Rickie Lee Jones’ multi-layered follow-up to her debut is 43 today! Here’s a track-by-track guide to the album.
We Belong Together
Having bought Rickie’s debut in 1998, I didn’t pick up Pirates until five years later. I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest. Whereas the first album has 11, mostly standard-length songs, Pirates contains only eight, most of which are longer than average.
It quickly became a favourite though, recording the album on to tape and listening it on a walkman on the tortuous two-hour train commute. A big advantage of listening to an album like this is that each listen brings something new.
Another advantage is that Rickie’s lyrics whisk you away to an imaginary moviescape. Lyrically, parts of Pirates deal with the fallout from her split with then-beau Tom Waits. The clever trick with We Belong Together is that Jones eschews the temptation to do a straightforward breakup song, instead inventing characters and scenarios to tell a tale. It’s a bit reminiscent of early Bruce Springsteen albums with its role call of supporting fictional players.
On top of this, Rickie adds to the cinematic ambience by referring to Marlon Brando, Natalie Wood and James Dean. The first line alone is “I say this was no game of chicken”: a reference to Rebel Without A Cause in which the James Dean character Jimmie challenges grunting gang leader Buzz to see who will chicken out first of racing their cars to the edge of a cliff.
I’ve read a few reviews which argue the case that the album takes partial inspiration from Steely Dan’s complex arrangement style (Donald Fagen guests on the album along with lots of Steely Dan session musicians). Which is true, but what’s also true is that Rickie was as much of a perfectionist as Fagen and Becker. It took three separate sessions to get the drum shuffle right for We Belong Together, with acclaimed session man, Steve Gadd, coming up with the winning solution.
Living It Up
Rickie’s singing style is an acquired taste to be fair. It’s never less than unique, but sometimes, working out what she’s singing can be a puzzle. When I first heard Living It Up, I wondered about her nickname for Eddie’s pal, Louie. I was like – er… did she just sing what I thought she sang? And after a glance at the lyrics, she did.
For the sake of good manners and all that, I won’t repeat the word (go and Google the lyrics for yourself), but elsewhere, Rickie’s talent for vivid imagery comes through loud and clear. Crazy-eye Eddie, for example, looks like a cartoon whenever he sees a pretty girl pass by. It’s not just fun and games though, as another character, Zero, is down on her luck – unemployed and suffering domestic abuse. These characters come together to escape the bad times in a location where visitors are all “Living It Up”.
Meticulously arranged, Living It Up branches out into several musical detours, but never loses focus. Starting out as a pleasantly jaunty romp, the chorus of “the lonely ones” uses more oblique chords, but that adds to the charm. The middle bit takes in piano and a whirlwind of orchestration. Whenever you think the track has settled down, the melody, tempo and mood shift again. It needs a couple of spins to take it all in, but there’s no denying Living It Up’s ambition.
Skeletons
One of two tracks to be recorded live in January 1980, Skeletons is a plaintive but sobering ballad which is apparently based on a true account of the shooting of an innocent black man who was driving his pregnant wife to hospital. The story goes that the man – nicknamed Bird – was pulled over by the cops, and when he reached inside his jacket pocket for his driving licence, was shot dead. The cops mistakenly believed that Bird was reaching for a gun.
Unlike most of the other cuts, Skeletons strips it down to a bare minimum. It’s just a piano and orchestra, topped by Rickie’s emotive reading. The lyrics play on the nickname, as the last couple of lines creep in. “What do birds leave behind of the wings that they came with/If a son’s in a tree building model planes? Skeletons. Skeletons.” Brrr.
Woody And Dutch On The Slow Train To Peking
The most playful selection on Pirates, Woody And Dutch takes its inspiration from old-school doo-wop and scat. This tale of two wrong ‘uns is a loose, finger-clicking jam which conjures up images of Rickie inviting old friends into a bar after last orders for a bit of improvised scatting.
It’s woozy ‘n’ boozy fun – not as throwaway as I’ve probably made it sound. The musicianship is top dollar, with some excellent funky bass work from Chuck Rainey (another Steely Dan session man) and equally infectious brass.
Pirates (So Long Lonely Avenue)
The title track starts off in breezy fashion, with the bouncy brass rhythm sounding like the theme tune to an early ’80s sitcom. I’m picturing some mullet-headed small screen star freezing for the camera, while pulling a rictus grin of pure cheese.
Don’t be put off though, as Pirates gradually moves into more melancholy territory, as Rickie bids adieu to Lonely Avenue over the strains of a piano and orchestra. Glancing again at some of the contemporary reviews, Broadway is mentioned once or twice, and it’s a song you can imagine being played out in a theatre as Rickie takes centre stage for her dramatic declaration.
Planned with pinpoint precision, the intricate arrangement of Pirates pays off in spades – momentarily moving back to the sitcom theme, before ending on an eerie keyboard coda.
A Lucky Guy
More straightforward in its approach, this piano ballad will instantly strike a chord with anyone who’s endured a painful breakup. Rickie sings it with real gusto, alternating between a fragile whisper and an emotive wail – before ending on a cautiously optimistic declaration that she’s actually a “lucky guy” too.
Traces Of The Western Slopes
My favourite of the album, although at precisely eight minutes long, it may well test the patience of today’s TikTok-hungry, impatient audience.
The album is largely written by Jones, bar two co-written tracks – Woody And Dutch with David Kalish, and this one with then-beau Sal Bernardi (who also sings the first verse). In past interviews, Jones has alluded to the dark side of Western Slopes – in a chinwag with Mojo, she pictured the location as a top of a mountain where it’s forever twilight with the presence of death lurking in the air. Meanwhile, in a separate conflab with Uncut, Rickie suggested that part of the inspiration came from the scene in West Side Story in which Riff and Tony are killed.
The murky atmosphere is a big draw – Rainey’s bass again on top form – but for me, this is the best arrangement of the lot. I’m a massive fan of Steely Dan, so it’s no surprise that this is my favourite, given Jones’ admission to Uncut that the chords of Western Slopes were inspired by Fagen and Becker.
I find it amazing that so many different strands and detours can come together to form a complete whole. One minute you’ve got the electric piano-heavy verses, the next an ethereal dreamscape, and then the next, a rapid chord change reference to Edgar Allen Poe and Johnny Johnson. It never gets boring – even at its prodigious eight-minute length – and actually left me wanting more.
The Returns
The other live track from the 30th January 1980 sessions, The Returns is a short but sweet coda to Pirates. It’s the same as Rickie’s previous album, which had also featured two live piano ballads, one of which, After Hours, concluded the LP.
The Returns is more orchestral in its approach, in keeping with the cinematic swoop of Pirates. For some reason, I always think of a crisp Winter morning when I hear that first whisper of woodwind. It’s funny how certain sounds can evoke certain images.
I guess listeners needed a breather after the eight-minute predecessor, so The Returns serves its purpose as a quiet but atmospheric curtain call.
(Cover photo credited to Brassaï )
