My First Big Musical Group

Sure, the guys have suits on, but check out those goatees!


The last of Mary's four solo albums from the 1970s.

It is 1969, or perhaps 1970. I am 15 years old. My musical taste is still unformed. I had a weird period in sixth grade where I listened to the Monkees as well as the Doors and the Strawberry Alarm Clock. (My girlfriends and I used to buy strawberry gum so that we could cut out the strawberry images and paste them all over our notebooks.) But now I'm casting about, looking for a direction.

I have two older sisters with record collections. The oldest wasn't that much of a musical buff--I recall that she enjoyed the Beach Boys. But she's gone off to college. The one nearest to my age likes Barbra Streisand and some of my father's musical soundtracks (that's why to this day I have the scores of Fiddler on the Roof and Roar of the Greasepaint, Smell of the Crowd committed to memory).

It is that flash in time right before Carole King's Tapestry hits. The singer/songwriters have yet to storm the scene. My oldest brother has joined the Marines. I recall the night before he headed off to boot camp. The song played repeatedly on our turntable that night was Peter, Paul and Mary's "Leavin' on a Jet Plane".

I was drawn by their vocals, and I love the songs on Album 1700. There's "I Dig Rock and Roll Music", a jibe at the popular rock of the day and "I'm in Love with a Big Blue Frog", a song about an interracial romance. And then there is the haunting "Great Mandela" sung by Peter. I'm attracted to their songs because they seem to be about something. Their politics resonate with the times. I become a fan.

Loving Peter, Paul and Mary leads me directly to Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. (I study the record label, and note who's written every song on the disc.) I buy some of their other records, and my love deepens. They are so strident, so authentic--oh, it hit my adolescent heart in the bull's-eye! I sing along to every song, harmonizing with them. I admire Peter and Paul's appearance--how I want to grow a Van Dyke when I'm older, and have an artsy beatnik look! I trust their taste in material completely. Although I can't bear to listen to Bob Dylan, their covers of his songs lead me to the library to read about him, and to try to understand why others think he's so great.

I am crestfallen that shortly after I've developed this love, they break up as a group. Paul goes off to explore religion, and Peter loses his bearings with an indiscretion with a young fan. So I'm thinking I'll never see them. All I have is a program that one of my sister's friends gave me. How sacred this book was to me. Turning its pages over and over as I continued to listen.

Each member pursues a solo career. Their debut albums are all sterling. I go to see them each individually in concert. I love them all for different reasons: Peter, for his amazing songwriting skill and musicianship; Paul, for his silky smooth voice and Bing Crosby-like composure and humor; and Mary, for her impeccable taste in what to sing, and for her completely unique voice. They continue to be my soundtrack into the 1970s.

Disco hits, and their careers quiet down. They decide that it's best to reunite, and I finally get to see my heroes in together in concert later in the decade. My musical tastes are soon to shift dramatically, but in the years that follow I still keep in touch and buy all of their releases.

Peter, Paul, and Mary were always classy, and one of a kind. Several years ago, when I'd learned Mary needed a bone marrow transplant, I sent a handwritten note to her expressing my love for her work. I was so relieved that she survived, and that I could see them one last time together with my wife.

I played Peter, Paul, and Mary to each of my 6th grade classes as they came in today. "It's a sad day for me today, kids," I said, and went on to tell why they are such an indelible and important part of musical history. I played "Don't Laugh at Me" and I could feel tears welling up as I thought about how they always stood behind the underdog. I sang along to "Wayfaring Stranger", feeling the power of its time-honored lyric. Oh, it was a regular hootenany!

"You know, " I said to my classes, "you probably aren't aware that you already know some Peter, Paul, and Mary songs." I invited them to raise their hands if they recognized the choruses I sang to "Puff the Magic Dragon", "If I Had a Hammer", and "Leavin' on a Jet Plane". Scattered hands went up--never a majority, but it was still reassuring to know that some kids would be carrying on. And heck, who knows what impact their brief exposure today might have!

Mary Travers was a wonderful singer and stylist, and I urge you to check out her solo work from the 1970s in which she skillfully bridges the gap between folk and pop music. I'll miss her enormously. She helped me develop my musical taste! God bless her because of all the pleasure she brought into this world!

Pay to Play

Interesting story on NPR's Here and Now recently about how some musicians are mining their fans directly in order to bankroll production and marketing costs for new releases.

I don't know what to think of this phenomenon. At first sight, it all seems innocent and fun. But there's a claustrophobic tinge to it also. When an artist turns directly to the fans for financing, it seems as if the circle has closed. Sure, it's a passionate group ("the base") but what about expanding your audience? Is it all word-of-mouth from here on in because you can't afford the publicity that a major label would afford you?

Of course, one could argue that fan financing puts the pressure where it should be: on creating something that draws on your strengths, whatever it is that made you appealing to listeners to begin with. No more advice on image from the label, and stress to sell enough "units" to please a corporation.

It's a story that's still unfolding. At the end of the NPR piece, it's revealed that Erin McKeown's Internet fundraising stopped short of releasing her latest work on her own label. Instead, she chose to go with Ani DeFranco's Righteous Babe imprint. Smart move probably--there is much to be gained by association with a stable of artists and the market presence an established label has.

I am impressed with imprints like Appleseed Records, who have managed their company well enough to provide a vital stream of folk releases over the last dozen years. It was inspired by Pete Seeger's work, and in its catalog are several outstanding collections of Pete's work. But it also keeps issuing new releases by seminal figures like Tom Rush, Donovan and Buffy Sainte-Marie as well as promoting the more contemporary careers of artists like the Kennedys and John Wesley Harding.

I must admit, one criteria that I use to judge whether or not I'll purchase the CD is the label. If I have enjoyed their judgments before in whom they sign and promote, I'm willing to take a chance on someone new.

Yep, "brand" matters. It's just that when artists become their own label, they are the brand, and they'd better be distinctive enough to be one, or they won't sell enough units to stay in the game.

Looking Back at Jesse Winchester

Jesse Winchester is one of my favorite singer-songwriters. He emerged in the early '70s and quickly grabbed listeners' attention with the song"The Brand New Tennessee Waltz" on his eponymous debut. Jesse had a compelling backstory too, having relocated from Memphis to Montreal to avoid the draft. Deeply respected by many singers and musicians, his songs have been well-covered.

His first album was produced by Robbie Robertson of the Band and engineered by Todd Rundgren, who got Winchester signed with Bearsville Records for the brunt of his output in the 1970s. His released one jewel after another. Third Down, 110 to Go in 1972 (featuring "Isn't That So?" a driving spiritual); Learn to Love It in 1974 (memorable for "Mississippi, You're On My Mind", gospel-inflected numbers like "Wake Me" and "I Can't Stand Up Alone" as well as the terrific traditional song, "Tell Me Why You Like Roosevelt"); Let the Rough Side Drag in 1976; Nothing But a Breeze in 1977 (with the lovely "Bowling Green", "My Songbird", "You Remember Me" as well as the funny "Twigs and Seeds" and "Rhumba Man"); A Touch on the Rainy Side in 1978 (besides the title song, I also recommend "Little Glass of Wine"); and finally, his last release on Bearsville, 1981's Talk Memphis.

He himself never gained much notoriety. Perhaps that was due to the fact that he didn't start touring the States until 1977. By that time he had a wonderful catalog to draw upon but unfortunately musical styles had changed radically. He continued to record regularly until 1981.

I heard him a concert a couple of times when I lived in Chicago. The first time, at a bar directly across from Wrigley Field (the Cubby Bear), I chatted with him before he went on stage. I recall asking him what he preferred: performing or writing songs. Jesse told me that if he had his druthers he'd rather just be a songwriter, and mail his stuff out for others to record. It seemed to fit with his personality: he comes across as a shy guy.

I recall seeing him one more time in Chicago at a folk club called Holstein's. There wasn't much of a crowd for him that night, and I got the distinct sense that the management was taking a financial bath on his appearance. I felt bad for Jesse, because I admire him so much and think he deserves to be known more wide.

Anyway, the '80s and the '90s saw only one release each decade. They were fabulous--you can expect nothing but perfection from him. (Check out the lovely "I Don't Think You Love Me Anymore" from 1988's Humor Me.)Over the last decade he's released two albums, and he promoted his latest, Love's Filling Station, recently on NPR.

In the interview, he described himself as a "traditional" songwriter. That's absolutely true: his songs fit the classic verse-chorus structure that's found in most pop music. His roots are folk, but his sound can be gospel and country and rhythm and blues flavored. Jesse has a sweet soft high-timbred voice and his lyrics are impeccable. He has an intensely personal style: he does talk about himself in his songs, often self-deprecatingly, but he displays an almost Old World respect for women and he paints stories of small towns that seem to arise from his Southern youth.

I hope that you'll introduce yourself to Jesse Winchester. He'll win your affection quickly.

That Summer

NPR's All Things Considered has a feature this summer in which they ask different musicians what their favorite song of summer is. This week they asked Tony Bennett. He chose a French song that he'd recorded in 1963, "It Was Me". I have always been struck by this song. It begins with a question.

Who's the one you would find on the beach every day?

Quickly the tension is established. Turns out the narrator is in love with someone at the beach.

Lying there on the shore while his friends swim away
Lying there on the sand only inches from you
Watching you everyday till the summer was through
It was me

A relationship gradually develops. The second stanza begins like the first, except with three questions instead of one.

Who would help gather shells for the bracelet you made?
Who would find you the cups for the pink lemonade?
Who was always beside you whenever you'd swim?
When you sat by the sea as the daylight would end
It was me, it was me

But was the love consumated? The song keeps you engaged as we enter the bridge of the song. Now suddenly summer is ended.

Now that summer is gone and the warm skies are cold
And the soft winds are crisp with their wintry chill
Do you ever think back on the night when we kissed?
Can you ever forget? I know I never will

All right, there was a kiss. It meant a lot to the narrator, of course. He's seeking confirmation that the feeling was mutual. The last stanza, describing perhaps an end-of-summer picture at the beach, provides the answer.

Who's the one next to you in the group photograph?
Who's the one with the face too unhappy to laugh?
Standing there looking down so uncertain and shy
Like a boy who's in love, so in love he could cry
It was me, it was me

And then, the zinger of a last line.

Me finding out it was you.

"Me finding out"--did all these questions begin upon the narrator's discovery of the photograph? "It was you"--yes, now I see you in this picture and I remember how young and smitten I was with you, I'd forgotten after all this time. As I gaze at the picture, memories return of being so in love and so young.

A fabulous song that I hope you'll give a listen. I'm glad that Tony Bennett chose a number that he discovered and recorded. This is a tremendous source of pride to him, as well it should be. He has always had the best taste in material.

The summer song that occurs to me that is equally as beautiful was recorded by Nat King Cole: "That Sunday, That Summer". Nat sometimes chose material of dubious quality as he sought a hit (cue "Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer"), but with this song he gives some imagery for a listener to luxuriate in.

If I had to choose just one day
To last my whole life through
It would surely be that Sunday
The day that I met you

Newborn whippoorwhills were calling from the hills
Summer was a-comin' in but fast
Lots of daffodils were showing off their skills
Nodding all together I can almost her them whisper
"Go on and kiss her, go on and kiss her"

If I had to choose one moment
To live within my heart
It would surely be that tender moment
Recalling how we started
Darling, it would be when you smiled at me
That way
That Sunday
That Summer

This song charted in 1963, reaching a peak position of #12 on the Billboard charts. ("Hazy Lazy Crazy Days" peaked at #6 the very same year--geez, what a year for summer songs!)

Anyway, two lush songs of summer that are favorites on my turntable!

Remember Gilbert O'Sullivan?

Gilbert in 1971. O'Sullivan is his actual last name; Gilbert is a stage name referring to Gilbert & Sullivan. An apt choice, given his lyrical songs that are dense with words. Note the collegiate look inspired by a Buster Keaton film!

Gilbert's top-selling album of 1972. Although chest hair dominates on the cover, on the back he's shown in his "G" sweater again.

Still sporting the chest hair, here's his 1974 release with the notorious song "A Woman's Place"

Peggy Lee, an admirer of Gilbert!

Gilbert O'Sullivan was an oddity in a screwball time. When he struck gold in the States with "Alone Again (Naturally)" in 1971, it was not only his weird and verbose song that struck a listener. There was his clean-scrubbed appearance on the album cover: wearing a collegiate V-neck sweater with a "G" emblazoned upon it, he seemed to harken back to a more innocent time.

Hailing from Ireland, Gilbert washed ashore on the wave of the singer-songwriter craze of that era. It was decidedly uncool to like him or his music, but there I was, proudly bucking the trend. I found his approach to a song completely idiosyncratic and refreshing. He had a memorable way of writing lyrics. For example, on his second album Back to Front, he celebrates Spring by comparing himself to a mole.

Everytime a bird sings
Everytime a bell rings
I go beserk
I climb into my hole
And sit there like a mole
Playing in the dirt
Contradicting people who think of me as being
So soft and gentle
Very clean

This album, which features his second U.S. hit "Clair", is one of his best. As I scan the lyrics, the melodies jump into my mind--each one is distinctive, and pleasurable to experience over again. You can't help but be amused by how goofy Gilbert is, especially when he introduces Sides 1 and 2 of his album by singing:

Side 1 ("Intro")

For those of you leaving to join the hunt
The name of this album is "Back to Front"
And those of you staying the whole way through
The name of this song is
(seque immediately to first track...)

Side 2 ("Outro")
I'm not quite finished yet
I'm not quite finished yet
There's another side to go before I go
Thought I'd let you know...

Gilbert plays the piano, and his signature seems to be a rhythmic striking of chords that goes "chunk-chunk-a-chunk-chunk." This is not to say that his music lacks sophistication. He almost always has other instrumentation to power his melodies along--mostly a drum, some strings, and wind instruments. He is never boring.

His songs tell simple stories. Usually they're about loving someone, as in "That's Love" from Back to Front:

Once in a while out of the blue
I might appear somewhat rude
But don't be alarmed or get upset
Just say to yourself this I'll forget
And when I come home from being away
It might do me good just to hear you say
Darlin' don't move an inch, keep perfectly still
Now do with me what you will

Can you sense those lyrics' inherent musicality just by reading them aloud? Gilbert O'Sullivan is fun to sing along with, and I think he's a terrific writer because his words get planted in my mind when I hear them. Like a truly professional pop tunesmith, he weds music and lyrics well. The song's subject is not that interesting on its face, but how he expresses the sentiment can be striking.

In Gilbert's lyrical world, there's always a girl that you're courting. He often creates clever little dramas. For example, in "Matrimony" he and his bride are trying to get to the church on time; in "Clair" he's babysitting; and in "I'm Not Getting Any Younger" he's explaining his feelings about a gulf in age to a lover.

He achieved international fame in the early 1970s. In the U.S. he had a hit with "Get Down" in 1973 but after that his star fell quickly. (His recording of "A Woman's Place" in 1974 certainly didn't help out matters. Check out these lyrics: "I may be old-fashioned/so what if I am/I'm not any different/from any other man/I'm not one of those who look for blood from a stone/but I believe/a woman's place is in the home".) Gilbert only toured the States once during this time (although his website reports he's working with promoters to return after a 35 year absence!).

In the late 1970s and periodically in the 1980s Gilbert was entangled in court with his producer, Gordon Mills (whose daughter was "Clair"). He recorded less frequently, with none of his work being issued in the States after a contract with Epic expired. I've imported some of his albums from this time. I recommend Sounds of the Loop from 1993. It features a duet with Peggy Lee (Who'd have thunk she'd be an admirer of his work?) and also contains a song I promise you'll be unable to get out of your head after one listen. ("Are You Happy?")

Gilbert O'Sullivan's website is fun to cruise. You can watch video of his early years when, at the height of the rock's popularity, he appeared on stage wearing a tweed cap and high stockings. You can watch five different stagings of the song "Matrimony". (I was impressed with how he pulled off a version that required him to circulate around a crowd as he sang.) I recommend his radio interview in Israel this year. Gilbert's articulate about his craft, and you have to respect someone who continues to write out of the pure pleasure of being fulfilled artistically and entertaining people.

Melodious Maia Sharp

Presently I'm filled with the enthusiasm that only an outstanding concert can bring. Maia Sharp, who is touring currently to promote Echo, her latest CD, gave a performance at Club Passim won't be forgotten. It was an awesome display of musical skill on so many levels.

Let's start with the songwriting. Most of Maia's songs follow a classic structure: verse to chorus to verse and then back again. She constructs choruses with words and harmonies that seize your attention. As you sing along, you're admiring her unique turn of phrase. Here are a few examples.

from "Willing to Burn"

Now we're living in a tinderbox
hosing down the roof
It's raging all around us
and we still refuse to move
There's a lesson we're desperate to learn
and we're willing to burn

from "The Reminder"

Get ready for the riot act
you so deserve to hear
you made lies of all your promises
then you disappeared
you took a heart so innocent
shattered it like glass
then you had the nerve to think
that you could leave that in your past
when you forget I'll be there every time
I'm the reminder

Maia is a terrific and supremely confident singer. You hear every word she delivers and, because she's so often telling the story about some romantic travail, you are captive. Her sound displays many colors. Mostly it's a country-rock feel, but you can detect a strong blues and jazz undercurrent. It's rhythmic and inventive. Last night she was accompanied by another guitarist and truthfully, that was all that was necessary to do justice to her work.

For the most part, Maia Sharp co-writes her songs. Prominent co-writers you might recognize are Kim Richey, David Batteau, and her father, Randy Sharp. It seems now, after 4 albums in over the last dozen or so years, that she's destined not to become a star, but to provide the music for the stars. It's become the Sharp family tradition.

Why she is not a star herself is completely beyond me. From her first release, Maia Sharp has been completely in charge and developed as a performer. If it were the early 1970s, there's little doubt that she would have shot into prominence along with Bonnie Raitt (who Maia has opened for, and who recorded three Sharp songs--"Crooked Crown", "I Don't Want Anything to Change", and "The Bed I Made"-- on her last release, 2005's Souls Alike).

I love listening for the "hooks" in Maia's songs. I don't play the guitar, but I can hear inventive chord changes, and she knows just where to put them in to distinguish one song from another. All her music has a dramatic structure that's backed up sonically. I love how she always returns to the chorus, and it's always sung with great feeling.

Her voice is very full and robust. She never seems to strain for a note. She's quite funny on stage, and spontaneous. Her intelligence shines like a beacon, as well as her authenticity. She is dynamic.

I was anxious for her in terms of how many people would show for her gig. I mean, it was the first stop of her tour, and she had flown across the country for it. Fortunately the club was about three-quarters full. Their applause was robust, and she left feeling as if she'd gotten off to a great start.

I'll leave you now with some choice cuts from YouTube.

from Echo: "Polite Society"; "John Q. Lonely"

from the Dixie Chicks: "A Home"

Interview with Maia on "All Things Considered"

That Thing You Do

Melody Gardot

Madeleine Peyroux


Madeleine Peyroux appeared recently in Boston and received a horrible review in the newspaper. Since I'm a fan and own all her CDs, my initial response was concern for her. "How could a critic be so cruel?" I thought. And yet, after reading comments to the story and being honest with myself about her music, I must admit that I admire his honesty, and I agree that she has a fundamental problem.

The reviewer noted how the audience started leaving long before the concert was over. I must admit, that when I listen to her, I often leave mentally about a quarter or half way into the song. Her sound is pleasant and inviting at first, but the spell is soon broken. What could be the problem?

Let's begin with her song selection which, until 2009's Barebones, was always sprinkled with standards, be they from The Great American Songbook ("The Summer Wind"; "I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter"; "Smile") or songs famously associated with other singers ("La Vie en Rose" (Piaf); "Lonesome Road"(Sinatra); "Everybody's Talkin'" (Nilsson); "(Looking for) The Heart of a Saturday Night" (Waits); "Walkin' After Midnight" (Cline); "(Getting Some) Fun Out of Life" (Holiday); "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go" (Dylan); "Dance Me to the End of Love", "Blue Alert", "Half the Perfect World" (Cohen).

Before rock, it was customary for singers to have songs made popular by other people in your repetoire. Much of my music listening is involved in analyzing how different singers handle the same song. I'm searching for singers who have a trademark style, and yet are not entrapped by it. The great ones always make you ask as you look over the song list, "Well, I wonder what they'll do with this song?"

The answer with Madeleine Peyroux is: "absolutely nothing." Her renditions of these songs on her CDs are respectful, so much so that you're stunned by how she as an artist didn't feel it necessary to make them her own. Just because they're great songs is not a valid enough reason to perform them. (When she does perform them, she's less respectful, improvising in a directionless way. Listen to how she butchers "Smile".)

In a review written in a Boston alternative newspaper after her last appearance in Boston, Jon Garelick wrote, "When she sang a slow ballad like Fred Neil's 'Everybody's Talkin' or Charlie Chaplin's 'Smile', her phrasing fell apart...there was a mile between syllables, and nothing connecting them. Sometimes her pitch was off, or her voice thinned out to unsupported strings of notes. Was it a failure of technique, or a failure of commitment, as if she hadn't made up her mind which note to hit or when?" Excellent question! I suspect the answer is a little of both--she wants to break from sounding just like Billie Holiday, but she lacks an alternate technique. As a consequence, she gets into trouble, and lands on notes she never should have.

How do you "make a song your own" anyway? Now there's a challenge that encounters every singer and arranger. Acquiring a style, getting your listeners to attend to your words--oh, it's a tough business, and it's a mysterious process. Nothing that can be taught directly, I suspect. You need a great song, of course, but so much depends on the delivery of it.

One young singer definitely acquiring a style is Melody Gardot, a cohort of Peyroux's in the female adult music class. I'm very excited about her talent as a singer and a songwriter. Before I discuss her skill, though, just give a listen to how she renders "Over the Rainbow". Listen for how she puts her own stamp on this well-worn classic.

There's no doubt that Gardot attacked "Over the Rainbow" by asking herself, "OK, what can I do to this song to make my listeners think 'Oh, this is different, but I like it. In fact, I love it, because I'm tired of hearing it sung the same way all the time." It's a triumph for her. You marvel at her phrasing, and of the decision to cast the song in one of Gardot's favorite styles (bossa-nova).

Gardot has an incredible ear and intelligence. "She has a knack for the melodramatic but also for a kind of minimalism," writes Nate Chinen in The New York Times in a review of My One and Only Thrill, her latest release, "she knows the power of modest gestures and meaningful inflections."

Sure, Gardot's voice does sound like she may have listened too much to Julie London or Blossom Dearie, but she gets beyond the similarity and carves out a singular style due to her phrasing and--most importantly--the fact that almost all of her material is written by herself. What's terrific about her songs are that they're obviously crafted to possibly fit into the Great American Songbook. She has truly studied her writers! On Thrill, it's clear that she's delighted with "If The Stars Were Mine", and rightfully so. (The song is featured twice on the tracks!) It's upbeat, bright, and resonates with songs of yore in its celebration of being in love.

Other standouts include the "Fever"-like drive of "Who Will Comfort Me", the beautiful longing of "Lover Undercover", and the wistful "Deep Within the Corners of My Mind".

Madeleine Peyroux would only occasionally write songs on her albums, with mixed results. Her best written song was probably
"Don't Wait Too Long" from 2006's Half the Perfect World. "It's Alright" from her previous release was pretty good too. With her new release, she's gone into songwriting full throttle. No more standards. Just unadulterated Madeleine.

Peyroux favors the confessional approach in her songwriting. The title track on Barebones and several other songs concern her alchoholic father who died several years ago, around the time she returned to the music business after an eight-year hiatus. Here's how she saluted her father in her 2004 release: "(To) Mom, for everything, Dad, for our time together.")

It's clear that she's haunted by her father's depression. The opening song ("Instead") is an attempt to meet her own depression head-on. It's a light, lilting number that gets the CD off to a good start.

But then Peyroux seems to get grounded on the shoals of her own melancholy. She has a curiously sedate way of delivering lyrics about her father like "Watch me rage down this river of tears"; if there's anger there, a listener never hears it.

The biography on her website discusses the humor in her songs, but honestly, I couldn't detect much. When she writes well it's usually in a song that runs counterpoint to the mood created by the tone of her voice. (I'm referring to "You Can't Do Me", a bouncy number distinguished by its stream of similes such as "blewed like a Mississippi sharecropper, screwed like a high-school cheerleader (!)".

Her songwriting fails to consistently hit the mark, but at least Barebones marks a first attempt to shape a style and world view. I am sure that Larry Klein, who produces both Peyroux and Gardot, must be struck by the difference in these singers. He is infamous as Joni Mitchell's ex-husband and producer of her work in the 1980s and early '90s. (I especially liked his work on Turbulent Indigo, which gave a Grammy to Joni and a divorce to him.)

Gardot's first two releases are on the famous jazz label Verve, and she's a perfect fit. Her future looks extremely bright. Peyroux records on the Rounder label, and she may need a change of scenery. (They're more roots-oriented, and less hospitable to a purely singer-songwriter approach.)

Perhaps Larry Klein will back her up with a string-based soundscape on her next release, as he did for Gardot. In terms of what she sings, well, that's a big question. I would continue her to steer her completely away from the standards and encourage who to continue to record upbeat, playful material.

Right now, I suspect she's in a bit of a crisis in terms of direction, so it will be interesting to watch how it all turns out.