Mary Chapin Carpenter Rewrites the Rules
Carpenter smiles to the crowd of entertainment press hounds as cameras click and spotlights train their beans on the blond-haired singer/songwriter. Wearing a broad smile, black leather jacket, white T-shirt and jeans, Carpenter sits and listens to her introduction as a Grammy winner and the Country Music Association's reigning Female Vocalist of the Year.
When the mic is passed her way, Carpenter smiles good-naturedly and tells the crowd that she's never been at a press conference before, so she's not sure how to act. There is a awkward pause. A T.V. reporter asks why Carpenter agreed to play the benefit.
"Well,I think it's fairly obvious that the W.O. Smith School provides a remarkable program to disadvantage youngsters and Young adults in Nashville," Carpenter says calmly, as if she's trying to reason with someone. "I grew up in a household where there was music everywhere, and I was fortunate enough to have parents who could give whatever lessons I wished to have. This past year has been an extraordinary year for me. While it might seem like a cliche to some people," she says slowly, "it's very important to give something back."
Straightforward, goodwill stuff. Nevertheless, the Nagging Question is looming.
A woman asks Carpenter what attracted her to "Passionate Kisses," her latest single. The song, written by Lucinda Williams, is a playful litany of the singer's wants- "Pens that won't run out of ink/and cool quiet, and time to think"- topped off by a desire of "all of this/passionate kisses from you."
Are you familiar with the lyrics?'' Carpenter says a bit teasingly. "I think it's kink of self-explanatory. It's a very anthemic tune, and not only am I a huge fan of Lucinda Williams, but I felt, when I first heard that song that it just kind of, UNHH, got me right here. I don't know how you say 'UNHH' in print. I think men and women relate to it in a strong way."
Someone says that in the song's black and white video, in which Carpenter wears a black turtleneck and sits in a sunny coffeehouse, the singer looks likes she's having a good time. "I fooled you, huh?" she quips, drawing laughs.
We have talked around the subject long enough. Inevitably, the dialogue is slouching toward the Nagging Question.
A man asks Carpenter if she thought the song "was gonna be a crossover hit?" "Who knows? Goodness. If there was a way to know, I'm sure they'd bottle it and sell it at the store," she fires back playfully. "It's a great piece of music, so how could you quarrel with the idea of letting people hear it?"
The man is undeterred. He respectfully restates his question. It sounds like an indictment. "It's just sort of offbeat for the country charts, the way you've done it," he says.
"You think so?" Carpenter ask sincerely. We're getting close to the heart of the matter.
"When I was recently at the Grammy's, someone asked me questions like this," she continues, searching for words. "I think that women artists in Nashville are addressing a lot of different things and there's a lot of different styles going on. That it can all co-exist is a very lovely notion and I think that's important."
That's should do it. Surely Carpenter has put out the rhetorical brushfire. But no, like a cross-examining attorney, the reporter persists. He's not going to stop until he confronts Carpenter with the Nagging Question- until he makes her define herself.
"Radio air play seems to be getting more rigid," he says. "Country seems to have to have steel guitars-"
BINGO!
Once again Mary Chapin Carpenter is being told, ever-so-subtly, that she's not country. Bang the drums, oh Greek Chorus! Stomp the boot heels on sawdust floors in the courtroom of Pure Country! Let the verdict ring throughout the hollows that Mary Chapin Carpenter has been revealed as an impostor!
"There are so many artists out there who are being very true to traditional instrumentation and production values," Carpenter responds, her voice tensing, "but they're co-existing very happily on the air with people who are doing a lot of different things that don't necessarily incorporate those traditional instruments."
The circular debate follows Carpenter like a shadow. Its irony is that her four albums are laden with current "country" ingredients: acoustic instruments, traditional rhythms, 2X4 beats and candid, sometimes humorous songs about adults and their relationships. The problem, apparently, is that Carpenter, who's never resided south of the Mason-Dixie and whose drawling has been limited to a couple of word endings on her second album, is a literate, independent female artist associated with an industry long populated by some women who have appeared not to fit that profile at all.
She's not the first female country individualist to gain acceptance. But few have been embraced this rapidly and wholeheartedly. It's going to take some time before the purists realize that the genie has long since left the bottle.
In the last decade, as Nashville regrew country music by watering the traditional roots, there was little room for individualists. The aesthetic was back-to-basics. It make for some great music, and some great stars were born and flourished.
But others who didn't fit the game plan were politely shunned. Some couldn't be marketed. Some couldn't crack rigid radio play list. They were just too rough, quirky, fringe, frank or, well, out there. RCA couldn't make Nanci Griffith the superstar she should be, so she hopped over to the Los Angeles sphere. For years, when awards show scriptwriters were forced to deal with Lyle Lovett, instead of describing his amazing music, they focused on his large hair. Steve Earle got so tired of trying to play the game that he moved to the non-country MCA UNI label, based in L.A. The moment k.d. lang gave up on Nashville, her career zoomed. Rosanne Cash is now handled by Columbia's New York office. For years the unseen purists, and the industry players who catered to them, managed to keep some of the country's most distinct voices away form center stage.
Five years ago, there was no reason to think that Mary Chapin Carpenter's story would be any different. Yes, she could sing, with a cool, liquid alto more concerned with delivering the song than doing back flips. Yes, she could write. God, could she write. Albums with tunes of every type, reaching across numerous genres. She could evoke situations or vistas with clarity, not trying to turn pithy phrases, just trying to communicate. She could write uncomplicated songs that would make Music Row writers jealous. "I can't stress it enough that I don't think I've heard her ever condescend in a song," says Carpenter's guitarist and longtime collaborator John Jennings. "One of the reasons people like her is because they feel she is speaking plainly about what she feels without trying to dilute."
Still, it's seemed clear that country music just wasn't going to anoint a five-dimensional artist, man or woman. "She's so great, it's a shame she'll never gain acceptance," went the chorus of supporters.
Then, last October, Carpenter stunned everyone and won the CMA's Best Female Vocalist Award. With one award, country music pushed its boundaries farther than anybody could have imagined 10 years ago.
In the aftermath, it's become evident that, in some ways women and men are trading places in country music. Many of the present and new male artists are touted as sex symbols first, complex individuals second. The vanguard of country women, Kathy Mattea, Pam Tillis, Rosanne Cash and Mary Chapin Carpenter, come across as much more multifaceted.
Nevertheless, skeptics question the country market potential of women who offer new definitions of womanhood.