Willjlevith's Blog

Diana Jones

Better Times Will Come

Proper Records

Produced by Diana Jones

Street Date: May 19, 2009

—————————-

Folk music is a fickle bitch, to paraphrase Lost’s Ben Linus. If you’re a Guthrie-ite, and you just like the sparse acoustic guitars and wind-blown lyrics, you might call yourself a traditionalist. You might be a neo-traditionalist-loving Dylan fan, who sent old Zimmy down a volley of boos at Newport when he went electric. You might be of the sort that enjoys a glass of red wine, a nice hunk of brie cheese and a bite at “Alice’s Restaurant.” Or, you might be a depressive, like me, who enjoys a cold shower and a solid mope with an expert British songsmith such as the long-dead Nick Drake or the recently passed John Martyn (rest in peace, my friend; may [we] never lose sight of you). Or…and this is the last “or,” you might have just seen the light with a modern-era folkie like Fionn Regan.

Country-folk, on the other hand, is harder for me to nail down. What makes it country? Well, it’s definitely in the instrumentation/arrangement (acoustic guitar, fiddle, banjo, slide guitar or Dobro) and lyrical bent (Southern storylines; New Testament religiosity; and blue-collar themes such as alcohol, labor and poverty)—but oftentimes, the folk I described above has similar qualities. It’s hard to put your finger on. I’d say it’s also a rhythmic thing, which is a lot more difficult to describe in print (I’d suggest listening to a Hank Williams song, then immediately following, a Nick Drake song; you’ll sort of see what I’m talking about). There’s almost an ingrained backbeat in the solo acoustic guitar strumming rhythms of a country-folkie.

This is where we find Diana Jones, whom of all periodicals, the Financial Times calls “intensely moving.” I wonder why? Maybe working at the FT is where the true emotional core of America lies. Certainly, it has been one of the sectors of the economy hit hardest during the current Great Recession. Who knows? [Dear readers: Here begins a Rant.] Also, from the press release, we find out that this is a followup to her 2006 recording My Remembrance of You, which was “critically acclaimed.” I’ve found, over the years, that this (being “critically acclaimed”) is a staple to most press releases. What does it mean? Well, it has come to signify that music critics (like the one at the FT) enjoyed or somewhat enjoyed Ms. Jones’ music—hence, a “critic applauding or praising” it. The question asks itself: How long does it take for an artist to become “critically acclaimed”? According to this press release, not very long. For Ms. Jones really only has her 2006 wide-release to show—and but three years later, we have been blessed with only the second wide-release. Is that enough time for the global public to reach a decision about how much we like/dislike Ms. Jones’ music? I guess so, for some. For the sake of this review, absolutely not. [Readers: Rant ends here.]

Another thing we learn from the press release, which I really can’t let go of at the present moment is the fact that Ms. Jones’ music seems to be more popular in the U.K. than in America. [Readers: Feeling another Rant coming on.] This has always fascinated me—the divide between U.K. and American listeners. What makes us so different? Why are some acts embraced by them and not us? (And vice versa.) Is it the way our ears form in our mother’s womb? Is it that we, as Americans, innately find certain music more listenable than our British cousins? (Yeah, I said cousins; we’re historically related—a lot of us, at least.) Why do we spurn certain British acts like Robbie Williams and S Club 7, while they go soccer-stadium nuts for them? Why are there some musicians from England we have never heard of and the opposite true for Brits? And how do British magazines weigh American acts? (And vice versa.) Is it a different process? Does the NME get it right more often than Rolling Stone?

Now, I have quite a few friends who live or grew up in the U.K., and I’ve spent a pretty good chunk of time living in England and Scotland (well over a year and change), and I know one thing for sure: The U.K. mainstream is a singles world. Let me explain. Whereas our pop stations play the latest hits all day, every day, and we know them if we hear them in passing (“if you like it than you better put a ring on it!”), in England, singles absolutely rule the charts, and U.K.ers know every word, sing them at clubs and bars and soccer games and rugby matches, and the songs themselves become this nationalistic call to arms. Have you ever been in a crowded pub with hundreds of kids singing Robbie Williams’ “Angels”? The song comes on, and it’s like that moment in Naked Gun when then-California Angels’ first baseman Reggie Jackson retrieves the revolver from under first base and starts robotically chanting “I must kill the Queen.” In short, it’s an absolute nightmare, at least for me. I hate being that one guy in the bar who doesn’t know the words to the song and can’t sing it. But anyway, that’s how the music market thrives over there—off of singles. Do people listen to other stuff? Sure. Do they listen to full albums? Yeah. But the mass market is a singles market. [Rant end. Full stop.]

So then why is Diana Jones so popular over there and not over here? I think I may have at least part of an answer. If your society lives on a single-by-single basis and knowing singles is the way of conforming, the best way to fight the power is to listen to other, not-so-single-y stuff. A-ha! Add a few Diana Jones songs into the mix, and you’re practically causing a nuclear meltdown to conformity. Throw in an album, and well…you get the point.

First impression(s): I must admit, on the first spin this morning at about 8:30 a.m., Diana Jones’ voice sounded like a cross between the timbres of Big Bird and the Snuffleupagus from Sesame Street. Sort of that unnatural, muffled tone of Snuffy married to that outgoing, high-octane charm of BB. (I was drinking coffee at the time, so this was not a sleep-deprived ear-llucination.) I also must admit that I found the music itself awfully unoriginal, but my version of what is original, I’m sure differs greatly from the next guy. There wasn’t that it thing to put your finger on—I could’ve been listening to an anywoman in a coffeehouse in Scranton, PA. It did, however, sound American, which goes a long way these days, considering the amount of acts out there that seem to wad up their heritage and chuck it in the trash. Being American and sounding American are two different things, let me tell you. And considering the fact that Diana Jones is, indeed, American, I was thankful that her sound and her background lined up. However unoriginal I found the sound, I found the lyrics to be much higher on the originality scale. There is a personal quality to them that makes these lyrics very Diana Jones, if she can be used as a qualifier to herself. What am I saying? Her lyrics are not written as if from the mouth of another. Case in point, there have been groups lately who have embraced Bruce Springsteen as their musical springboard, striving to sound like him (The Killers and The Hold Steady come to mind). So, in sum, her lyrics are original; her sound ain’t.

Song(s) of note: I’m not paraphrasing Elton John/Bernie Taupin here when I say that sad songs say so much (well, maybe I sort of am)—and in those terms, Diana Jones’ “Henry Russell’s Last Words” is the gem on this album. Tempered by the most lacrimose little fiddle line you’ll hear and a simple tragic mandolin (which is uncredited under the song—maybe it’s just well-produced, high-capoed guitar?), the song floats along with heartbreaking steadiness. The lyrical hook, took, is in the repeated “chorus”: “Oh, how I love you, Mary.” But after listening to the song several times, I can’t help but think: Wouldn’t this sound even better covered by Alison Krauss and Union Station? Maybe they should take my advice.

The other song of note is “Soldier Girl,” which moves right along, in the tradition of Irish folk—with that drone-y bass (?) holding it all together and a magical fiddle dancing a jig around the vocals. As on Todd Snider’s Excitement Plan, this album sports some guest vocals from other, better-known female singer-songwriters. On this one, we get some background vocals from one Nancy Griffith, a name songwriter, who I’ve heard good things about. I don’t know her music well enough to comment on its quality in relation to this review, but I will say that again, as in the Todd Snider/Loretta Lynn matchup, there was really no need for Griffith to be on the song at all and the “harmony” line, if that’s what you want to call it, is weak and falls flat. It might’ve been nice for Ms. Jones to allow Ms. Griffith to sing an entire verse, but alas, I can only review these songs, not produce them.

Roundup: Diana Jones’ voice is just not special enough for me to warrant an amazing review here—nor are her melodies. It feels like she’s trying too hard to sound old (time-wise, not age-wise) and in the process is losing her “self”—what makes her different. Her lyrics are what set her apart from the pack, but unfortunately, lyrics alone don’t make the album. Sure, some might say that Dylan is all lyrics and no vocals, but I’d ask those people to go back and listen to a ton of music from that era—nobody sounded like Dylan and nobody, since then, has been able to equal that sound. Even his guitar work on some of those albums is decent. If you’re a grammarian or a collector of words, I’d suggest getting this one when it’s on sale at the used record store, but otherwise, leave this one alone. (I refuse to give this a really low grade, because I don’t think it’s shit; I just don’t think it’s worth your ear’s time.)

Will Levith