First Impressions: More Than a Whisper: Celebrating the Music of Nanci Griffith – Various Artists

It’s somehow appropriate that Sarah Jarosz’s rendition of “You Can’t Go Home Again,” a hidden gem from Nanci Griffith’s 1982 album Poet in My Window, opens this 14-track tribute album. The song finds the protagonist pondering why she pines for her old home given “this ‘ole town never did really care/that much for me/I don’t know why I always come here/in my dreams.” Truth is, however, the homes of long ago are beyond the reach of most once we reach a certain age, even those who carry fond memories with them. Parents move on, the old homestead is sold, friends have departed for other destinations. Yet, as Nanci shares by song’s end, “I only come here to remember my dreams.”

Jarosz does wonders with the song. Time stops. My jaw drops. Tears well in the eyes. Like much of Nanci’s music, these days, warm memories ride along with the melody—primarily of Diane and I in the early days of our courtship and marriage, of life in the suburban Philadelphia apartment we called home for two decades. Nanci’s music often played in the living room or, in the car, accompanied us via tapes, CDs or WXPN, which was the region’s singer-songwriter central at the time. (Believe it or not, in those days it was common to hear Nanci, Chapin, Shawn and Lucinda in the same 30-minute block. They were friends to us—not in the flesh, mind you, but of the spirit.)

I wrote about John Prine and Kelsey Waldon’s sublime rendition of “Love at the Five & Dime” the weekend of its release, so won’t rehash much here except to say it’s even more of a dreamcatcher than “You Can’t Go Home Again.” Billy Strings and Molly Tuttle turn in a fine performance of “Listen to the Radio,” though a part of me misses James Hooker’s piano run—and how could I not? Diane often played air piano along with it. The song’s powerful message remains: Music makes life’s down times just a little more manageable.

What can one say about Emmylou Harris’ rendition of “Love Wore a Halo (Back Before the War)”? It’s raw and ragged, like a mountain holler, and emotive as all get-out. Nanci’s old friends Lyle Lovett and Kathy Mattea plow “Trouble in the Fields” with aplomb. Brandy Clark tours the “Gulf Coast Highway,” cowritten by Nanci, Danny Flowers and James Hooker, without taking any wrong turns. The lyrics now sound profound, I should mention: “And when she dies/She said she’ll catch some blackbird’s wing/She will fly away to heaven/Come some sweet blue bonnet spring.” 

Shawn Colvin’s “Outbound Plane,” written by Nanci and troubadour Tom Russell for her 1988 Little Love Affairs album, is another song imbued with too many memories to mention—and not just because of Nanci, but Shawn, whose version sounds like an outtake from Steady On, Fat City or Cover Girl. Every little thing she does is magic.

Husband-and-wife duo Ida Mae turn in a gritty rendition of “Radio Fragile,” while Steve Earle continues the mood with a stomping spin on “It’s a Hard Life Wherever You Go.” Aaron Lee Tasjan’s high lonesome vocals do more than justice to “Late Night Grande Hotel,” with Patty Griffin on buttery background vocals; a poster advertising its album home decorates a hallway just outside my home office. Todd Snider speeds through “Ford Econoline,” a song inspired by folksinger Rosalie Sorrels, to nice effect, while Iris DeMent brings the twang to “Banks of the Pontchartrain.”

Mary Gauthier, who wrote an affectionate essay for Salvation South about how Nanci’s music helped her through tough times, delivers a letter-perfect rendition of “More Than a Whisper,” about love and loneliness. The War and the Treaty end the album with a wondrous take on the Julie Gold-penned “From a Distance,” though—to my ears, at least—the best version of it remains the one by the reconfigured Byrds for their 1990 box set.

A part of me wonders why these songs and not others—there’s nothing here from what I consider her greatest album, Flyer, nor any of her latter-day gems, such as “Traveling Through This Part of You” or “Hell No (I’m Not Alright).” But second guessing is part and parcel of a fan’s-eye-view of a tribute album, isn’t it? And yet, having played it a dozen times these past few days, I can’t imagine what I would subtract—there’s only so much space on a CD or LP, after all, as Ida Mae and The War & Treaty (whose tracks didn’t make the lacquer cut for the LP) found out.

I’ve said before that music is a two-way street. In some respects, it’s as much about the listener as it is the artist, for it is our lives their songs color and our memories they conjure. Last year, when we returned to the Delaware Valley to visit my mom prior to her passing, we drove past our two former homes. The first, the old apartment, is situated at the end of a dead-end street in a bedroom community; it’s what we, even now, think of as “home.” The second was my literal childhood home—we moved into it when my mom moved in with my brother and his family during the 2010s. Much had changed to both areas in the few years since we traveled south. Much more had changed since I was a kid. 

Nothing stays the same—not even, if we’re being honest, our dreams. But these 14 songs, and many more written and performed by Nanci Griffith, are a perfect soundtrack to whatever the future may bring. Give More Than a Whisper a spin, then listen to Clock Without Hands, Flyer, Storms or any of Nanci’s Philo/Rounder albums. They’re great, all.

The track list: