Published on May 28, 1999
Eureka – I think I’ve found the female Loudon Wainwright
III!
New England-based folk artist Cheryl Wheeler is part balladeer,
part social critic, and part clown. When all three styles merge on
album, the results are sure to be memorable. Her latest release,
Sylvia Hotel, is a prime example of that – though the comic
moments are the ones that stand out for me.
As a balladeer, Wheeler’s work is pleasant enough to listen to,
but it doesn’t have a sense of urgency that makes it stick out in
the listener’s mind. Tracks like “Rainy Road Into Atlanta,”
“Lighting Up The Mighty Mississippi” and “His Hometown” are
executed well and written well, so you won’t find me trying to poke
holes into them. But it seems like it takes more than one listen
for songs like these to really embed themselves into your head –
though once they’re in there, it’s a nice sensation.
As the social critic, Wheeler always runs the risk of mixing
humor with a serious message. Prime example: “If It Were Up To Me,”
a song that someone should call to Rosie O’Donnell’s attention.
(I’d appreciate it, if someone actually does tell her about it, to
add in that we suggested it. I’ll do anything for a free promo on
national TV.) If Wheeler wasn’t careful, the constant litany of
“Maybe it’s…” that make up the body of the song could quickly run
into humorous veins. But when the message of the song finally shows
up, it’s a serious one: “If it were up to me, I’d take away the
guns.” (Don’t bother flaming me if you’re pro-gun;
I didn’t write the song.)
As a clown, Wheeler is a lot of fun to listen to. I mean, who
else would think of writing a song about the noble potato and
putting it to the tune of “Mexican Hat Dance”, all the while
playing with the rhythmic structure of the word “potato”? Likewise,
“Unworthy” is a fun ditty that parodies how busy our lives are (and
how we made them that way). On a lesser scale, “Meow” is a track
that examines the pleasure and mystery of owning a cat. It’s not
knee-slap funny, but if you own or ever owned a cat, you’ll
understand.
For all of this, Wheeler makes the huge mistake of going into
“hidden track” territory, a mistake made bigger by the fact that
the track – a scathing, irreverent commentary about modern banking
today – is a track that didn’t deserve to be hidden. In future
pressings of this album, I sure hope someone comes to their senses
and lists this track (as well as cuts out the two minutes of
silence that preceeds it) and gives this song its well-earned day
in the sun.
Like Wainwright, Wheeler has incredible talents that
occasionally get hidden by material that doesn’t stand out the way
that it should. Still,
Sylvia Hotel is an album that is well worth your time and
money, and should (if there were justice in the world) catapault
Wheeler into the mainstream.