RICKIE LEE JONES GETS HER KICKS
The three words that make this music journalist cringe is “Great American Songbook.” Hundreds of albums by hundreds of artists have tried to revive these overly roasted chestnuts since Harry Nilsson did it first so sublime in 1973. I should’ve known better, though, when it came to Rickie Lee Jones. Her particular brand of Kicks (OSOD/Thirty Tigers) is irresistibly delicious, her voice still provocative, sensuous, swaying with an almost Billie Holiday- or Edith Piaf-styled emotional resonance that makes the material truly come alive. Plus, since she’s such an iconoclast, she stretches the boundaries of what could even possibly be construed as such.
GOLDMINE: Bad Company? Really?
It may be odd for the audience looking at it from the outside to associate me with that kind of thing but if you really think about it or are well-versed in my selections, I’ve done “Sympathy For The Devil,” “Rebel Rebel,” and a very wide variety of unexpected covers through the years amidst, of course, “Lush Life” and “My Funny Valentine.” I just haven’t put them on the same record. Until now. The one
