Send Me An Angel (On Ego-Molting)

“That Bonnie Raitt song,” said my friend back in the late 80’s, “is so beautiful. But that old man who sings it with her… he kinda ruins it.”

That old man, John Prine, happened to be the author and composer of that masterpiece. And the song, “Angel from Montgomery,” written from a woman’s point of view, was an iconic anthem in my music circles where I cut my teeth, strumming and singing classic folk. Every budding female artist in Pacific Northwest had her own version of it, and some of the guys too. (But only the ones who knew that a male songwriter had penned it, so they felt secure enough in their masculinity to sing it.)

It’s a testament to John Prine’s empathic songwriting power that he could get inside the skin of a female character and articulate her experience so compellingly and profoundly. He was not oblique about it either. He went all in with the first line: “I am an old woman, named after my mother.” Moreover, he didn’t just speak about a woman’s life in a general way; he sang her feelings about a man specifically. That is uniquely out-of-the box for a male songwriter. It is a thorough shedding of ego (which, when it comes down to it, is exactly what you need to do to write a good song.) And he did it so well, that every woman I knew sang that song like it was her very own.

I currently have 5 versions of “Angel from Montgomery” in my repertoire. Ukulele, piano, and three acoustic guitar versions: Standard Tuning, Open D, and Drop D. I should confess that I have issues with covering songs like this — songs that are simple to learn, easy to play, and are so wildly famous that audiences finds themselves singing along by sheer habit, even when they’re not paying attention to the stage. There’s a kind of “low effort” thing that goes on. As a performer, you can just “phone it in,” as they say in The Biz. That’s why I have so many versions of “Angel,” on instruments outside my usual, and in alternate tunings. It’s so I don’t take the song for granted. I have to work for it, to find my way into the story. I ask myself, “Do I really love this song? Do I care about this character? How can I deliver the emotion in my personal way.”

There are many iconic songs like this — three or four repeated chords and a simple chorus — “The Weight,” “7 Nation Army,” “Let It Be,” “Can’t Always Get What You Want.” These are wonderful and important songs. But if you’re gonna cover them, you gotta resist the “low effort.” When you get on stage, you gotta do more than just advertise your taste and knowledge of Rock & Folk history. You gotta do something special that reminds people why these songs are wonderful and important. Don’t just casually reference Bonnie Raitt’s version of John Prine. Do what Bonnie Raitt did before she even started singing that first line: fall in love with the story. You might not even have to tweak the song in any noticeable way. Your unique version might be only subtly, imperceptibly different. Just get involved. A song is more than just words, melody, chords and rhythm. It’s an experience.

Meanwhile, regarding that gender thing, I have written in woman’s voice three times. The first two attempts turned out good songs that I enjoy thoroughly. But they don’t have much in the way of story. Nor do they have vividly drawn characters. The first “Pedestal,” is a nice love song, oft-requested. But it’s only “from a woman’s point of view” in the sense that I wanted Patty Griffin to sing it someday. (And it’s sorta sexist, in that it’s a woman suborning herself to romantic devotion to a male love interest.) The second, “Spaceship to Venus,” is quite cool, but it’s pulled out of some biographical details of a real-life friend, and I’m just putting indignant words in her mouth. So it’s not what I would call a deep songwriter triumph.

The best of the three is “What Right Do We Have to Fall in Love?” To get there, I did what John Prine did. I went all in on the first line: “I’m the kind of girl who carries a torch for saving the world.” And oddly, I found that the closer I got to telling a real story with lyrics, the fewer and fewer chords I needed in the music. I kept tossing out all of the fancy composition until the song was as simple as “Sweet Home Alabama.” That’s what happens sometimes. You end up shedding a lot of chords with all that ego. Less is more, right?

In John Prine’s “Angel from Montgomery,” we see an old woman who wants more. More from her life, more from her man. But in my song, there’s a young woman who actually wants less from her man. She can’t be burdened by the romantic weight of some guy wooing her away from her mission(s). She’s got greater purpose. I try to make her story a little bit sad — missed opportunity in love. And a little bit funny, but not in a way that belittles the protagonist or her values. I could only that by trying to make her articulate and self-aware, and giving her some swagger. For all that, I had to let her speak for herself, in first person — by being her for a few hours, while I composed and authored. It was fun taking on her character, even though I’m not sure I agree with her, or even like her all that much. (She’s kinda cold, ya know.) But I cared about her, and I try to care about her each time I perform the song on stage.