Rain and Rickie Lee Jones

I had no idea we were in for this type of evening. Rumbling thunder, flashes of light, steady rain. I am glad to be surprised. I stood at the doorway for a bit and marveled at the complete cleanliness in every direction, and the quiet of my block, here adjacent to Jackson Square. Not one drunk. Not one unholy tourist whoo-hooing to hear the echo. There is another crash of thunder just now, forewarned by its sky flash. I had turned off my courtyard lights because of news of the termites swarming earlier this week (even though we don’t see much of that in the Quarter with our dedicated termite plans; those silver round covers drilled into the sidewalks are part of a massive termite mitigation strategy that started a few decades back which mostly worked here), but the reminders to shut all outside lights off sounded like a good idea on its own, so I did it. Since the courtyard is dark, I can count between the lightning and the thunder to know the storm is far from here so there is no danger, only comfort. And while the magic of our city is palpable during massive events where we all get the same energy at the same time from a stage, it also shows up on these nights when we are quietly home, apart from each other and the power comes from nature.
I turn on music to add a soundtrack to the patter outside. As is often the case now, it is my fellow New Orleanian, Rickie Lee Jones. Since the days of “Chuck E’s In Love,” her work has always been part of the my own eras but for the last decade, she and Marianne Faithfull have been the constant addition to any playlist. (I did just rediscover Marshall Crenshaw and Dwight Twilley too, but power pop is such a part of my own time that it isn’t an indicator of mood, more of a muscle memory of sweeter days). RLJ has 13 albums on my phone’s library and I get to selections from all of them in most months, finding songs for every mood. Interestingly, the random sample during this rain starts with her version of “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying” which is a great song by any singer but with RLJ, it becomes a masterpiece of yearning and beseechment:
“…the nighttime shadows…disappear” (what a thoughtful note!)
“and with them go….all your teeaaaaaars…..
cuz the morning” (flattens, then a lilt) “will bring joy,
for every girl and boy”…(so tenderly sung)….
“so don’t let the sun catch you crying.”

About DW

New Orleans resident, writer, activist. Public market consultant.

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