PULSE! magazine article, november, 1996
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LIFE IMITATES ART Suzanne Vega marries her producer (Mitchell Froom), settles down in a family way, and makes beautiful music By David Sprague Family values: It's a phrase that's been carved into the collective consciousness in recent months, mostly by a gaggle of geezers whose intimacy with the term begins and ends at a speechwriter's computer terminal. Although the notion might be anathema to a lot of folks, family has come to be just as common a theme among a growing number of newly nested musicians who have lent considerable credence to the adage that the family that plays together stays together. Just a few years ago, it would have been tough to envision Suzanne Vega--skittish, solitary and terminally introspective--as part of that number. But these days, Suzanne Vega bears little resemblance to the waif-like figure that tentatively circled the perimeter of New York's folk scene in the early '80s. Sure, there's still a hint of bohemian veneer (in the form of a heavy black morning coat worn in defiance of the 80-degree heat outside) but Vega seems to exude a newfound peace and assurance that she attributes in large part to her marriage to producer Mitchell Froom and the birth of their 2-year-old daughter, Ruby. Those traits are even more apparent on the newly released Nine Objects of Desire (A&M), in which Vega pulls back the curtain of detachment that's shrouded her songs for most of the 11 years since her eponymous debut. "I was always more interested in telling other people's stories, because I always thought that writing about my own life would make me seem too sentimental, too maudlin," she says. "But when I started writing for this album, my perspective had changed; I was very much grounded by my baby [and] my relationship, and I wrote about those things and saw it wasn't so bad." That intimacy flows through the majority of the songs on Nine Objects, but it never saturates Vega's writing to the point where she lapses into coffeehouse confessionalism. Sure, she ponders her role as new mother (on the gently lulling "Birth-Day [Love Made Real]"), but before treacle becomes the dominant taste, she takes an erotic U-turn with "Stockings," a detailed depiction of feminine eroticism. Oddly, the most personal song on Nine Objects is also, in many ways, its slightest, "Honeymoon Suite." Vega freely admits that the song is basically a diary of the honeymoon she and Froom shared in Paris. "My sister was the first person to really call me and comment about how she'd never heard me be that open before," Vega recalls. "And then she asked me how I could write the line about waking up with our hair entwined when Mitchell has such short hair. I told her it was his chest hair and she kind of accepted that." Froom, a notoriously private guy, grants that he's not thrilled about having such details put on public display, but insists that he tries not to communicate his discomfort until after the fact. "I'd kind of prefer that things be a little more veiled, but I'd never dream of asking Suzanne not to write about our life," he says. "I don't think our personal relationship really enters the picture once we start working. The worlds are very separate-we're not like Bill and Hillary or anything like that." Vega says that she and Froom had never crossed paths before they began work on 99.9 F, an album dominated by a starkly rhythmic, synth-burnished sound that dazzled many-and confounded some unreconstructed folkophiles. She recalls the professional connection being immediate-"There wasn't a single moment of tension while we were in the studio, which was totally new for me," she says-but insists neither saw a romantic liaison looming. "We didn't even speak for five months after the album was finished," she says, absentmindedly swirling a glass of cranberry juice. "And then we just chatted and decided to go out to dinner one night, and ..." She breaks off the sentence with a shrug, but her smile--a darting look that soon gives way to her typical impassivity--finishes the thought for her. Together now for more than two years, the couple lives mostly in an apartment in lower Manhattan-with Froom making frequent forays to the West Coast, where he and partner Tchad Blake do the bulk of their production work. "I still love the urgency of the city, and the anonymity too," says Vega, who spent her formative years in East Harlem. "But a lot hinges on what's best for Ruby. She seems like she's going to be a real outdoor child, which is just the opposite of what I was like, so we might have to move somewhere where there's more open space." As a child-and indeed, up until after Ruby's birth-Vega was plagued by respiratory problems ranging from recurring bronchitis to low-grade asthma. So instead of spending her free hours running into the usual mischief at hand on nearby Second Avenue, she buried herself in books (an outgrowth of sharing space with her stepfather, who was a writer) and records-albeit not the kind you'd expect from a woman who made her mark as a folkie. "I listened to a lot of r&b and a lot of Brazilian music when I was younger," she says. "I'd say that bossa nova always got to me because it's so evocative, so sensual. I tried to use some of that on 'Caramel,' which is probably my favorite song on the new record. It's not exactly bossa nova, but I think it gets a similar feel." With its understated swing, "Caramel" is indeed one of the stronger songs on Nine Objects. It would also seem among the more conducive to live performance, a realm Vega has been away from for most of the past two years. She's tested the waters most recently with a handful of trial shows, in which she's been backed by a rhythm section and Froom on keyboards. "For me, what Suzanne is doing isn't really like rock music, so a guitarist would really be superfluous," says Froom. "Besides which, her vocals have gotten so much stronger in a purely physical sense since she last toured." Vega agrees with that assessment, and in fact, credits her husband-and to some extent, her daughter-with helping her intensify her delivery. "Ever since I can remember, people have been telling me that I needed to project more, and that would always make me retreat even more inside," she explains. "But Mitchell used a little bit of reverse psychology. He'd compliment the quietness of something, and I'd start to get a little louder every take. "It might also have something to do with the fact that I'm always singing to Ruby, which keeps those muscles in shape," she says with a laugh. "She keeps me running around the apartment and whenever I want to eat, she finds some way to distract me. I guess she's kind of my personal trainer, so she'd definitely earn her keep on the road." David Sprague is a free-lance writer based in New York. Submitted by Unique212@aol.com |
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