June 26–July 3, 1997

critic pick|rock/pop

From scratched-up beatnik queen to electronically syncopated soulstress, Rickie Lee Jones has always been more than the singer/songwriter she's made out to be. Not unlike Joni Mitchell, her lyrics paint grand-scale vistas that refuse to ignore poignant, painful, intimate details. But whether she covers the waterfronts of male effrontery or the sad-eyed poverty of home and heaven, Jones sifts through the detritus to find wondrous joy.

Through a long '70s hang with the likes of Tom Waits, Lowell George and the infamous Chuck E. Weiss, her music grew into a drunken bacchanal of acoustically driven beat folk 'n' jazz (think Swingers meets On The Road). By the time the '80s rolled around she created such diverse work as the orchestrated cabaret of Pirates and the brutally spare Girl At Her Volcano. Her finest moment came with Flying Cowboys — the Walter Becker-produced opus reminiscent of his work with Steely Dan (crystal clear horn arrangements, dazzling dusky harmonies) that opened Jones' lyrics to loving introspection as opposed to tart, vivid sarcasm.

When it was announced that Jones' new disc, Ghostyhead (Reprise), recorded with synth dude Rick Boston from Low Pop Suicide, would be in the spirit of new electronica, it sounded like it could be Jones' first sour note. Fortunately, this vision of trip-hop is a subtle elongated base upon which her scraggly vocals can simmer over soulfully. With perhaps more scuffed-up passion than ever before, Jones tackles the brave new world with the same incisive instinct that she did her own drunken carnival of souls. This gallery includes portraits of drugs and love, the destructive nature of the restless and carnivals in full tilt. That she and Boston handle the cool tones and breathy electrons with grace makes Ghostyhead simply another magic piece in Rickie Lee Jones' portfolio.

Rickie Lee Jones, Saturday June 28, TLA, 334 South St., 922-1011.

— a.d. amorosi