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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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1993-05-25
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<text id=93TT0117>
<title>
Oct. 25, 1993: Reviews:Music
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
Oct. 25, 1993 All The Rage:Angry Young Rockers
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
REVIEWS, Page 81
Cinema
The Boho Dance
</hdr>
<body>
<p>By GUY GARCIA
</p>
<list> PERFORMER: Rickie Lee Jones
ALBUM: Traffic From Paradise
LABEL: Geffen
</list>
<p> THE BOTTOM LINE: Back on personal turf, Jones captures fallen
angels and broken hearts in strands of vivid poetry.
</p>
<p> Long before "cool" got hot and poetry became the latest MTV
fad, Rickie Lee Jones was striking beatnik poses on album covers
and writing jazzy rhymes about a hipster demimonde of oddballs,
outcasts and free spirits. On albums like Pirates (1981) and
Flying Cowboys (1989), Jones' street-wise sensibility was balanced
and embellished by her increasingly sophisticated flair for
elaborate instrumental settings. Then, two years ago, she switched
gears and released Pop Pop, a glossy collection of covers and
old standards that showed a heartfelt respect for tradition
but lacked the offbeat charm of her own material.
</p>
<p> On Traffic from Paradise, Jones gets personal again, delivering
a set of original songs that evoke a familiar gallery of saintly
sinners and handsome devils. Low-key and instrumentally sparse,
the album has a hushed sound that highlights Jones' elastic
vocals and free-wheeling lyrics, which never flinch from unpleasant
truths.
</p>
<p> The meditative tone is set on Pink Flamingos, which describes
the denizens of a bar in terms that suggest a watering hole
in the African veldt. As guitar and piano skitter above a buttery
bass line, Jones sings, "Look at them--poking like flightless
birds/...the spirit cannot wait to fly like the pink flamingo."
</p>
<p> Wild animals, with their quality of being both savage and pure,
are a recurring motif. On the run from predators imagined or
real, Jones' protagonists seek refuge in solitude or sex. On
Tigers, men are portrayed as unpredictable beasts that can never
be entirely tamed--or trusted. "Playing with tigers," Jones
sings over rumbling congas and drums, "Tracing the lamp with
my toes/ Playing with tigers 'til I find out/ Where it goes."
</p>
<p> At once innocent and world-weary, Jones' voice drops to a husky
whisper or drawls syllables to wring nuance from every note.
Painful memories appear without warning. On A Stranger's Car,
Jones promises a young runaway that "There is no one here to
beat out your brains/ There's no one here who'll make you cry."
</p>
<p> Ultimately, though, human anguish gives way to understanding
and compassion, and the demons that haunt Traffic from Paradise
are banished by the angels of redemption that hover overhead.
On the standout cut, Beat Angels, Jones' voice shines like a
beacon over roiling seas as she asks, "Don't you wonder where
one goes wrong?/ Is it somewhere in a foreign rain.../ A man
don't know what he's got in his veins/ 'Til beat angels come
and take him away." Lifted by the unfettered emotion of such
moments, this moody album spreads its wings and soars.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>