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Corinne Bailey Rae

By Jesse Kornbluth
Published: May 20, 2009
Category: Soul

I don’t watch “Grey’s Anatomy.” I don’t follow the pop charts, I don’t watch awards shows. So it wasn’t until I went to see Peter O’Toole in the glorious “Venus” that I heard Corinne Bailey Rae.

The song comes at the film’s mid-point. O’Toole — once a star, now a character actor who is mostly hired to play hospital patients or corpses — has befriended a young working class girl. It’s a “My Fair Lady” set-up, except for one thing: O’Toole’s deep understanding of physical pleasure and the delight he takes in having this young flesh by his side.

He wants to impress his “Venus.” The next time he gets hired for a TV film, he demands a big black limousine. The limo has a sunroof. Like a high school prom queen, the girl opens it, stands on the seat and waves at the commoners while O’Toole savors her legs. Naturally, there’s music. Naturally, a female singer.

Her voice is dreamy as Rickie Lee Jones or Sade. Sexy, but not dirty. Smooth as a martini buzz, but not reckless. Not much of a band at the beginning: a jazzy bass, organ, drums. And pretty lyrics:

Three little birds, sat on my window.
And they told me I don’t need to worry.
Summer came like cinnamon
So sweet,
Little girls double-dutch on the concrete.

Maybe sometimes, we’ve got it wrong, but it’s alright
The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same
Oh, don’t you hesitate.

And then the song kicks up a notch. Trumpets squeal, the drummer pushes, there’s a backup track — this is the chorus, and it has a modest urgency:

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,
Just go ahead, let your hair down.
You’re gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.

Well, how can you not feel joy? Who has not taken her courage — to say nothing of her philosophy — from a pop song? Who’d reject a dream with a happy ending?

When the scene ended, I thought: “Wow, that Norah Jones really is good.”

It turns out that a lot of people have been saying that about Norah Jones. That is, the next Norah Jones — Corinne Bailey Rae. In her native England, she’s blown right past James Blunt for flavor of the year: She’s only the fourth female Brit to have her first album debut at number one. At the English version of the Grammys, she was voted "Best UK Newcomer" and "Best UK Female." As I write (early January, 2007), she’s up for three Grammys: "Record of the Year", "Song of the Year" (both for "Put Your Records On") and "Best New Artist." And her CD is selling and selling and selling.

On one level, I’m embarrassed to admit I like Corinne Bailey Rae. It’s not that I’m a snob who rejects anything that’s too popular (although you could probably make a case for that). It’s that I’m painfully aware that a year from now — or maybe just six months — I might put this CD on and wonder how I went so wrong. Because Corinne Bailey Rae is not the new Billie Holiday. If she can’t follow this CD with another must-listen, she may not even be the new Norah Jones. And the more you listen, the more the songs blur — most of them seem like variations on a theme. Politics? She has none. Message? Love. Enchantment. Bittersweet intimacy. Nothing you couldn’t spread with a butter knife.

One another level, I say: Screw all that. There’s something to be said for “pleasant.” And she wrote (or co-authored) every song on her CD. And she plays guitar, bass, keyboards and percussion — it’s not like she’s Milli Vanilli.

On balance: Life is hard. When we turn to music, we don’t need every track to confront and challenge us. So what if this is the musical equivalent of comfort food? It works. On just about every track, it works. As you hang out, over dinner, in the bedroom, it works.

Two-and-a-half cheers. For now, anyway.

To buy “Corinne Bailey Rae” from Amazon.com, click here.