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Lucy Lee:
How Else Can This Story Go?
by Diane Wilkes

I have never been overly fond of the Christine Lavin Funny-Gimmicky School of Songwriting. The line between humorous wit and emotional truth is a hard line to straddle, and the only artists who I can think of who have ridden it with any kind of grace are Paul Westerberg and Elvis Costello. Their sneering Pagliacci personae never fails to remind me that they had to have tunneled their way to success prodded by the memory of scores of jeering schoolmates.

Women have a harder time of it. Mary Chapin-Carpenter has written several songs (“Opening Act,” “Young, Dumb and Blonde,” “If I Were a Diva...”) that are more humor than heartfelt, but has always wisely refrained from committing to them to vinyl. They remain an entertaining memory as opposed to a song you always want to skip after the second hearing. Other artists (Joni Mitchell and Teena Marie come to mind) occasionally punctuate their songs with a zinger or two, but the joke always takes the last seat in the back of the emotional content bus.

Well, move over Paul and Elvis/Declan. Lucy Lee is coming to a town near you, and if you like retro-pop that rocks with tongue firmly in cheek, you will find this CD as irresistible as I have. I discovered this indie (West Pole Productions) in my favorite used CD store, and found my subconscious asking, “Why play one of my 2000+ disks when I can just play Lucy Lee again?” My answer was to repeatedly insert it into the player as if I was on automatic pilot.

Imagine Madonna turning to her not-blonde musical roots instead of going electronic. She finds a cache of previously unrecorded Brill Building songs with a punk attitude. The result: the 13-song Lucy Lee debut, which will be released on Island soon (hopefully).

Each song is a perfectly-crafted pop/rock gem that doesn’t sacrifice emotion, despite the consistent vein of humor that pulses through each cut. “Don’t Stop Asking” is the rueful request of a woman-on-the-move who doesn’t have time to date (“Have your people contact mine/I wish that I was kidding”). “Her Next Life” is a satiric description of a woman who would prefer to pine poetically over a dead romance than to shift into mundane reality: “She wears her bleeding broken heart on her sleeve for everyone to see/...In her next life, she will always love him... he’s gonna love her, too/in her next life”). This particular take on karma is as refreshing as it is funny--yet you can really feel the frustration of the drama queen’s buddies who try to convince her to re-enter the real world. “Who Died and Made You King?” (“Why’d you think that I’d ever stoop to kiss the ring?”) and “Show Me More” (“God’s gift to women, baby, that’s what you must think you are/You ain’t showing me nothing/You’ve got to show me more/For me to love you now) have a feist quotient about which Christine Lavin could only dream.

My personal favorite? “Sensitive Guy,” where Lucy pokes fun at a girl whose boyfriend who “goes to church on Sunday, volunteers his time”--and herself for wanting him (“Me, I’d like to catch her sneakin’ something on the side, then I might have my own sensitive guy”). The dead-on combination of cynicism and vulnerability is credible and moving. Let’s get sensitive, indeed.

There are one or two songs that aren’t as classic. “Elvis, What Happened?” and the rockabilly boogie, “Too Much Baby Alright!” are not as memorable as the plaintive “Who’s the Lucky Woman?” (“I don’t suppose it matters now if you ever really loved me”) and “To Die For,” a wry warning against domestic abuse. Lucy’s register, like Madonna’s, isn’t always the most exhaustive. But her asides (“Let’s get sensitive,” “I don’t think so”) are sassily convincing and make up for the occasional quavery vocal.

This is a great album to clean your house to (assuming that you, unlike me, ever clean your house). It’s an utterly danceable pop-lovers dream. And I’ve finally figured out why Don’t Stop Asking works where others fail: the emotional issue is each song’s priority, and the humor derives naturally from the songwriter’s tone, not the other way around. In comedic terms, think Bill Cosby as opposed to Jackie Mason.

You can buy this CD via Amazon.com. You could wait for the major label distribution, but don’t you want to be cool and have it on the indie label? Check it out, and see if you, too, are ready to kiss the ring.

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