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- REVIEWS, Page 63MUSICGetting There The Hard Way
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- By RICHARD CORLISS
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- PERFORMER: MARY-CHAPIN CARPENTER
- ALBUM: Come On Come On
- LABEL: Columbia
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- THE BOTTOM LINE: Her new set is like a house by a cool
- Southern stream: a grand place to spend the summer.
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- Country music, in case you city folk haven't noticed, is
- where pop music went to live. When rock 'n' roll settled into
- the bustling ghettos of white metal and black funk, country
- claimed the ears of the pop-music homeless -- those who like
- songs to mix catchy melodies with prickly home truths. By
- reaching people raised on '60s folk music and Beatles rock,
- country has become suburbanized. It's as much at home in malls
- and vans as it used to be in grange halls and pickups.
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- If she weren't writing and singing terrific songs that
- help define the new breadth of country music, Mary-Chapin
- Carpenter would be a member of its target market. An Ivy Leaguer
- (Brown) who grew up in exotic climes (Tokyo, Princeton) as the
- daughter of a publishing executive (Chapin Carpenter, a Life
- sachem), she played for tips in Washington clubs and made her
- first album, Hometown Girl, in 1987. The sound was clean and
- folky; the voice suggested Judy Collins after a long bus trip
- from Richmond to Baton Rouge. The album got airplay on college
- stations and public radio, but it wasn't until her record
- company began promoting her to country radio that Carpenter
- found a large audience for her pensive postlove songs. She
- didn't go country; country went her.
-
- Carpenter, 34, is now a member of the country club; last
- week she was nominated for three Country Music Association
- awards. With her fourth album, Come On Come On, she displays a
- fully matured talent, her sure alto caressing a wide variety of
- musical settings (rock, blues, art song) for her lyrics.
- Carpenter's literary allusions have run from Eudora Welty to old
- Geritol commercials, but the usual subject of her songs is love
- -- old love, careless love. So what else is new? The range of
- feelings she mines. At its best, love is hard work, like a
- decent blue-collar job ("Everything we got, we got the hard
- way"). At its worst, it's the rest of our lives.
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- For Carpenter, love songs aren't mainly about passion, and
- love isn't only what you felt for the person you slept with
- until the night before last. It can be the memory of an elder
- sibling whose departure from home left the first big hole in a
- child's heart (Only a Dream), or the appeal of North Carolina's
- rural landscape seen as "a blur from the driver's side" (I Am
- a Town). Even her least typical hit -- Down at the Twist and
- Shout, the Cajun-ragin' Grammy winner from her 1990 album,
- Shooting Straight in the Dark -- is a tribute to a place that
- no longer exists (a dance hall in Bethesda, Maryland). The new
- album's title tune sounds like a come-on to a quick affair until
- you listen to the verse: a poignant flashback of first love,
- first loss. Carpenter writes elegies for lives gone sour and
- places sorely missed. In these songs, love is what we used to
- be in.
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- It's also where we hope to go next. The nice girls adrift
- in Carpenter's earlier ballads (When She's Gone, Middle Ground)
- often have the single-white-female blues, and there's a fine one
- here: He Thinks He'll Keep Her, a sarcastic soft rocker about
- a perfect wife ("Everything runs right on time, years of
- practice and design/ Spit and polish 'til it shines") who walks
- out on her husband only to find herself ignored and abused in
- a menial job. But Carpenter surely knows that thirtysomething
- angst is just half the story; a woman is not only a victim. So
- she has peppered her new album with anthems to emotional
- resilience. In I Feel Lucky, reckless living ("I bought a pack
- of Camels, a burrito and a Barq's") pays off with quick
- millions and a dream night in a bar: "Lyle Lovett's right beside
- me with his hand upon my thigh."
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- Now that's country paradise. Carpenter lives there, and
- the rest of us should get a ticket and start packing.
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