This is another off the wall review from VMag, May 1998. God bless Murphy, the editor for understanding these reviews in all their not so subtleties. Part Four of a look at the Carwreck Archives. These pieces were written for VMag, a music and arts magazine from the late 1990’s until the early 2000’s. Home to some pretty amazing writers, all under the patient watch of editor Murphy, one of the best of the best. Some reviews were quick hits, some were downright strange.
This review was my first one for VMag. I had been working at a record store and was in contact with the magazine through their ad rep who came through often. I faxed over to them a single sentence, the opening line to this review. Within 5 minutes, the store fax machine lit up, and this message spat out:
“You’re hired. Finish the review. Call me.”
Working at a store within spitting distance of Smith College, some of the concerns noted were a possibility (my previous record store had Smithies and their compatriots superglue the locks shut for selling CDs that ‘exploited women’). In retrospect, it is kind of amazing to get hired on the basis of a single sentence. Like I said above, Murphy’s instincts were razor sharp.
Ani Difranco-Little Plastic Castle (Righteous Babe)
Truly a phenomenon, Ani Difranco has the same effect on young women of unfixed gender preference that Adolf Hitler had on Germans of the 1930’s: blind obedience, unswerving loyalty, and a belief in the messianic. With that in mind, it is very difficult to fairly appraise her work without fear of lynching at the hands of PC-addled brickbat wielding fem-bots.
This record is certainly going to be looked at as a watermark: a clear divider between the old and the new. This will be the record that finally alienates the coffeehouse Ani crowd and introduces her to the REAL WORLD. Her older fans will always pick this record out as the one that killed ‘the scene’ and wistfully recount alternate lyrics she sang on the Puddle Diver tour, while wiping away a tear.
Newer fans, unaware of the near Deadhead-like behavior of the older crowd, will latch onto this one like an infant confronted with its first sugar donut. References to fledgling lesbian experiences will delight the last brace of fans unaware of her persistent avowed heterosexuality. Her songstress skills are still evident in enough quantity to keep the older fans from completely abandoning ship, but lyrically she veers perilously close to self-parody–a theme hinted at by the album artwork.
An appearance by the avant-garde trumpeter John Hassell and former Peter Gabriel drummer Jerry Marotta lend a breadth of musicality to this album that shows an artist striving to break the cumbersome shackles of preconceptions that she’s been saddled with. For some though, these changes will mark the end of an era and the expiration of some special secret.