Laura Nyro “The First Songs…”

“The First Songs…” is a 1973 re-release of Laura Nyro’s first album, “More Than a New Discovery” from 1967—exact same songs, I believe, just different sequence. I bought two copies, thinking I was buying both versions, but instead I got both the Columbia and Verve version of the re-release (wildly different covers, though neither of them worth dwelling on). For that matter, both album titles aren’t great—when I get the time machine running, I’ll go back and suggest they title it: “Stoney End”—it’s the best song on the record—and it would be a funny title for an artist’s first LP. The first song on the re-release version is “Wedding Bell Blues”—since that was the big hit. I went for a half-century or so thinking that song was called “Phil.” It was the pervasive morning AM radio hit accompanying my Cap’n Crunch for a year or two of grade school. It’s the one that goes, “Bill, I love you so, I always will…” (I thought it was Phil.) The next song is “Billy’s Blues.” Interesting. There’s also Joe (“Good-bye”), Susan (“Lazy), John and Cindy, etc.—she knew a lot of people, as young people do. Some pretty good lyrics.

I hate to bring this up, but one thing here that distracts me (besides some occasional jauntiness) is that style of harmonica I associate with the mainstream AM radio hits of the time—it just bugs me—and I don’t mean to keep picking on the harmonica—a fine instrument, sometimes. I don’t really hate the instrument, and in some blues music, it’s like evidence of God. Maybe it’s because I, myself, abused the thing, which is easy to do—it has no defense against the amateur. If you look hard enough (please don’t) you can find a YouTube video of me murdering (not even the way Bob Dylan does) the poor thing (though the band I was playing was excellent). (And it’s an interesting side-note that someone smashed in the window of my parked car during that performance!) You can try to punk rock a harmonica, but the harmonica will always harmonica the punk rock. But I’m getting sidetracked—in this case, throughout the record, it’s a different issue—the harmonica is perfectly played and used in moderation to flavor the songs—but for me, it’s never subtle. Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way, but I can’t help but hear it as a watering down—rather than an enhancing. It’s like middle-of-the-road, middle of America, AM morning radio lube. Spooning sugar on your Cap’n Crunch. Or scrambled eggs. Macaroni and Velveeta. It’s like a Martini on the rocks, too much melting ice diluting the gin. Or even, for me, cumin—nothing wrong with it in itself, but in the wrong proportions, it goes all bad-hippie, like too much love on the surface, ultimately unable to make up for a twisted, cut-off heart.

Or, bad metaphors, bad writing. Because I’m not saying the heart of the songs are bad—anything but. Maybe unusual and a little weird (which is part of what’s great about them!)—but making them palpable with harmonica feels, to me, like a disservice. Maybe I should let it go. But it’s not always harmonica, sometimes it’s harmonium, or it could be saxophone, or flugelhorn, or trumpet, or fiddle, or mandolin, or cello. (I mean, in general, these aren’t all on this record!) And sometimes, well, very often, guitar. Though very seldom, I don’t think, sung harmonies—which is interesting. This is all my inexpert opinion, of course, and no one has to agree with me (no one does, completely). It’s just that for me to really love music, which I do, it seems that I have be honest about really hating some other music, or some elements of some music that I hate. I really don’t even like using the word hate—but I just did—and it’s weird how, as I type this, the words keep shrinking on the page, or keep getting further and further away. Maybe it’s coffee time.

Some of the songs here I can do without, but in the context of the 12-song album, they’re okay, since there are more really strong ones—I’ll play the record happily, but just zone out on a few. All pop records are uneven, to an extent, it’s just that some are more uneven than others. And you never know when it might not be the song, but you, and the song’s just waiting for you to come around to it. Generally, I like the slower, quieter songs more, and the more upbeat and jaunty songs less. Have I said that exact same thing about other records? Yes I have. What have you got, you ask, against jaunty songs? Well, occasionally I like them—and there’s a good example here: “Stoney End”—which is a song that it took me a long time to come around to, for some reason, but when I did, it was like falling in love. I never say this, but it’s a masterpiece. It really is. It just occurred to me, listening to this song—could we use that time machine to get Laura Nyro, Donald Fagen, and Walter Becker to get together and go off somewhere together for the entire decade of the Eighties, help each other out, collaborate, write songs and record them—and redefine the decade? They’re all roughly the same age, have jazz, pop, and r&b influences, are from the NYC area, and have unique musical perspectives. I bet people speculate this all the time—oh, well, I’m not trying to be original or anything. Just daydreaming. Well, right now, I’m listening to “Stoney End” yet again. It really is the perfect song. It even made me cry… I have to admit… not because it’s no devastating or anything, but because it’s so beautiful.

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