Suzanne's Journal

11.09.01
I think that you might want to know the details and the facts. Bob took me to see Suzanne Vega at The Birchmere last night. I've been an avid fan since 1987, when I read a review of Solitude Standing in Rolling Stone and marched right out and bought the cassette, which had to be replaced two more times after I wore it out. I hope she is not the last of the really great, really literate singer/songwriters. Sigh.

The Birchmere is usually referred to as The Legendary Birchmere, which means (a) they don't have to paint or redecorate as often as if they were simply The Birchmere, and (b) the hallways are lined with signed photos of overtalented and underappreciated artists who spend their time and money on their music rather than marketing ploys for worldwide domination. (An-unoriginal-yet-still-I-have-to-say-it-complaint: it boggles the mind that Britney Spears et. al. can pack out stadiums based on, from what I can tell, nothing but their belly buttons, while talents like Vega are playing The Legendary Birchmere.)

I have to stick to brief random snapshot thoughts only, or today's journal entry will be extremely long:

Bob Hillman opened for her. I may have to devote tomorrow's journal entry just to him. He was fantastic.

Suzanne Vega's dimples are just great. So is her judicious use of black eyeliner and her short, straight-cut bangs.

It was bassist Mike Visceglia's birthday. The audience had all signed a card for him before they came out, and he was a good sport and opened it onstage. Then we sang happy birthday to him. Very fun singing happy birthday with Suzanne Vega.

When Suzanne sang Solitaire, Mike pulled up a stool, sat down, and played percussion on his knees. Fabulous.

I think she mostly covered songs from Tried and True and the new album, Songs in Red and Gray. People requested a few songs (Birth-day, Ironbound, As Girls Go) she said they couldn't do, because they'd been songs from a different band. Bob and I were trying to decide if "couldn't" meant the new band hadn't learned them, or if there are copyright issues. I also envisioned an elaborate soap-opera scenario in which Mitch Froom, her ex-producer and ex-husband, got half her songs in the divorce settlement. Who knows.

Sad story. They closed (the second encore) with St. Clare, from the new album. St. Clare was written by a New York songwriter named Jack Hardy. They've been playing it in memory of Jack's brother Jeff who died on the 101st floor of the W.T.C. on September 11.

Suzanne said that when she sang World Before Columbus to her daughter Ruby when she was little, she'd sometimes add the words "bananas" and "yogurt" to the lines "They'll never know the gold/or the copper in your hair." Ha.

I love all her songs with very few exceptions (I was never nuts about Lolita or Thin Man), but still tend to prefer the Suzanne-and-her-guitar-without-a-bunch-of-extra-stuff songs. Bob's favorite last night was Blood Makes Noise, but I think if I had to choose, I'd go with good old Calypso, The Queen and the Soldier, or Gypsy. Her voice is so clear and deep and beautiful that some of the songs from the Mitch Froom days seems a bit over-produced, like putting jelly on hot buttered toast when the bread and the butter are actually really good by themselves. Or something. Anyway, I do love the new stuff -- I'll Never Be Your Maggie May was one of the best last night (Note: They were all "one of the best"), and also Rosemary.

She did Tom's Diner and the audience got to sing the "doo doo doo doo" parts. I think she and Mike were laughing at us. We were off-key.

Here, let me finish up with a bit of lyrical beauty from Suzanne's Calypso, or I'll just ramble on forever. Refer to your local copy of Homer's Odyssey for more.

My name is Calypso
And I have lived alone
I live on an island
And I waken to the dawn
A long time ago
I watched him struggle with the sea
I knew that he was drowning
And I brought him into me
Now today
Come morning light
He sails away
After one last night
I let him go.