A Little Magic, A Little Kindness: Laura’s Nyro’s Pop Labyrinths
Laura Nyro wrote plenty of hits in the late 60s — “Wedding Bell Blues,” “And When I Die,” and “Stoney End,” just to name a few — and yet she remains wildly underrated as an artist. As a songwriter at the Brill Building (the New York City pop music factory that churned out hits from the 30s through the 60s and was staffed by the likes of Carole King, Paul Simon, and Neil Diamond), Nyro’s songs saw most commercial success as performed by other artists, like The 5th Dimension, Blood Sweat and Tears, and Barbra Streisand (ironically, Nyro’s most successful single was a cover of “Up On the Roof”). But the songs on Nyro’s own albums, especially Eli and the Thirteenth Confession (1968), are arguably her best works: complex, experimental, and with a candy-coating of classic Brill Building hooks and production. Her beautiful melodies wind through maze-like structures with nary a dead end in sight.
Eli and the Thirteenth Confession (evidently named for the songs “Eli’s Coming” and “The Confession,” the album’s thirteenth track) was Nyro’s second album, but it’s almost certainly the best one to start with. Eli’s endlessly catchy songs are built around and elevated by rapid tonal shifts and unexpected transitions that make them stand up to hundreds of repeat listens. It certainly feels ahead of its time — though 1968 saw the Beatles’ White Album, Nyro’s songwriting on Eli is simultaneously more unusual and more comfortable than what the Beatles were doing at the same time. The album is packed with beautiful Brill Building orchestration: plucky bass, sunshine-y horns, and sentimental strings sections line every song, and the combination of glockenspiels with violins on songs like “Timer” is particularly resplendent. But Nyro’s songwriting — particularly her eye for structure — goes beyond the exemplary pop hits of Carole King or Burt Bacharach. The opening track, “Luckie,” serves as a great introduction to many of the album’s best qualities, particularly with regards to instrumentation. It begins with a bright horn section, which then dissolves into a slinkier verse built around a vibraphone and piano. The next section marks a return to the brighter horns, and later, a string section and guitar take center-stage. The second verse introduces an oboe countermelody, which is quickly replaced by a baritone sax. The song ends by shifting to a swingier section; thanks to the constant shifts in instrumentation and rich arrangements, the song has the capacity to surprise even the most dedicated binge-loopers.
Each song on Eli has something special to offer. “Luckie” is a tough act to follow, but “Lu” somehow manages to: a more subdued arrangement (meaning the half-dozen woodwinds are largely ornamentation) places Nyro’s addictively bright vocals at center stage. It’s a mostly straightforward song that leans on its lilting melody, spiced up by a fairly abrupt pre-chorus transition,and a breakdown so unexpected that I forgot all about it until I was listening to the song to write this article. Similarly, “Sweet Blindness” is a simple tune built largely on piano and background vocals, but it distinguishes itself by its constantly accelerating tempo. The song slows down at the start of each verse, and the speed changes can be abrupt, but they never feel jarring. The albums’ closer, “The Confession”, takes more of a folk rock aesthetic (compared to Crosby, Stills, and Nash, for instance). Even so, it’s punctuated by Nyro’s trademark tempo shifts. It uses dreamy chords reminiscent of the great Impressionistic composers, with subtler arrangement tricks that reveal themselves on repeat listens.
That’s not to say that the album is without flaws. Nyro’s structures are innovative, but at times they feel frustratingly withholding. The five-minute-long “December’s Boudoir,” for instance, has a weirdly loose opening — a slippery melody coupled with a tonally ambiguous piano part, and the other instruments (a harp, a string section, a flute) building up slowly and only appearing for brief moments. The song builds up to a chanting verse (“My mama was clever”), which builds into a triumphant chorus that lasts all of about 15 seconds before fading out and returning to ambiguity — but even this song, my least favorite on the album, still has a lot of subtle details that a close listener can appreciate. Mostly, though, the album is a victim of its own success: it’s easy to get burnt out on the rich arrangements and winding structure, and so later tracks don’t always get the attention they deserve. I think this is an album worth listening to forwards and backwards.The songs are rich enough that I sometimes find myself getting exhausted by the end, and the opening sequence is a tough act to follow, but the album is loaded with great melodies and hooks.
For those who enjoyed Eli, Nyro’s catalog still has plenty of gems to discover. New York Tendaberry (1969) is the obvious next step, but be warned that the album isn’t as explosive as Eli: its songs aren’t as memorable, and its orchestrations aren’t quite so richly delicate. To use what might be a more familiar analogy: if Eli is Graceland, then Tendaberry is Rhythm of the Saints — a more mature older sibling that has lost some of the artistry along with the poppiness. But while it may take a few listens to really “get” it, Tendaberry is by no means lacking. The excellent “Time and Love” is structurally similar to “Sweet Blindness”— its intro and choruses take off at full speed, and it slows down suddenly and dramatically for each verse. The contrast between the fully orchestrated, upbeat choruses and quieter, slower verses is what makes this song so addictive. “Captain Saint Lucifer” is built around a harmonically rich piano motif that is twisted and contorted throughout the song. “Mercy On Broadway” feels a lot like one of the slower tracks on Eli — it has bombastic chorus that slather the vocal harmonies on thick and some beautiful instrumentation choices, but more than once Nyro slams on the breaks, killing the song’s momentum. The album’s main shortcoming — in my opinion — is that next to Eli, it feels more like a collection of demos than a full-blown album. “Save the Country” could be one of Nyro’s best songs, but most of the recording is just piano and vocals, making it feel uncomfortably sparse (there is a single version of it, which spices up the arrangement with drums, percussion, horns, et cetera, but it feels a bit cheesy and not nearly as artful as Nyro’s other songs). The upside of this restraint, though, is that the album can showcase Nyro’s quieter side — if you liked Eli but wish the whole thing sounded more like “December’s Boudoir,” this is the album for you.
For those who preferred the more straight-forward songs on Eli, there’s a lot to love about The First Songs, a collection of songs Nyro wrote before Eli (many of which are the same songs other singers saw success with). In many ways it’s closer to a “greatest hits” than a proper album, which makes it feel less coherent than Eli or Tendaberry, but it also highlights Nyro’s versatility. The album opens with “Wedding Bell Blues” — probably the highlight — is classic Brill Building fare, excellently written and with a heartfelt vocal performance from Nyro. It’s followed immediately by “Billy’s Blues,” a lovely jazz ballad, and one of Nyro’s few guitar-driven songs. Then, “California Shoeshine Boys” takes on a folksier feel (as if anticipating the more unique “Sweet Blindness”), which is echoed in the album’s closer “And When I Die.” “Flim Flam Man” and “Stoney End” both feel like a more old-fashioned version of the songwriting on Eli… really, every song here is great. The First Songs’ main weakness (if you can call it that) is its relative simplicity compared to some of Nyro’s other albums; there’s a lot less to discover on repeat listens, and the songs are missing that “timeless” quality that saves Eli and Tendaberry from feeling dated.
Nyro has other albums (Walk the Dog and Light the Light was produced by Gary Katz of Steely Dan fame), and while there are some good tracks scattered throughout, they have yet to grab me in the same way Eli, Tendaberry, and The First Songs do. If you’ve listened to Nyro’s entire discography and are still hungry for more… sadly, it’s hard to think of music that scratches quite the same itch, but plenty of artists come close. As previously noted, Nyro’s music is aesthetically similar to the songs of Carole King and Burt Bacharach, particularly in the production and arrangements. Carole King’s melodies sit in the same “instant hit” space as Nyro’s, and sacrifice some complexity for emotional impact. Bacharach’s melodies don’t always land as well, but some of his songs do have more experimental qualities — “I Say A Little Prayer,” for instance, plays with melodic phrases of unusual lengths. The other artist who immediately comes to mind as being almost uncannily similar is Minako Yoshida — not only is her voice similar to Nyro’s, but her melodies are as well, making for utterly convincing replicas. Even so, Nyro’s songwriting — her freewheeling experimentation backed up by world-class songwriting — is truly inimitable, and her music still feels fresh 50 years later.
Edited by Nate Culbert, editor of Music You Need To Know
Cover art by Wyatt Warren