Magazine

The year was 1985 and I was a fifteen year-old heavy-metal kid who had only recently discovered the joys of classic Led Zep. My hipster choir teacher caught me listening to some acoustic Zep and handed me a copy of The Magazine on cassette, describing RLJ with the above quote. I was down for that, and upon curling up in bed with headphones and RLJ I was immediately hooked. The sheer, unbridled emotion of these songs was a perfect companion for my teenage angst.

Fast-forward eighteen years through subsequent love affairs with U2, R.E.M. and Tori Amos, and this is still one of my all-time favorite works by one of my favorite performers. I understand why fans appreciate her first two records more (especially those people who are old enough to remember when Saturday Night Live was still fresh, funny and vital), but I still think it's a crime that this record gets such short shrift. Due to the predominance of the DX-7, the songs on Magazine often sound glassily brittle & more slickly produced compared to previous records, but the effect is perfect for setting the fragile tone of this introspective record. The songs are all well crafted, featuring impeccable arrangements, first-class musicianship and Rickie's adroit vocals, slicing thin layers of emotion until it's all used up.

The only thing really missing here for fans of earlier RLJ are the jazz/funk, gin-n-juice, storytelling-type numbers like "Weasel & the White Boys Cool" and "Danny's All-Star Joint". Instead, we get some fairly stark and melancholy numbers that are perfectly suitable for those days when you're in a funk and want to be left there. Not that there aren't upbeat moments ("Jukebox Fury", "Runaround"), but here Rickie prefers to paint a collection of beautifully forlorn self-portraits that will mesmerize, make you smile, and break your heart, often all at once.

That said, as is the case with all her recordings, The Magazine will not be for everyone. With Rickie, it's not so much what she's saying as it is how she says it. The songs are merely snapshots of the situations and characters therein, relying on her evocative lyrical word-pictures and bravely naked vocal delivery to conjure the listener's emotions. That she succeeds so often, eschewing conventional pop sensibilities in favor of pursuing her own wild muse, is a testament to her spirit and genius, making her music the sort of "inside joke" you really should be in on.

Many thanks to my choir teacher, but with all due respect, RLJ is an entirely unique experience.