It is a proven fact. It is a distinguished truth. It is Holy Writ. It is absolutely impossible to hear Nanci Griffith’s version of “Across the Great Divide” for the first time and not immediately ask who it is singing, which is quickly followed by, “I like it.”
Seriously, I have played it for die hard rockers, Deadheads, jazz aficionados, and even my uncle who hasn’t listened to music since the Hoover administration and they have all, without fail, said the same words. The song is that good.
The rest of the album, Other Voice, Other Rooms follows suit. It’s brilliant in its conception and perfect in performance. It is essentially Nanci, performing her favorite songs with her favorite performers (who also happen to usually be the writers of those songs.)
Like a number of my now favorite performers, I came to Nanci through the BMG music club. You know the drill, get 10 CDs for a penny and then agree to buy a few more at regular club prices. The thing with BMG is that they have lots of sales, and so their regular club prices come out not so bad. I’ve done this scores of times over the years, sign up, complete the deal, cancel and then sign up again. It was a great way to broaden my music collection without spending a fortune.
During one of those periods, the little magazine they send each month had a blurb on it for Nanci’s Blue Roses From the Moon, and I snatched it up. Turns out the album was pretty danged good, and I quickly went out and bough her live album, One Fair Summer Evening. Turns out that album is no less than absolutely brilliant.
That album finds a very young Nanci playing with a small band in a small club, proving to the world that she belongs. The music is fabulous, but she really shines when she is talking between playing. She is shy and quirky, cute and funny. She tells little stories about the songs, that aren’t really about the songs, or even with any point at all, but they are so wonderful no one in the world really cares.
A favorite is her long ramble about going to Woolworths stores throughout the world, which is really about the noise the elevator makes (or lift as they say in Europe) which sounds similar to one little note on the guitar that shows up in “Love At The Five And Dime.” I’d write it out for you, but it wouldn’t make any sense, and really it doesn’t make any sense when she says it either, but it’s a lovely ramble anyway.
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