Review #259: Pearl, Janis Joplin
#259: Pearl, Janis Joplin
We’ve been wading our way through the macabre 27 Club Cemetery for some time now, but we haven’t come across Janis Joplin yet. I’ve been feeling like I’ve been writing papers without their thesis statement, the reason this whole unhappy pattern matters.
Janis Joplin was from Texas and loved Southern Comfort, feather boas, and Jim Morrison for about twenty minutes. She died in 1970 from an overdose, months before this record was even finished.
We’ll see where Joplin’s career took off in a few short months at #372, Cheap Tricks by Big Brother & the Holding Company. After that she went solo, which didn’t go well, until she died, and then it went great. (By the way, I didn’t listen to her debut, but it’s worth mentioning that it’s called I Got Dem Ol’ Kozmic Blues Again Mama! and was released on 9/11/69.)
She looks like a queen on this cover, the boa actually regal against the velvety couch she’s lounging on. Pearl was recorded with the Full Tilt Boogie Band, which is an excellent band name — I wish they were billed on the album cover. They didn’t perform together after her death, as far as I can tell.
Why do I connect to Janis Joplin’s music so much? It’s not just because I think she looks a little bit like me. (If I flatter myself.) But at the same time, Joplin seemed to have an insecurity about her that I don’t quite relate to. (See: Me flattering myself.) Patti Smith, one of my other heroes, spent some time with Joplin at the Chelsea Hotel, where Joplin poured her heart out to Smith about her unhappiness and loneliness after being rejected by a stranger at a party.
I love getting rejected — I think it’s funny.
Still, I just think there’s something about this whiskey-and-smack-fueled album — that I can’t quite put my finger on — that we can all relate to.
First, the obvious: everyone’s parents’ favorite song from their childhood is secretly “Me and Bobby McGee.” Even people who weren’t children in 1971 remember it fondly. In fact, it shot to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in March of that year, 5 months after Joplin’s death. It has absoluteuniversal appeal.
I had no idea it was a cover of a Kris Kristofferson song written in early 1970, a straight country song with understated, straightforward vocals. It was fun to spot the differences in the lyrics: Instead of holding hands, Bobby is clapping hands, and it isn’t Me and MY Bobby McGee, but just plain Me and Bobby.
Joplin’s take did so well because she’s pitch-perfect and on fire. Her powerful wail (Ohh, don’t worry, I’ll get to the wail) is put on the back-burner for most of this low-register ballad. Kristofferson’s is soulful in its own right, but man, aren’t you glad Joplin took over? According to Smith, Kristofferson and Joplin collaborated on the song for the first time right in front of her. Imagine.
That one is such a juggernaut that I sometimes forget about Joplin’s other hits, like “Cry Baby.” It’s a classic! Her falsetto reminds you of sobbing but she’s in complete control. If you’re just discovering her, you might be getting tired of all these depressing songs, but you have to understand: They’re not depressing. Not exactly. Yes, Joplin is technically singing the blues, and fine, “A Woman Left Lonely” is a tearful defense of cheating with a measure of shame, and, okay, “Buried Alive In The Blues” isn’t exactly a pick-me-up either.
And fine, the most fun song is also the eeriest, the darkest. “Mercedes Benz” is a folk-style a cappella ballad written at an impromptu poetry slam and recorded three days before her death. It’s funny, as she begs God for money through a rasping voice with only her own light clapping as accompaniment. My friends all drive Porsches/I must make amends/Worked hard all my lifetime/No help from my friends. Maybe she’s loaded. This was the last time she was ever in the studio. When she declares That’s it! and cackles, it’s as silly as it is chilling.
But no, she wasn’t depressing, she was thrilling! Just listen for the wail. Listen to “Move Over” where she bangs her 500-pounds vocals against a honky beat. Listen to the dramatic leadup to the chorus on “My Baby” and then recognize those same leadups on every single excellent song here. And if you’re grasping at straws for an optimistic song, then “Get It While You Can” is surprisingly warm, if you ignore the lyrics about not being here tomorrow.
Joplin was never famous. She was an authentic badass and created something magnificent, but she never performed this after making it big. Hearing her voice blow me away for three straight hours began to make me very sad.* She sounds so alive here.
(*Note: SAD. Not depressed.)
Other Highlights: “Half Moon” was fine, and so was “Trust Me,” but it’s hard to sandwich the two most incredible songs on the album.
