetuate the American musical tradition. In addition to songwriters already mentioned -- incidentally, she nominated Dylan for a Nobel Prize in Literature -- she touched bases with Johnny Cash, George Jones, Anna McGarrigle and Gillian Welch. In her singleminded devotion to great songs and great songwriters and her equal-handed commitment to innovation and integrity, she is the living incarnation of the spirit of the National Music Foundation, and as such she was the perfect choice to headline the weekend's Berkshire Music Festival.
Meanwhile, up in Williamstown, another Daniel Lanois-produced act -- the all-female, funk-rock band Luscious Jackson -- was performing for a mostly younger crowd in the hockey rink at Williams College. This reviewer left the Harris show before the end in order to catch some of the Luscious Jackson show. While much of the band's insinuating melodicism and hefty rhythmic power was lost in the cavernous, acoustic mess of the hockey rink, the concert -- not technically part of the music festival -- was still a testament to the richness of the Berkshire music scene on a Saturday night during mud season.
[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on May 5, 1997. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 1997. All rights reserved.]
Seth Rogovoy
rogovoy@berkshire.net
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