Phoebe Snow (1974)

Phoebe Snow's auspicious debut is not the only album we have got from her—including anthologies and live sets, I actually count 16 at Wikipedia—but it's the best I've heard by a far sight, scoring a #5 hit in the gorgeous, quavering "Poetry Man" and winning warm accolades across the board. I like Robert Christgau's take best, describing her in 1981 as a New York woman "from a liberal background, with loads of artistic interests, she's insecure about her weight and hence her looks (which are OK at least) and hence her talent (which there's no questioning), and after plenty of therapy her emotions are still all over the place. Only none of her sisters can sing the postblues like Snow—neurotically, that's what she's about, but with incisive power." In December 1975, a year and a half after the release of this album, Snow gave birth to a daughter who was severely brain-damaged and subsequently elected to see to the girl's care herself, opting out of institutionalization. The consequences are easily imagined and confirmed: her career foundered and never again came close to the heights touched here. Her daughter, Valerie, died three years ago at the age of 31; at home with her mother nearby, one imagines. More recently, again according to Wikipedia, Snow suffered a brain hemorrhage at the beginning of this year and had to undergo life-threatening surgery. A twitter tweet via her website in April tells us that she is "awake, alert, and trying to talk." Even under the heavy shadows of this news, her music remains warm and vibrant, healing even. I rediscovered it last year in the wake of some losses of my own, and it provided layers and depths of solace I never would have anticipated. "Take Your Children Home" in particular grew to be a kind of lifeline, but any of the songs from this album, appearing at random in shuffle, stopped me whatever I was doing and for a few minutes seemed to open a place to enter that felt safe and comfortable. Maybe it's just nostalgia for times past when I was infatuated with this album. For many of us, not just Phoebe Snow, the world had a terribly different and far less threatening cast to it in the mid-'70s. I hope for all the best for her.

4/27/2011 update: Phoebe Snow passed away yesterday at the age of 60. My thoughts and condolences to her family and friends. She provided tremendous amounts of comfort in her time.