Ray LaMontagne: The Voice of a the Soul
by Jeni
The four of us--Anna, Jesse, Colin and I--went to see the Ray LaMontagne concert last night at the State Theatre. This was my third time seeing him, the boys' second time and Anna's first. He knocked all of our socks off.
Ray LaMontagne's story is one that legends are made of. Working in the back woods of Maine, he awoke one early morning to the Stephen Stills song "Tree Top Flyer." Upon hearing that, he called in sick, went to the record store and found a new vocation: singer. He worked for months and months to get his voice to perform the way he wanted it to.
His voice sits somewhere in a bivouac of soulful, visceral perfection. It's intense, and yet mellow, wounded, yet strong. He holds it somewhere between heaven and earth, lofted just beyond our grasp. You don't listen to Ray LaMontange, you wrap up in his voice like a down comforter on a cold morning while you sip your morning cup of joe.
I've been reading C.S. Lewis' An Experiment on Criticism and I can't help but return to Lewis' sentiment that we ought to be (though most of us aren't) receivers of art instead of users, surrendering to object and becoming ourselves its object. Letting it work on us than the other way around.
Take for instance this song by Ray, called Jolene:
Now, on a cursory listen, our pieties may be offended. But notice its witness to a story that frees us to imagine a life outside of our own. Its rich imagery lifts us out of our experiences and puts us into another's. Songs are stories that enliven our imagination to a world beyond us.
Ray's new album comes out in a couple of weeks, but I still haven't gotten over his first, Trouble.
Ray LaMontagne's story is one that legends are made of. Working in the back woods of Maine, he awoke one early morning to the Stephen Stills song "Tree Top Flyer." Upon hearing that, he called in sick, went to the record store and found a new vocation: singer. He worked for months and months to get his voice to perform the way he wanted it to.
His voice sits somewhere in a bivouac of soulful, visceral perfection. It's intense, and yet mellow, wounded, yet strong. He holds it somewhere between heaven and earth, lofted just beyond our grasp. You don't listen to Ray LaMontange, you wrap up in his voice like a down comforter on a cold morning while you sip your morning cup of joe.
I've been reading C.S. Lewis' An Experiment on Criticism and I can't help but return to Lewis' sentiment that we ought to be (though most of us aren't) receivers of art instead of users, surrendering to object and becoming ourselves its object. Letting it work on us than the other way around.
Take for instance this song by Ray, called Jolene:
Now, on a cursory listen, our pieties may be offended. But notice its witness to a story that frees us to imagine a life outside of our own. Its rich imagery lifts us out of our experiences and puts us into another's. Songs are stories that enliven our imagination to a world beyond us.
Ray's new album comes out in a couple of weeks, but I still haven't gotten over his first, Trouble.
posted by Jeni at 10:12 AM
3 Comments:
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I love it.
His voice makes me feel like I'm falling in love.
Hmmmm.
Mmm...I first discovered Ray on the greatest TV show ever, Austin City Limits. Thank you for reminding me about him. He is going to be out here in LA at the end of the month and I'm going to try and go see him.
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