Listening to Jackson Browne’s I’m Alive last week and now this song today, I’m reminded that the early 90s contained their fair share of musical treasures.
Toad the Wet Sprocket’s Dulcinea is one of my favorite albums from that era. This is the best release by one of the best alternative rock bands of all time, one that has never received half the recognition they deserve.
Today’s random SOTD is from The Weight of These Wings, Miranda Lambert’s splendid 2016 double album (which I recently named my favorite of the previous decade).
‘Keeper of the Flame’ is one of the album’s upbeat tracks, and one of the few that isn’t about going through or recovering from a breakup.
This song is about Lambert’s place in a long line of women in both country music and music industry generally.
I was critical of Jackson Browne’s last two albums of the 80s, but all is forgiven with the arrival of 1993’s I’m Alive. Inspired by his breakup with actress Daryl Hannah, this record marks a return to the personal, confessional songwriting of his early triumphs.
I’m Alive deserves a spot among the great breakup albums. It is sadly beautiful and beautifully sad, a marvel melodically and lyrically. Browne’s words are heartfelt and perceptive, both raw from the painful separation and wise about the path behind and in front of him.
Jackson Browne closed out the 80s with another political album, 1989’s World in Motion. It was another misstep.
How can a man who wrote such poignant and perceptive lyrics about the human condition release a song containing this verse: “When you think about the money spent on defense by a government and the weapons of destruction we’ve built, we’re so sure that we need, and you think of the millions and millions that money could feed, how long can you hear someone crying, how long can you hear someone dying, before you ask yourself why?”
With 1986’s Lives in the Balance, Jackson Browne made an unfortunate pivot from the personal to the political. The thoughtful poet who so successfully mined matters of the heart was now singing about Ronald Reagan.
I call this shift unfortunate because I have an aversion to overtly political songs, especially when they are dressed up with glossy production. It’s one thing for Bob Dylan or Joan Baez to sing about civil rights with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica in the 60s, but do I need Sting crooning “Hey, Mr. Pinonchet” over a bed of soft jazz? No, I do not.
Meet Me In Montauk 