Sunday Covers: k.d. lang sings David Wilcox

Last night, my husband Richard and I, both sick - he on the down side, me on the side of just succumbing to the crud (yuck) - watched the film Hollywoodland, a fictional account of a private investigator looking into the death of actor George Reeves. While the main emphasis of the story - the character of the PI - was fictional, an amalgam of several characters who looked into Reeves' death, the details of Reeves life, and what the police did afterwards, were supposed to be based on true events. The screenwriter saw Reeves' as a flawed character who was never content - who wanted to be a star, along the lines of Clark Gable, and couldn't accept the life he had, which ended up as a hero to thousands of school children who watched his TV program. The film opines several possible ways Reeves' might have died, but ultimately it's really about making better choices. The PI, at the end of the film, realizes that his attempt to be something of a star PI is going to put him on a collision course with Reeves' fate. So he decides to get off of it. It's a nice film, I'd recommend picking it up at the video store if you're inclined for a little movie. Watching it put me in mind of this song, which was written by American folksinger David Wilcox about the mysterious death of Chet Baker in May of 1988. Chet fell or might have been pushed out of his hotel room window in Amsterdam. Police found a huge stash of cocaine and heroine in his room, and rumors of a suicide note still abound but have never been proven. Baker was another star who couldn't get past himself to find any peace with his craft. He couldn't move past his youth, just like Reeves. David Wilcox imagined what might have been going through Baker's mind in a moment of melancholy while looking out his window in the early spring morning. The metaphor of Chet's life as a tiny boat, only big enough to hold him, navigating through the treacherous waters of addiction is a powerful one. The boat is so small that even a tiny dip into those waters will flood the boat. Baker had two loves: jazz, and drugs. His James Dean good looks and his night-life cool sound made him an instant star, but junk hounded his every step. A scuffle over drugs cost him his teeth, and later recordings of his singing gave him his signature mush-mouth sound. No doubt the pain of losing every single one of his teeth was one of the siren calls that led him back to the dope every time he got clean. But as much as he followed drugs, Chet was powerfully addicted to his music too, and if he had a saviour, that had to be it. Chet was a prolific recording artist until the day he died, despite the fact that a formal musical education never agreed with him. He got a bit of it at home, some at school, some with the Army Band, and one year of college before dropping out, but rumors persisted that Baker never really read music. Despite his technical limitations when he first started out, Baker formed an alliance with Gerry Mulligan that cemented the sound of cool jazz, and now, there is no jazz played in the wee hours that isn't haunted by Baker in some form or fashion. Women swooned, men wanted to be him, and all he wanted to do was play. And probably use after. He was never able to stop using, or stop playing. Eventually, using killed him, and playing was unable to save him in time. k.d. lang is a different kind of artist from Chet Baker, but her interpretation of this song is quiet and somber. One of the things I love about k.d. is her firm control of her voice. k.d. never needs to shout, emote, or scream. She doesn't have to; she's a lady. k.d. has had many ups and downs in her career, but she's never tried to be a star. She has always been herself. Maybe that's why she's been able to thrive when Reeves and Baker could not. Hear the original performed by David Wilcox. More on David Wilcox.