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元の投稿者: daria1-9-9-7

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Hey, Who Really Cares?: The Lost Women of American Music

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Words: Dan Murroni

1970 was a turbulent year for music. Appearing to be unraveling before the eyes of the world, the Beatles had released their final album Let it Be, while Simon and Garfunkel’s foreboding Bridge Over Troubled Water would become a recognized American classic. Yet on the dusty outskirts of Los Angeles there existed a girl and a musical creation that would go unnoticed for nearly forty years. That girl was Linda Perhacs, who recorded her debut album Parallelograms in Topanga with the production help of a client she held while working as a dental hygienist. In 2004, her album was re-issued by folk enthusiasts and it found success among a new generation of listeners. With newfound attention, she’s contributed to Devendra Banhart’s Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon, performed with the likes of Julia Holter and even released a new album The Soul of All Natural Things in 2014.

Now despite the vivid contrast between the sandy slopes of Topanga Canyon and the towering skyscrapers of the Big Apple, Americana still manages to bring forth similar stories from around the nation. In the rapidly expanding urban jungle of 1950s N.Y.C., singer-songwriter Connie Converse found solace in writing and recording heartfelt tunes in the home of recording engineer Gene Deitch. Tragically, she mysteriously disappeared in 1974 and was never seen again. Inspired by a 2004 radio broadcast in which Deitch highlighted Connie Converse, a compilation of Connie’s only existing recordings How Sad, How Lovely was released in 2009. A solely acoustic affair, tracks like “Two Tall Mountains” and “How Sad, How Lovely” are hauntingly beautiful, emotional, and only add to the mystery surrounding her disappearance. The recordings prove to be timeless, and evoke the sounds of lo-fi albums like Angel Olsen’s Strange Cacti.

Another native of the Empire State, jazz-turned-pop artist Margo Guryan had found relative success with 1968’s Take A Picture. The album’s most popular track “Sunday Morning” is filled with catchy late ‘60s guitar hooks and wholesome instrumentation involving strings and an organ. The album would be her last however; Margo hated performing, and when pop music unfortunately gravitated towards disco during the 1970s, her lack of acclaim forced her from the music industry and she humbly became a music teacher in Los Angeles. It wasn’t until the emergence of a cult following led to 2001’s 25 Demos, a collection of unreleased takes from Take A Picture. The following undoubtedly grew, and the heroes of underground pop-rock at California’s Burger Records released a newer edition, 27 Demos, on cassette just last year in 2014.

Karen Dalton grew up on the vast plains of Oklahoma before moving to New York in 1960 to become involved with the Greenwich Village scene later made famous by a certain Bob Dylan. Turns out she was the only one among them city-folk who came from a rural background. With a distaste for the recording and performing environment, her first album It’s So Hard to Tell Who’s Going to Love You the Best only came to be after Dalton was forcibly influenced to record by Greenwich acquaintance Fred Neil. Mostly written by other songwriters and recorded entirely in one take, the album is filled with soft yet raw blues featuring mostly nothing but Dalton’s guitar. Her uncompromising, strong voice was perceived as an oddity and would affect the popularity of her debut recording (and the 1971’s In My Own Time for that matter). However, both albums would prove to be enough to gain the attention of New Weird America artists Joanna Newsome and Devendra Banhart. The recent popularity of Dalton’s music would also lead to the release of a series of lost tapes including 2008’s Cotton Eyed Joe and 2012’s 1966.

A listen to Linda Perhac’s excellent “Hey, Who Really Cares?” inspired this written endeavor, and it should make the reader wonder how many other talented American women have been lost to obscurity and are waiting to be re-discovered. After all, recorded tapes of Karen Dalton had been largely kept a secret by a Colorado barowner for decades. And whether it was for their atypical voice, their hesitation to perform, or a lack of support from the ole big wigs in the music industry, it is a miracle of sorts that with time each woman has unknowingly created an enduring piece of American history. May their recordings continue to reach the ears of listeners and inspire home-grown musicians, whether they be from Spokane or from Charleston. You never know when the next girl from Topanga might come around.

Listen to a Lost Women playlist (here).

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