Ravinia 2023 Issue 3

Lawn Clippings By John Schauer Run for Covers! ON JULY 29 , vocalists Andréa Burns and Morgan James join conductor Ted Sperling and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in a celebration of iconic sing- er-songwriters Joni Mitchell, Carole King, and Carly Simon, covering many of their greatest hits. The concept of the singer-songwriter goes back over a thousand years, to the troubadours of France, but it first gained prominence in American pop music in the 1960s. Prior to that, pop vocalists primarily sang songs written by others. The throngs of screaming teens who pursued Frank Sinatra in the 1940s, or Elvis Presley in the ’50s, or Tom Jones in the ’60s didn’t care that they hadn’t actually composed the music that drove them into ecstasy. Of course, certain songs became indelibly associated with particular singers; it’s hard to think of “Fever” or “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” without imme- diately thinking of Peggy Lee or Tony Bennett, who made those songs their own. In fact, one pop music journalist posited decades ago that the main distinction between pop and classical music is that classical works are interpreted by count- less performers, whereas in pop music, the performance is the piece; and in the ensuing years since that was written, the rise to prominence if not dominance of the producer and post-production technology has made that truer than ever. The contemporary concept of the singer-songwriter really took hold with Bob Dylan’s eponymous album of 1962, but acceptance of his music was somewhat hampered by one factor: his voice. One of my grad school roommates was a Bob Dylan fanatic who could quote Dylan lyrics for any occasion, but even he agreed with the journalist who described Dylan’s vocals as sounding like “a hound dog caught in barbed wire.” As a result, most people first heard his signature songs in “cover” recordings by Peter, Paul & Mary (“Blowin’ in the Wind”) or Joan Baez (“The Times They Are a-Changin’ ”) or even Cher (“There But for Fortune”). Joni Mitchell released her debut album in 1968, but while her voice was head and shoulders above Dylan’s, songs from her second, Ladies of the Canyon , scored their AM radio success in cover versions by Judy Collins (“Both Sides Now”), Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young (“Woodstock”), and The Neighborhood (“Big Yellow Taxi”). Carly Simon, conversely, got the most airplay with her own recordings; if you want to hear the song “You’re So Vain,” odds are you want to hear her singing it. Carole King actually reversed the process, first enjoying a wildly successful ca- reer throughout the ’60s as the composer (with lyrics by her first husband, Gerry Goffin) of mega-hits for everyone from girl groups The Crystals, The Chiffons, and The Shirelles to soloists Steve Lawrence, Bobby Vee, and Dion to rock groups The Drifters, The Animals, and Herman’s Hermits, songs that are still loved today. (Although I suspect The Crystals’ 1962 anthem “He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss)” has been discreetly retired.) It wasn’t until 1970 that King released her first solo album, but her follow-up the next year, Tapestry , became one of the biggest-selling albums of all time. Interestingly, on that album she accomplished a first by “covering” some of her own songs that had already been smash hits for other artists, such as Aretha Franklin’s “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” and The Shirelles’ “Will You Love Me Tomorrow.” I sometimes wonder if the concept of a “cover” recording has become obso- lete, at least in the realm of hip-hop. Being of a certain age (let’s avoid the “o” word), I find the charm of rap music elusive, and since the essence of a cover is the melody of the original song, I don’t see how one could cover much of the mu- sic that horrifies me on Saturday Night Live , my main exposure to current pop. I don’t mean to be judgmental (all right, I do), but seriously, have you ever heard anyone humming a rap song? One of the best moments on the evergreen series The Simpsons occurred when, in a flashback, the young Homer accuses his father of not being “with it,” to which his father responds, “I used to be ‘with it.’ Then they changed what ‘it’ was. Now what I’m ‘with’ isn’t ‘it,’ and what’s ‘it’ seems weird and scary to me.” But maybe Abe Simpson was overly pessimistic; maybe “it” has more stay- ing power than he gave it credit for. Certainly the three ladies being celebrated July 29 still have “it.” And lots of it. John Schauer is a freelance writer who is grateful for having been able to follow Joni’s, Carole’s, and Carly’s spectacular careers as they were actually unfolding. There’s been but one Ravinia appearance between Joni Mitchell, Carole King, and Carly Simon—on a rainy day in August 1974, Mitchell finally arrived after having to cancel (due to illness) a little-publicized date in July 1968, just four months after the relase of her first album. “To grasp the true mood of mysticism and sometimes bleakness, one should experience Joni Mitchell in person,” a writer for The Harbinger stated in after the 1974 concert, without fear of contradiction. “[When] Joni sang ‘Blue,’ she spun a web of emptiness and despair with her penetrating voice. However, as Joni slowly sang ‘Both Sides Now,’ her thin voice with startling highs and lows did not sound especially thrilling. The song seems designed for the rich, relaxed melodramatic voice.” No matter how Mitchell might have protested, like many of the most brilliant songs every written, it immediately belonged to the world as well as to herself the moment the ink dried on the lyric sheet. It could be inferred that at least that one writer—as well as the portions of the 1974 audience who Mitchell reportedly chastised for not giving rapt attention to her voice—may have preferred the rendition by Judy Collins, whom they no doubt heard singing it at Ravinia every year that decade except 1974, by strange coincidence. ROBERT LIGHTFOOT III/RAVINIA RAVINIA MAGAZINE • JULY 17 – JULY 30, 2023 82