Album Review: Rickie Lee Jones – Pieces Of Treasure

Rickie Lee Jones – Pieces Of Treasure
(BMG Rights Management)

Reviewed by Tim Gruar.

Legendary singer-songwriter Rickie Lee Jones is well known for her unique voice, introspective lyrics, and genre-bending sound.

I wont lie. The Great American Songbook has been done to death by every artist you can think of, from Satchmo to Jimmy Barnes – especially by those approaching a certain decade in their lives. It’s a right of passage in a way, a homage to the inspirations that made them who they are … and possibly a bit of a cop out when they can’t be bothered writing any new material. Rod Stewart I’m looking at you!

But that same songbook in the hands of a swaggering, ultra-cool swan of song is a different matter. Nobody could fault Ella Fitzgerald or Aretha Franklin. And nobody’s gonna get up in the face of Rickie Lee Jones (aka The Duchess of Cool) either.

Jones’ career has been diverse and eclectic. She’s hard to pin down. Originally, we knew her as a troubadour and jazz-folkie. Back in ’79 she set the bar with her sassy jazz-inflected original ‘Chuck E’s In Love’, about her friend and eponymous musician Charles Edward Weiss, when she was hanging with him and Tom Waits. The song appeared on her brilliantly cool self-titled debut album which won over the critics’ ears and the buying public in a time when pop, disco and hair-rock were dominating the charts and dance floors.

The album went platinum and earned Jones four Grammy Award nominations in 1980. Her follow up ‘Pirates’ written around the time she took up residence in Paris and kicked her Cocaine habit also received further accolades peaking at No. on the Billboard 200 and going Gold.

And there were plenty more successes. There was ‘The Magazine’, 1984, followed by ‘Flying Cowboys’, 1989, which went Gold and won Jones her second Grammy for a duet cover version of ‘Makin’ Whoopee’ with Dr. John.

And yet more collaborations and experimentations – with Don Was and Lyle Lovett, for example. And a rather eccentric sample feature one of Jones’ interviews on the Orb’s ‘Little Fluffy Clouds’, of which she reckons she never got paid for.

On ‘Traffic from Paradise’ (1993) she collaborated with Leo Kottke and covered Bowie’s ‘Rebel Rebel’ (which the Thin White Duke has been quoted as saying is his favourite cover of his work).

Her affinity for covers appeared in earnest on 1991’s ‘Pop Pop’ which packed in a range of versions from jazz and blues standards to Tin Pan Alley to Hendrix’s ‘Up from the Skies’.

And then ‘It’s Like This’ (2001) went even further stacking up Steely Dan, Winwood, Gaye and McCartney & Lennon against classics like ‘On The Street Where You Live’ and tunes by Carmichael, Duke and Gershwin. Jones was not afraid of her audience or anyone’s judgements. She did what she wanted and it was always very cool. That album was validated by a nomination for a Best Pop Traditional Record Grammy.

Her latest collection is mostly a return to her jazz roots, without the frills of more modern tunes or favourite rock diversions. It drives mainly in the 30-year golden oldie lane. That’s before pop, mainly. The only exception would be Tommy Edwards’ super crooner ‘It’s All In The Game’ (1958) which Jones does as a delicate, worldly-wise number. Advice from a sassy barstool sage, perhaps. And she’s comfortable with that. It dramatically closes the album, almost cinematically, with the credits rolling and the usherettes brushing up the spilt popcorn and discarded wrappers.

But before that, we get nine effortlessly delivered tunes, all showcasing the Duchess’s unique slovenly, affecting drawl and her penchant for manipulating a line’s rhythm and rhyme, hanging it just slightly behind the beat like an intended stumble.

The album was made as a quick thing. Completed over 5 days in NYC, with virtually no re-takes. So, what you get is live and direct. Her perfect delight. You get little exclamations, huffs and puffs of squeak and energy, exhaling and breathing into the mic as she rounds off each line. It’s like she’s right there in your room or headphones. You can hear her smile. This is more like a private concert, without the need for any studio flurry. A lesson for all those artists who choose to ruin their performances with autotune and other gimmickry. Like the provocative cover image, this album is personal and made on her terms. It’s honest and true. And just sounds bloody great because of it.

Russ Titelman, co-producer of Jones’ 1979 debt and ‘Pirates’ is back on deck. Reunited with the producer that set her career ablaze 40 years ago certainly has a ring of reconciliation. And, you can’t deny there is a kind of chemistry to be found. She’s said in interviews how happy the reunion has been.

Yet this ain’t no nostalgia trip, but a fresh take. He’s compiled a small but super efficient jazz combo – Rob Mounsey (keys), Russell Malone (guitar) David Wong (bass) and Mark McLean (drums) to back her, bolster but also, let her breath. There’s a sparseness to the arrangements that somehow convey a kind or hip coolness, like the dark, grimy urbane jazz clubs you only see in movies these days but you know must exist somewhere.

Manieri’s masterful vibratos open ‘Just In Time’, with a recalling of the opening notes of the tones of the theme to the BBC satire ‘Toast of London’. The rhythm section is super slick and classy. You could be hanging at Ronnie Scott’s in Soho or deep in New Orleans somewhere.

Guitarist Malone does a goose bump perfect solo to a similarly on the sultry ‘There Will Never Be Another You’. Then there’s a guest appearance from Ara Dinkjian’s oud to introduce the classic, ‘Nature Boy’. This mesmerising rendition is one short highlight worth repeating. This is a song that Jones learned from her father but seems older than time itself, with it’s sound linking to a picture of Farsi countercultural. It would be a perfect addition to any WOMAD compilation.

We all know that Sinatra is the Chairman on Harold Arlen’s ‘One For My Baby (One More For The Road)’, the big hit from the 1943 musical, ‘The Sky’s The Limit’. Astaire does a brilliantly obnoxious drunk song and dance version in the movie but Jones prefers to be more delicate and brooding, perhaps even more than Frankie’s dingy barfly makeover. Mounsey’s walking piano bass beat and Jones’ wispy vocals and ‘oh-so-cool’ scat resuscitate and even this this old number, without stumbling to close to past versions. I love the off record mumblings at the end, too. Like she really was swilling a glass of single malt and spilling her guts to the sad sack behind the bar, after all.

Piano and guitars strumming like Reinhart in a Paris speak easy is that the vibe for the swinging on ‘They Can’t Take That Away From Me’ complete with joyful finger-clicks and a sexy, breathy cameo from Scott Robinson’s baritone sax.

The second half features a few slower ballads like ‘All The Way’ (also done by Sinatra, among many others) featuring some string interludes (or synths that sound like that) giving it a real 50’s movie moment. To be so ‘square’ seems like a bold move for Jones, and, I have to say it was not one of my favourites. A bit too ‘twinset-and-pearls’ for my liking. But there you go.

Her re-working of Jimmy Van Heusen’s standard ‘Here’s That Rainy Day’ is also a bit on the smaltzy side for my ears. I prefer Wes Montgomery’s version and was really hoping Malone would step in with his guitar and save it. To no avail.

But his delicate balladry on ‘September Song’ is a welcome change. It’s bright but still nostalgic. Kurt Weill wrote the song in his usual deeply cynical mode. But over the years it become more upbeat. It’s even been used as the theme tune for that thoroughly middle-class 1980’s BBC comedy, ‘May To December’. That’s the version I can’t get out of my head.

Titelman has always been a muse of sorts as she moved from being a ‘be-bopper, to a real jazz singer…her aging voice sounds even better than the youthful one” (he’s been quoted as saying). And that is best heard in her soulfully sad take of ‘All The Way’ – Ms Jones performs not as herself but as Miss Dubois, with her vocals hovering just on the edge of reason, a desperate reliance on the fickle kindness of strangers. I know that Sinatra also did it. And it was brilliant. But then, Celine Dion did a posthumous duet with him and she ruined it for me. I couldn’t listen after that. Until now.

If Jones was ever going to be a ‘slacker’ in the jazz world then she’s do it on this supremely gorgeous version of ‘On The Sunny Side Of The Street’ which is so effortless you’d hardly notice anyone was actually there. It’s an earworm tune at the best of times, so giving it verve was always a challenge. Yet this is light, unpretentious and bright, uplifting any dark mood, no matter the weather and buoyed by Jon Herington’s trickling acoustic guitar improvs.

Usually an album of standards would not interest me, or anybody else unless they really stood out in someway. Yet the Dutchess of Cool has found a way to make me listen. This is a feel-good album with a magic mistress’ Midas touch. Rickie Lee Jones was swaggeringly cool when she first started and she still is now – probably even more so.

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