Well, damn.
Between my ongoing gig as a U.W. student, motherhood and a multitude of other writing obligations, I’ve been remiss about showing up for this blog. I know; I said I’d do better and I really intended to. However, the other day I saw a bumper sticker that said “Nobody gives a shit about your blog.” So maybe apologies for my absence aren’t in order after all?
It was with almost histrionic glee that I saw that Rachelle Ferrell will be rolling into Jazz Alley in April. She is easily one of my favorite living vocalists, and I am absolutely thrilled for the opportunity to finally see and hear her. I honestly don’t think I’ve been this excited for a concert since I was a 15 year-old girl, and Peter Frampton was coming to the Lloyd Nobel Arena in Norman, OK. (Thank God for the artists that had the compassion to route their tours through Oklahoma. It gave hope to the notion that there was a better world beyond the Bible belt, and this was enough to keep my dumb Okie heart going until I was ultimately able to escape.)
But back to Rachelle: about a year ago, I blogged about her on another site. Because I’m a lazy ass and don't feel like reinventing the wheel tonight, I’ll just offer up what I wrote then:
Rachelle Ferrell is an American vocalist. Many consider her to be a jazz vocalist, although she would bristle at being boxed into any one definition. In short, she is a wonder to behold. Her voice is the perfect musical instrument, and there seems to be no end to what she can do with it. She has a six-octave range, which she bounces around in with ease and a control that is mind-boggling. She can soar up to the stratospheres or burrow down into the deepest guttural moans. She can bend and fold notes then shoot them off like nuclear missiles. Sometimes she sounds like an animal. Sometimes she screams. But more often, nothing but pure beauty pours out of her. Some could consider her vocal escapades to be excessive, undisciplined or lacking in taste. A friend calls them “pyrotechnics”. In my opinion, she embodies the open spirit of pure jazz and even more, raw and unfiltered emotion. She is possibly the most honest singer I have ever heard. Every note conveys something that I believe to be completely authentic and true to the very core of her soul. In her words: "Some people sing songs like they wear clothing, they put it on and take it off, but when one performs four sets a night, six nights a week, that experience affords you the opportunity to present the song from the inside out, to express its essence. In this way, a singer expresses the song in the spirit in which it was written. The songwriter translates emotion into words. The singer's job is to translate the words back into emotion." It is evident to me that Ms. Ferrell has known great pain. When I listen to her, it is palpable on a cellular level, and in every song, she rips open her heart and bares all. I’m not sure I have ever experienced as courageous an artist as Rachelle Ferrell, and this certainly gives me something to think about. She puts her pain out there for all of us to hear and feel, and I am so very glad for that. She doesn’t hold back, and in experiencing her anguish and humanity, I feel oddly empowered to give voice to my own.
When I first became hip to Rachelle Ferrell, I was slugging through a very dark period. I was going through a divorce and all the emotional collateral damage that goes with it. My oldest kid was pissed off and so beyond my reach that it seemed unlikely we would ever find our way back to each other. My youngest was simply adrift. I was seriously short on bread. All of our hearts were broken, and we were crashing and burning everywhere. I was drowning in a pain so huge that I didn’t know what to do with it. Even the written word, which had always served as my most powerful weapon and medicine, was feeble in the face if such an unrelenting anguish. And then came Rachelle. I listened to her constantly and hung on for dear life. I took comfort in her ferocity and tenderness. She spoke for me when I couldn’t even get up off the floor. Rachelle Ferrell saved my ass.
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