Open to interpretation
k.d. lang won't talk about her next studio creation. She's focused on refining her remarkable skills.
By Ben Wener
Our conversation begins where most interviews typically comclude - with a discussion of what looms on k.d. lang's
horizon.
It's really the only starting point. After all, if you disregard an unplanned soundtrack to her 2001 A&E concert
and a recent collaboration with frequent road partner Tony Bennett, it has been three years since lang put out her last proper album, the underrated
"Invincible Summer." By the time her next collection arrives, probably in Spring, it will be nearly four.
Yet here she is, performing Saturday night at the Orange County Performing Arts Centre, with no new music to promote nor a
gimmick to sell - say, the sort of symphonic trappings that usually accompany such gigs.
You sense from her tone on the phone that she anticipates questions about what's coming next. But she won't reveal
much. "I don't want to ruin the mojo of it," she says.
Not even a hint?
"Well, it's another direction altogether. Again. But it's not originals. It's covers."
Somewhat like "Drag," her moody 1997 collection of songs centered on smoking.
"Um ... a bit like 'Drag.' But not so dark. More spiritual."
"But akin to 'Drag,' in tht you've woven a theme around other people's songs?"
"Yup."
It would be easier to uncover the secret formula for Coke than find out more. When I ask what she means by
"spiritual," for instance, she almost slips, then replies: "Oh God, I'm so deep into it. We don't need to get into
that."
The only discernible bottom line is that lang currently has little interest in advancing her own songwriting, as she did
throughout the past decade with acclaimed commercial breakthroughs like 1992's "Ingenue" and it's follow-up, "All You Can Eat"
- albums that represented an about-face from the Patsy Cline-y torch and twang that marked her 80's work. Instead, the woman many consider the
greatest vocalist of her generation wants to focus on refining her interpretive skills.
"I really prefer not to write," she says. "That takes too much effort. And when I do write, I really want
to write from a place where I'm writing because I need to, not because I need to make a record. Writing just consumes so much time. To write a record
takes a year of solid persistence, and then you have to to record it, which takes another six months and then you have to promote and tour it. It eats up
about three years of your life, and I just don't hve that kind of time right now."
No, she isn't gravely ill. She merely wants to make the most of her instrument while she can, she says. "I'm
nearly at the prime age for my voice - for women, it's around 45 years old, and I'm turning 42 this year. So I really want to record as much as I
can in the next three years."
And do so in a manner that is somewhat removed from the ornate sounds lang has created since "Ingenue." She says
touring with Bennett and recording their popular disc of duets, "A Wonderful World," has taught her the value of working with less sprawling
support.
"That has really shifted my perspective on what it is I like to sing with, and now I really prefer the flexibility, the
liberties you can take with a smaller band. You can take looser approaches, because you're not dealing with such cumbersome arrangements, and you can
move things around - change the songs and take chances." (Saturday's show, whish she says will cover all facets of her career, will find her
backed by only bass, drums, piano and guitar.)
Logically, growing so close to a master like Bennett also has given her a new appreciation for her craft - particularly how
to go about selecting songs to cover.
"For me, it's always been a matter of falling in love with something," she says, "but now I've really
decided that interpretation should be less about me, my ability to change a song or be clever. It's really about understanding the lyrics - just
understanding the song and singing it.
"I think too often nowadays it's all about being clever and having the coolest groove underneath it - really
changing the song around. To me, that's great, but it doesn't really take the song and elevate it."
She's done both, of course, taken the traditional tack and the radical route. The brilliance of 1988's lush country
resurrection was how faithful she was to the source material, going so far as to enlist veteran Nashville producer Owen Bradley. Conversely, there was
"Drag," for which she dramatically re-thought standards and a few '70s staples, like the Hollies' "The Air That I Breathe" and
Steve Miller's "The Joker."
Her current outlook on interpretation suggests there will be more unusual choices like those last two. "Standards are
standards for a reason - they're great songs - but I also think that part of the interpretive vocalist's job is to cultivate a new set of
standards, extend the songbook."
And not worry whether those choices ultimately will stick with a new audience.
"I don't really pay attention to anyone," she says, laughing. "Not the critics or the fans or the record
company. I'm really oblivious. I don't worry about consequences, not because I don't care what people think, but beause I feel like it would
impede on the creative process if I did that.
"I really just throw something against the wall and pray that it doesn't completely ruin my career."
