From a distance: Mourning the passing of a beloved musician
The news of it came on the radio as I was driving last Friday, and it landed with a gut punch.
Nanci Griffith had died.
“What?” I said aloud to nobody, and then, “No.”
Griffith was a Grammy-winning country-folk singer and songwriter who hailed from Texas; her voice was little-girl sweet, and lonesome. She could flesh-out a character and tell you their whole life story in just a few lines of lyrics. Since I first discovered her 30 years ago, her music has been playing in my background.
In the days that followed news of her passing, social media was filled with tributes: how hers was the voice of an angel, and how she so generously championed young singer-songwriters.
And there were the inevitable comparisons to current-day recording artists- comments filled with sentimental scorn.
“Nanci was a true artist – not like the no-talent auto-tune hacks we have today.”
Such comparisons always feel hollow; music now is not so much inferior as it is different. As it has evolved, so have the ears of the listeners. Still, younger generations might love Griffith’s music, too, if they would give it a chance.
Her music didn’t get much mainstream radio play, and for that reason there are people even my age who have not heard of her. She was hugely popular in Ireland, but here at home, she was more of a “boutique” artist, residing in a niche of folk-country-rockabilly-Americana music that did not fit easily into country, adult contemporary or Top 40 playlists.
I thought Griffith was my secret, that artist who would bring a “Who’s that singing?” when I played her music when friends were over. The days after her death, as the tributes poured in, I realized there are many of us out there, fans who traveled far to see her in concert, scanned the TV listings to see if she would be performing on “Letterman.” People who wanted her to hurry up with her next album.
I saw her in concert in Boston in 1992. We didn’t have tickets, but went to the venue hoping to scalp some. We watched her from the first row of the balcony. She was surprisingly tiny -fragile, almost- and funny, and her voice was clear as a bell.
For someone I never met, Griffith sure was a good friend. My iPod is filled with her songs; she keeps me company on my walks and my bike rides, just as she did all those years when I listened first to her cassette tapes – and then her CDs – in the car. When I mentioned Griffith’s death to my daughter, she said she wasn’t familiar with her. I told her that Griffith’s songs were among the first she heard. One of these days I’ll play a few of them for “Grace,” to see if they might unearth some long-buried memory.
Griffith sang “From a Distance” before Bette Midler did, and sang it better. Her performance of Jimmy Webb’s “If These Walls Could Speak” might break your heart. You’ll find both on YouTube, along with a dozen others.
But my favorite Griffith song is “Gulf Coast Highway,” a mournful song about a couple scratching out a living in an old house by the road. She wrote it with James Hooker.
“And when she dies she says she’ll catch some blackbird’s wing/ And she will fly away to heaven/ Come some sweet blue bonnet spring,” the lyrics say.
Godspeed, Nanci. Thank you for the music.