Laura Nyro “Christmas and the Beads of Sweat”

I’m continuing my project of writing about all the Laura Nyro records—I mean, of course, when their number comes up. I believe I’ve written about one, so far—I should re-read what I’ve written, so I don’t repeat myself, but I’m not going to—I’m not lookin’ back, baby. I am, however, taking my time. Her records, I feel, are like certain food—let’s say, Marmite, which is excellent and cool, but if you start putting in on everything from toast to eggs, rice, potatoes, and what have you—even popcorn… it might well turn on you. I don’t think I mentioned seeing that David Geffen documentary somewhere. The most interesting part, for me, was the part about his working with Laura Nyro—it sounded like he was her biggest fan, maybe obsessed with her even, and then (as I’m remembering) she kind of abandoned him and went with Columbia records. I found it pretty heartbreaking, and it gave me a soft spot for Geffen. But you can’t blame someone, either, for signing with Columbia, no matter who they are—that’s like a lifetime goal. (Though personally, as far as surface aesthetics go, Columbia is my most dreaded label.)

I have the desire to not approach this record song by song, even though there are lyrics on the back—rendered in a font called “Barely Legible Diary”—I’m just kidding, but it could be true. Of course, it’s possible, seeing how this was 1970, that they were actually written out by someone. It could even have been Laura Nyro. At any rate, I am making a decision not to listen to the entire record while following along with lyrics. Honestly, with most music I halfway ignore lyrics. I don’t think I could understand very much of what Laura Nyro is singing, just listening, because she really abstracts the words—and I like that. But I feel like reading along takes away from what she’s doing with her voice—even to the extent of trading in intellectual meaning for emotional meaning—so I’m choosing to ignore the written words, for now. I have however, read and understood enough to know they’re about seasons, nature, God, and love, and are in some cases overtly political. Maybe for another time.

As far as the songs go, I like to take this record as side one, then side two, like those are song suites. They aren’t, but they do flow together almost as if that’s the case. Apparently, it’s different musicians on side one and side two—so I presume different recording sessions. The one song not written by Laura Nyro is “Up On the Roof,” the Gerry Goffin/Carole King song that was a hit for The Drifters—well before my time, but I’ve heard it done by quite a few people. It’s a great song, and this is a fine version, and being at the end of Side One, it reinforces the idea of the two sides being like two acts in a show. Seeing how the album is named “Christmas and the Beads of Sweat,” one is inclined to pay closer attention to the second-to-last song, “Beads of Sweat,” but sadly it’s my least favorite song on the record. Not that it’s terrible, it’s fine, especially in album context—but it’s just too upbeat and jaunty for me, and I don’t like the guitar. The following number, and last song on the record, the X-mas one, titled, “Christmas in My Soul,” is very nice, a long, slow one, perfect to close out the record.

I particularly like the song, “Upstairs by a Chinese Lamp,” which I heard somewhere and got kind of obsessed with. I have no idea why. It’s a lovely, atmospheric song, for sure, even kind of diaphanous and hard to put a bright light on because on closer examination it’s like mist, and it dissipates. But in this case, for me, that’s a good thing—I like that about this song. I heard an instrumental version somewhere—I don’t remember, maybe it was a jazz artist—maybe before I heard this one. That might have been what got me hooked on the song. In fact, it might have led me to Laura Nyro. A couple of other favorites are, “When I Was a Freeport and You Were the Main Drag” (great title), and “Blackpatch” (a really catchy pop song).

Oh, and the album cover I love—one of my favorites. I assumed it was a drawing, but when I look at it more closely, I’m convinced it’s a photo that’s blown up and degraded. Maybe it’s a process I don’t know. (It’s credited: “Cover portrait by Beth O’Brien.”) Anyway, it’s quite lovely and haunting. I always assumed the little flower earring was colored red by a previous owner, but since seeing other copies, I realized they just made it look that way—and really pulled it off. I have a version, as well, without the album and artist name on the cover. No words whatsoever on the cover, which is impressive. The copy I have, with the record marks, and age, dirt, and some stains, just becomes more beautiful.

11.17.23