Graham Parker's Hard Songs

When Graham Parker left Mercury Records in 1979 in a bitter dispute over promotion, the British rocker delivered a vicious parting shot in the form of the song "Mercury Poisoning." Shouting over his usual hard-hitting rock 'n' soul, Parker accused the company's "geriatric staff" of keeping him "the best kept secret in the West." That same year he released "Squeezing Out Sparks," widely hailed by critics as one of the best rock albums of the '70s.

Nine years later, Parker has just released "Mona Lisa's Sister," his 10th album for his fifth label, and he's still one of the best kept secrets in the West. A favorite of critics and fellow musicians (Bruce Springsteen once said that Parker -- who plays the Bayou Sunday -- was the only singer he'd pay money to see), he has never connected with a broad audience.

Even his staunchest fans admit that his work in the '80s has been inconsistent, each album combining a few great songs with too much filler. The stripped-down sound of "Mona Lisa's Sister" is being held as his return to form, as his best album since "Sparks."

"I was fed up with the approach of most producers," Parker explains. "They tried to fit in with whatever the current sound on Top 40 radio is, whether it fit my songs or not. I didn't want that really full sound that everyone has now, with those keyboard washes and that artificial drum sound.

"I had this bunch of songs that I wanted to record a certain way -- I wanted to build everything around a rhythmic acoustic guitar, bass and drums, so the songs would have that directness they have on demo tapes. I got the deal I wanted with RCA, who gave me complete creative control to produce the record myself, and I finally made the record I wanted to make."

It's not just the arrangements that make "Mona Lisa's Sister" such a strong comeback, though. There's a new maturity in Parker's singing and songwriting. Now 37, with an American wife and a 3-year-old daughter, he couldn't forever remain the "angry young man" he was when his landmark 1976 debut album "Howlin' Wind" kicked off the British new wave/punk movement.

"Nick Lowe had this theory," Parker says of his first producer, "that people like Paul McCartney can't do it anymore, that they're too happy, too rich and comfortable. That's the cliche'd view, that when you get older and married, you go soft. But it's not true. If anything, I think having a kid brings some grit back into your life, because you get so angry worrying about how she's going to survive in a world where an apocalypse could happen at any minute."

What does change as you get older, Parker argues, is your appreciation for the complexity of things. His new album is full of irony and ambiguity. "Blue Highways" begins as a tribute to American back roads but ends up as a bleak, closer look at those quaint family farms. "Back in Time" begins as a nostalgic look at Parker's old school chums but ends up concluding that "trying to go back in time" is an "indulgence worse than sinning." "The Girl Isn't Ready" begins as an attack on overly strict parents but ends up suggesting that a 13-year-old girl isn't ready for sex after all.

"I'm a parent now," he says. "I've got a pretty little daughter and I can imagine her at 15, so I have a whole different perspective on a song like that. In some ways, when you become a parent, you become a bit of a cliche'. You find yourself saying things like, 'Don't do that. Don't go near that.' You find yourself mouthing things that at 25 you thought you'd never say. The trick is to still remember what it was like to be a kid and to get both perspectives into the song.

"I don't settle for a song that's too easy, that's too direct. Life is just too full of complexity. I usually start twisting the lyrics around at a certain point. It just entertains me to do that -- it's probably a chemical thing in my brain. I try to write blander songs. I ask myself, 'Why do I have to title a song "OK Hieronymus"? Why can't I write a song like "Cuts Like a Knife," that any half-wit can understand?' Actually I do write songs like that, but they never make it to the records because they don't entertain me enough."

"OK Hieronymus" was sparked by an exhibit of Hieronymus Bosch paintings that Parker saw in Spain while touring there. He thought Bosch's depictions of Hell were relevant to today's social climate, but when he stumbled across Bosch's painting of Heaven, "The Garden of Earthly Delights," he exclaimed, "OK Hieronymus!" relieved to find some sign of hope. The song is typical of Parker's new synthesis of the anger of his early career and the soul of his later career.

"When I was young," he recalls, "my favorite soul singers were the real shouters, like Wilson Pickett and Sam and Dave. When you get older, though, your tastes broaden and you realize that Smokey Robinson was just as good a singer in his own way as those guys. You realize there's a place for that kind of romantic optimism.

"In those early years, I'd come out and scream the first song, just to get attention, because nobody was interested but the critics -- the public wasn't even listening ... I'm a real singer now, not a screamer, and that affects the kind of song I want to write."

Reproduced with kind permission from Geoffrey Himes.

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