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TIME: Almanac 1995
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1995-02-24
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<text id=94TT0362>
<title>
Apr. 04, 1994: Music:Bonnie and The Blues
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
Apr. 04, 1994 Deep Water
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
THE ARTS & MEDIA, Page 78
Music
Bonnie and The Blues
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Bonnie Raitt is back with a flinty, resonant new album, as bluesy
and beautiful as they come
</p>
<p>By Richard Corliss--Reported by Jeffrey Ressner/Los Angeles
</p>
<p> The music isn't called just blue. It's the blues; it holds
a hundred shades of misery and ecstasy. And Bonnie Raitt, the
show-biz baby who went to Radcliffe and looks like Meryl Streep's
grittier sister, finds those shades in her songs. She wears
tinges of folk and rock, country and pop, but her regular outfit
is multihued blue. She makes it so smart that when she sings
it, it's everyone's favorite color.
</p>
<p> Raitt knows the blues is gut music, halfway between groin pulse
and heartbeat. The trick, or the wisdom, is to embrace those
sexual and spiritual polarities. That's Raitt's strength. In
a single phrase her voice can skip from sweet to rowdy, as if
she were sipping church-social lemonade one moment and gargling
rotgut the next. Meanwhile, her handsome slide-guitar work instantly
sets a song's mood. Over the course of the 12-song set on her
fine new album, Longing in Their Hearts, Raitt takes you to
hell and heaven and safely back home, wherever you live.
</p>
<p> By now--she's 44 and hitting the quarter-century mark in a
career that flowered into stardom in 1989 with her multiplatinum,
multi-Grammy-winner Nick of Time--Raitt has lived in most
of the places she sings about. She has raised hell and been
nearly crushed by it. The authority she puts into a lament called
Circle Dance ("After a while I learned that love/ Must be a
thing that leaves") didn't come from convent life. But the nights
of high-wire partying are now song fodder; in one of her new
tunes she sings, "Sometimes I miss that feeling of falling/
Falling on over the edge."
</p>
<p> Is there any future after such a fall? Not for some pop stars,
whose recklessness has meant an early death. But Raitt's path
led to maturity--and no sentimental rue. "It's hard to become
a responsible, mature adult," she says. "Sometimes we all want
to drive way too fast or never come back to our family or just
be out of control. Yeah, I miss the wilder days of youth. But
do I miss staying up all night and getting messed up? No."
</p>
<p> In the Hollywood hotel room where Raitt is chatting, a visitor
watches her search for missing car keys and asks if she belongs
to the Automobile Association of America. That prompts a sassy,
alto laugh: "These days I belong to A.A. and the Triple A. I'm
pretty disgustingly healthy. I'm a vegetarian, I don't eat dairy,
I work out. My vice is torturing myself. My mind is my own trap.
It is not easy to be awake with this brain all the time."
</p>
<p> Maybe not, but it must be an adventure. It has been from the
start, when Raitt was born in Burbank, California, to John Raitt,
robust tenor of Broadway (Carousel) and Hollywood (The Pajama
Game), and his wife Marge. The Raitts were Quakers--no movieland
socialites. Bonnie attended Quaker camps and then Radcliffe
College. It's unlikely that inside many Cliffies a singing sharecropper
struggles to burst out, but Raitt had been touched by John Lee
Hooker, Sippie Wallace and other emissaries from the delta.
In 1970 she left school to sing the blues.
</p>
<p> Raitt's wide repertoire and potent musicianship soon earned
her a following among the good ole boys on both sides of the
footlights. She spent more time on the road than Wile E. Coyote;
she played (and still does) untold free dates in support of
liberal causes. But her record company, Warner Bros., eventually
dropped her, finding her mix of bar-band rock and oozy blues
tough to market. "It's not rock," Raitt says. "It's rock 'n'
roll and rhythm 'n' blues. That 'n' in the middle is important:
it's a swing back and forth. I'm more interested in the side-to-side
than the up-and-down."
</p>
<p> Switching to Capitol Records and teaming with ace producer Don
Was, Raitt finally found the up. Nick of Time and Luck of the
Draw (1991) made her a best seller without selling her out.
"Here I am, not having sought it, but somehow getting it," she
says. "But the idea of playing the game of being `hot' is offensive
to me." The fact is, Raitt loves the road; hot or cold, she'll
be happy as long as she's working. "When the lights go down,
it is the same gig as 15 years ago. I have the coolest job of
anyone I know." On the new album that joy comes through in its
most splendid form in You, a moving declaration of love. In
Raitt's poignant voice you can hear the ache of angels as they
gaze down on a dark and tangled earth.
</p>
<p> In 1992 she wed actor Michael O'Keefe, 38, now a regular on
TV's Roseanne and Raitt's occasional songwriting partner. "It's
been satisfying and very challenging," she says. "When you have
two strong personalities, it's an adjustment to learn how to
compromise. There's a constant thrust and parry in allowing
the other person to have some space. It's a classic case of
`I can't believe I'm saying these things that I heard my parents
say across the dinner table.' "
</p>
<p> A knowledge of the blues tells Raitt that life is a heroic struggle.
"Just because you have some of your dreams realized," she says,
"doesn't mean you're necessarily going to be content." The hurt
and the hope are evident in her new album's last cut, Shadow
of Doubt, in which Raitt sounds like a Mississippi field hand,
bent by age and travail: "Oh but Lord no/ Don't make it easy/
Keep me workin'/ 'Til I work it on out/ Just please, please/
Shine enough light on me/ 'Til I'm free from/ This shadow of
doubt."
</p>
<p> Prayer answered. Bonnie Raitt is out of the shadow, into the
light.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>