Setting the inconsiderate 50-somethings in the house aside -- it seems you're never too old to be rude! -- I spent a wonderful evening "with" my gal Rosanne Cash last night at the Barnes & Noble in Union Square, where the acclaimed singer/songwriter was promoting her terrific just-released memoir, "Composed: A Life." (Read my review HERE.) Cash -- who would either love it or lose all respect for me if she knew I fell in love with her when I was a kid and didn't even know who Johnny Cash was -- did a lengthy music-infused Q&A with journalist Katherine Lanpher before signing copies of the book and her recent album, "The List." Lanpher kept things interesting, with a mixture of questions about Rosanne's writing process, both music (Joni Mitchell's "Blue" was the first time she realized songwriting wasn't just a "boys' club") and memoir (it leaves you "a lot more room to hang yourself"), her voice (she long felt inadequate worshiping at the alter of Emmylou Harris, but finally cut herself some slack after nearly losing her chops entirely due to a polyp on her vocal cords in the late '90s), and, of course, her famous father.
The chat was peppered with Rosanne reading excerpts selected by Lampher (Rosanne's Southern California accent was adorably noticeable when called upon to read) and a handful of songs, including a bit of "Sleeping in Paris" (which includes the metaphor a 12-year-old Rosie wrote for a school assignment in seventh grade, the first task the nuns had given her that she actually enjoyed!), "Sea of Heartbreak" (with hubby John "Mr. L" Leventhal filling in for some guy named Bruce Springsteen), "Dreams Are Not My Home" (from the sublime "Black Cadillac" LP), "Girl From the North Country" (from the fabled "List"), and her classic, "Seven Year Ache" (the song she felt Rickie Lee Jones' debut -- which she adored -- was missing).
The photo-op went better than LAST TIME, although I froze up again and didn't say anything fun. (I should have mentioned that I was the reviewer who "accused" her of claiming to have only slept with two guys in her life!) I purchased a copy of "The List" for my mother (Rosie's version of "500 Miles" makes me tear up thinking of my mom every time), which she graciously signed "For Molly: Love, Rosanne Cash." I know it makes me a total loser (or should I say Total Loser?) to admit this, but whenever I get the chance to meet someone I truly admire -- and it's only happened a couple times in my life -- I can't help but become completely irrational and think they will somehow look into my eyes and "understand" what they mean to me. (Am I alone here?) Rationally, I know this is ridiculous -- and I certainly don't hold it against anyone(!). But it does have a habit of stopping me from enjoying the moment as much as I should. Just as I was about to beat myself up for not saying the perfect thing to one of my favorite performers, I remembered Rosanne writing (and talking) about the time she sat slack-jawed when she was a teen and Tammy Wynette was at her dad's house -- and how she still gets giddy as a schoolgirl when discussing how Bruce Springsteen sang on her last record. And then I realized that this is the very reason -- the genuineness and vulnerability she puts into her music -- I adore her so. As she signed my book and CD I muttered something about Twitter and a moment later -- as I turning to walk away -- she perked up and said, "I remember seeing tweets from you!" Whether it was true or not doesn't really matter much. I went home smiling, tickled to have met the woman who wrote "The Summer I Read Colette" and dozens of other songs that are definitely on my "List."
Setting the inconsiderate 50-somethings in the house aside -- it seems you're never too old to be rude! -- I spent a wonderful evening "with" my gal Rosanne Cash last night at the Barnes & Noble in Union Square, where the acclaimed singer/songwriter was promoting her terrific just-released memoir, "Composed: A Life." (Read my review HERE.) Cash -- who would either love it or lose all respect for me if she knew I fell in love with her when I was a kid and didn't even know who Johnny Cash was -- did a lengthy music-infused Q&A with journalist Katherine Lanpher before signing copies of the book and her recent album, "The List." Lanpher kept things interesting, with a mixture of questions about Rosanne's writing process, both music (Joni Mitchell's "Blue" was the first time she realized songwriting wasn't just a "boys' club") and memoir (it leaves you "a lot more room to hang yourself"), her voice (she long felt inadequate worshiping at the alter of Emmylou Harris, but finally cut herself some slack after nearly losing her chops entirely due to a polyp on her vocal cords in the late '90s), and, of course, her famous father.
The chat was peppered with Rosanne reading excerpts selected by Lampher (Rosanne's Southern California accent was adorably noticeable when called upon to read) and a handful of songs, including a bit of "Sleeping in Paris" (which includes the metaphor a 12-year-old Rosie wrote for a school assignment in seventh grade, the first task the nuns had given her that she actually enjoyed!), "Sea of Heartbreak" (with hubby John "Mr. L" Leventhal filling in for some guy named Bruce Springsteen), "Dreams Are Not My Home" (from the sublime "Black Cadillac" LP), "Girl From the North Country" (from the fabled "List"), and her classic, "Seven Year Ache" (the song she felt Rickie Lee Jones' debut -- which she adored -- was missing).
The photo-op went better than LAST TIME, although I froze up again and didn't say anything fun. (I should have mentioned that I was the reviewer who "accused" her of claiming to have only slept with two guys in her life!) I purchased a copy of "The List" for my mother (Rosie's version of "500 Miles" makes me tear up thinking of my mom every time), which she graciously signed "For Molly: Love, Rosanne Cash." I know it makes me a total loser (or should I say Total Loser?) to admit this, but whenever I get the chance to meet someone I truly admire -- and it's only happened a couple times in my life -- I can't help but become completely irrational and think they will somehow look into my eyes and "understand" what they mean to me. (Am I alone here?) Rationally, I know this is ridiculous -- and I certainly don't hold it against anyone(!). But it does have a habit of stopping me from enjoying the moment as much as I should. Just as I was about to beat myself up for not saying the perfect thing to one of my favorite performers, I remembered Rosanne writing (and talking) about the time she sat slack-jawed when she was a teen and Tammy Wynette was at her dad's house -- and how she still gets giddy as a schoolgirl when discussing how Bruce Springsteen sang on her last record. And then I realized that this is the very reason -- the genuineness and vulnerability she puts into her music -- I adore her so. As she signed my book and CD I muttered something about Twitter and a moment later -- as I turning to walk away -- she perked up and said, "I remember seeing tweets from you!" Whether it was true or not doesn't really matter much. I went home smiling, tickled to have met the woman who wrote "The Summer I Read Colette" and dozens of other songs that are definitely on my "List."
1 comment:
i am TOTALLY jealous of you being able to meet Rosanne Cash.
Like you, I've admired her since 1981's "Sever Year Ache" and have everything she's done. ...though I do think overall "Interiors" is her best effort.
I do know what you mean about them being able to understand how you connect - but I've never had the opportunity to meet any artist I really admire.
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