13. "Bring the Family" by John Hiatt (1987)

This is one of the most honest albums you'll ever listen to. You just get the feeling that everything here is "real".

Come here, darlin', from a whisper start
To have a little faith in me.

I know writers, songwriters, poets, playwrights, screenwriters, whatever ... they all speak from their heart, speak from where they are. But Hiatt just has this voice, this way that he says it, that just comes across as real and sincere.

There was a life that I was living
In some cracked rearview
Where no future was given
To a heart untrue

Still I thought that I was so strong
That my will could force me through
I didn't know it would be so long
Learning how to love you

When I listen to this album, I can't help but think about the story behind it. At the risk of repeating stuff you can read elsewhere on the net: in 1987 Hiatt has had some moderate success but is down and out, a recovering alcoholic, and has burned so many bridges that no one wants to work with him. He calls in a favor with his friends Nick Lowe (bass), Jim Keltner (drums) and Ry Cooder (guitar and slide) and they record "Bring the Family" in four days because that's all they had the money for. For this reason two of the songs are Hiatt playing solo ("Have a Little Faith" and "Learning How to Love You"). The result has been heralded as a masterpiece, not only because the songwriting is exceptional, but because of his stellar backing band. Just listen to Keltner's work on "Memphis in the Meantime" (Is that a bicycle bell?).

The reason I repeat all that is because it is what I hear every time I spin "Bring the Family". When Hiatt sings in "Lipstick Sunset", "And lord I couldn't tell her / that her love was only killing me" you just have to feel for him. And Cooder's breathtaking slide work on this song makes it real. "Have a Little Faith in Me" is that outpouring that every guy has made after a change of heart, but with the underlying desperate hope that it's more than just a sell job, not only to her but to himself. Maybe it IS a song to himself.

But the real gem here is "A Thing Called Love", because it creates a gritty, down-and-out feeling (lost in the Bonnie Raitt version) of someone who has screwed up every other aspect of his life but still discovers that he can still be blessed and rescued by love:

Ugly ducklings don't turn into swans,
And glide off down the lake,
Whether your sunglasses are off or on,
You only see the world you make

Not to lay too much music theory on you here, but the riff, F# A# C# E, is genius. There's the major chord F# A# C#, with the 7th, the E, just kind of leaving you hanging at the end. It's a 7th chord but it doesn't act as such (in wanting to move to another chord) -- the 7th just punctuates the major triad in way that kind of "messes it up" and makes it imperfect, but valid nonetheless; it's not dissonant, but it turns a major chord (F# A# C#) into something with a minor top (A# C# E). It's not major, and it's not minor, and it's not invalid -- it just kind of leaves you baffled, like, what the hell are you trying to tell me?

Now I didn't have no plans to live this kind of life,
It just worked out that way

And are you ready for this thing called love?
Don't come from you and me, comes from up above
I ain't no porcupine, take off your kid gloves,
Are you ready for this thing called love?

Doubt? Uncertainty? Maybe a little subversion? Yet, we're still here, so along with that you also get hopefulness and maybe a little optimism.

A really, really brilliant statement. Thanks for sharing, John.

cds

p.s. We met John Hiatt a couple of years ago on a cruise. I've always admired him so like an idiot I couldn't think of anything to say. He was nice enough to take a picture with us anyway: