It ain't easy being an interpreter.
Christopher O'Riley's an accomplished classical pianist, but his biggest claims to fame are three piano interpretations of modern musicians--two discs worth or re-imagined Radiohead, and now this excellent exploration of Elliott Smith.
Most respectable classical musicians don't do this sort of thing--they usually stick to what are deemed respectable composers. And the ones who do bother with anything composed after, say, 1925 and played on anything other than orchestra instruments? They become a little trashy by association, exuding a faint odor of music whoredom as they ride the rock n' roll gravy train from the New Release section to the Bargain Bin. (This happens whether they're re-interpreting the Rolling Stones or Pink Floyd or, heaven help us, Metallica.) Heck, most musicians in general are fearful of doing too much of someone else's work, lest they be seen as bar-band ready tribute acts rather than as the sainted singer-songwriters they'd like to be.
Thank heavens O'Riley's not like most musicians. He seems to see interpretation as something like what it used to be in the Frank Sinatra heydey--something anyone can and should do as much as they want to, provided they're patient enough to really take their time about it and bold enough to make someone else's songs their own. For that's the true test of a musician--not whether or not they cover other people's work, but whether they put in the effort to give their audience something more than a tracing-paper copy of a song's original outlines.
By that standard, O'Riley's latest outing's a smashing success. It is a demanding listen--don't just pop in while riding the subway to work. I'm thinking headphones at home, late night, no distractions, just you and Chris and Chris's piano and Elliott's ghost.
On his previous outings, O'Riley had an easier task--on most Radiohead songs, lyrics and musical tone match pretty well. (Paranoid songs sound paranoid. Unhappy songs sound unhappy. And...well, that just about covers it, actually. Not that I'm complaining, Thom.) But what made Elliott special, among other things, was the way he so frequently married bleak lyrics about depression and addiction and self-loathing to poppy little tunes as radio-friendly as anything this side of the early 60s Beatles.
So O'Riley's opted here for re-imaginings that somehow capture the trajectory of the original songs while giving them the melancholy feel of Elliot's tragic lyrics and aching voice. (Check out "I Didn't Understand" or "Speed Trials" or especially the sad scared rumble of "Independence Day" if you want to know what I'm talking about.) As usual, O'Riley goes above and beyond the call of duty in scouring the back catalog for songs to play. (If you're like me, that means you might miss "Pitselah" but feel comforted that someone out there's a much more devoted and appreciative Elliott Smith fan than you'll ever be.)
It's a shame this sort of thing doesn't happen more often. Then again, there aren't too many modern musicians respectable enough to deserve the O'Riley treatment.