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| - by Fish |
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The formula was the same then as now: you started out your own band,
you played local
clubs, you put out an album on your own, you got regional attention, you
got picked up by a
major label, you put out a "real" album, you got airplay, you
got a crossover hit.
But what happens after that? For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction. When you're at the top, there's nowhere to go but down. You peak, you burn out, and the fans stop caring. At least, that's what I used to think.
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I'd followed Juliana Hatfield since her late-80's days with the Blake Babies, followed her enough that when she put out her first solo album in 1992, I paid attention. But it was her second album, Become What You Are, that really grabbed me, and became my soundtrack for the summer of 1993. For a month I sat in a small-windowed third-story room during the oppressive humidity of a New England August, researching and writing my thesis, sweating profusely -- cranking the album, playing it over and over and over, from its gentle heart-on-sleeve numbers to the loud, rocking proclamation of "I've Got No Idols". And the album proved to be her breakthrough -- her videos getting regular rotation on MTV, airplay on the alternative and college stations, a single on the soundtrack for Reality Bites, details of her personal life in Rolling Stone (her ongoing virginity while in her mid-20's; her on-again, off-again romance with Evan Dando; Dando admitting that the Lemonheads' song "It's About Time" was Dando trying to get her to sleep with him.) The Barenaked Ladies crowned her fame in 1994 when they held up Evan and Juliana as the quintessential alternative rock über-couple in their song "Jane". But her followup Only Everything didn't match that level of success. Its singles were less ballyhooed, the videos were more obtuse, and the album's tone wandered. Label troubles followed, as did two albums that went virtually unnoticed -- and I was one of those fans who didn't notice them. She recorded one album that her label wouldn't release. She moved from her native Boston to Los Angeles to be closer to the record industry, hoping that proximity could reverse her decline. (It didn't.) Lilith Fair asked her to play... a handful of shows on their secondary stage.
Seven years after the sweaty summer of Become What You Are, Juliana has returned to Boston, having secured a new contract on a local label, Rounder Records. And I see that with the imminent release of her new album (plus a second album done with a side project), she's putting on a show just up the hill from Rounder, at a nearby club. While I may have stopped paying attention to her new material, I've never seen her live, and I figure now's my chance. Sure, I think, she's probably faded since her days in the sun, but it's better than nothing. |
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I arrive only about fifteen minutes prior to the start of her set; I figure that given her current stature, there shouldn't be all that much of a wait. Herein, my first lesson of the evening. There's already a long line outside. Most of them are like me: late 20's, early 30's. The crowd has grown up with her. They got into her in college, maybe just after college. Their sideburns have grown longer as the hairlines have started to recede. They're in that "I'm still hip enough to go to clubs, but I'm respectable enough that I'm not a damned college kid" kind of phase. They've stayed with her throughout. She takes the stage right on time, without fanfare, and launches into material that I don't find familiar. I wonder if it's stuff from one of her last two albums, the ones I don't own, but soon after it becomes apparent that much (if not all) of her set consists of songs from the forthcoming albums. And while I've been underwhelmed by what I've heard of the two late-90's discs, these are catchy and clever. In her video for "My Sister" and "Spin the Bottle", Juliana was smiling, enthusiastic, even kind of perky. She is no longer perky. She is focused, hard-eyed, and even a bit withdrawn. She's not there to grandstand or act like an MC. She's there to play music, music that is heartfelt. A couple songs in, she asks, "Can we get the lights turned down? They're too bright." The drummer echoes with a shout: "Turn down the fucking lights!" She responds, "But we can be nice about it." The audience laughs. Several songs later she stops to thank her stage crew, and thanks Rounder Records. She also thanks her mom. A voice right behind me says, "Hi, Jule!" but not loud enough for Juliana to hear. I turn around to see a diminutive, middle-aged, well-dressed blonde woman behind me
with the same eyes and strong cheekbones. The curly-haired young guy
standing next to her says, "You're Juliana's mom?"
I find that knowing Mrs. Hatfield is standing right behind me makes me suddenly self-conscious. |
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Halfway through the set I realize that all of Juliana's songs so far are unfamiliar to me. She has not played "My Sister" or "Everybody Loves Me But You". She has not played "Spin the Bottle", the song on the movie soundtrack. The crowd does not seem at all restless. I realize that I'm not restless, either. The crowd has now shifted, and Mrs. Hatfield is now standing to the right and slightly in front of me. She is quite striking. Juliana must be in her mid-30's; there is no way this woman looks old enough to be her mother. I mean, she's really quite striking. I feel no shame in saying I would sleep with her in an instant. Ms. Hatfield the Younger introduces her band. She gives only their names, but their pedigrees are familiar. Her drummer used to play for local favorites Letters to Cleo. Her guitarist is a member of the local underdogs, the Gigolo Aunts. They have their own careers. They don't have to be here. An hour has now passed, much to my surprise. She thanks the audience, announces her last song, and cranks her way through it, a hard-rocking number that makes for a good finish. She leaves the stage, and the audience applauds widely. She returns for the encore, steps up on stage, and picks her guitar back up. She then takes plenty of time to tune it. The crowd, who has just sat through a set of unreleased (or at least, less-familiar) material, waits warmly and patiently for her to do so. I realize that a new band with a big hit and a roomful of fair-weather fans would not receive this kind of patience. The encore is a solo song, no band, just her and a guitar,
lending the song intimacy. The
audience is rapt. She thanks everyone and leaves again. The sold-out
crowd applauds wildly again, and would have happily taken a second encore,
maybe even a third, but the house music comes back on, and we
disperse.
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What's the true measure of success? A Grammy? Platinum albums? Kitchen-table recognition? Throughout the evening Juliana played nothing written before 1995, nothing written during her so-called heyday, and her fans didn't even seem to notice. A sold-out, wall-to-wall roomful of people paid $10 to see a setful of songs they'd never heard before. A lot of alternative rock's big names from the early 90's would be hard-pressed to do the same. Sit through a one-hour set of unreleased material from Lisa Loeb? Or Suede? I don't think so. Rather, true success is a roomful of fans who don't think of her return to Boston as a "homecoming", because to them, she never really left. Fans who are going to take the time to listen to the new material, and to discover that it's really good. Because it is really good. I'm going to buy the new album. (Juliana Hatfield's new album, Beautiful Creature, is in stores now.) |
