"Small is the new big," a friend assured me at the dawn of the digital revolution in music over thirty years ago. That seemed then and even more now, truly prescient. The greatest music of our time hits small numbers hard, but it can't capture a mainstage now reserved for a handful of... royals.
One of the strengths here is King understands that truth far better than (7 months into listening) I'm beginning to grasp. No doubt for practical reasons, but most clips of King present these songs live and paired down--her guitarist and drummer in accompaniment, the singer building out the beats with handclaps. Ironically, songs that on record have lush, soul grandeur and a funky technicolor punch may even gain a bit of drama offered as busking.
After all, these are finely crafted songs first, and the record couldn't be more intimate. After the bravado of three would-be hits--"This Year," "Special Occasion," and "Medal," all infectiously celebrating how we might seize the day, the painful recognition of "False Start" retreats into an explosion of electric guitar.
Bravado helps, but alone doesn't cut it.
The gorgeously claustrophobic denial of "The Way that You Love Me" follows. Then come the delicate acoustic negotiations of "Home Now" and a new level of realization in the tender duet with Lukas Nelson, "Bad Memory."
That honesty allows for the realism of "Waterfalls," the naked inquiry of "Who Wants My Love," "Easy," and "Closer to Morning." From the place of greatest self doubt, King finds a way to start a dialogue. That reach alone would be remarkable, nevermind (although it would be foolish to do so) King's evocative, propulsive vocals, the rich, precise arrangements, and the endless melodic hooks.
The album versions are perfect, but I can't resist ending with these two contrasting live takes:
False Start Live in the Studio
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