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"Down in Brazil," with Michael Franks Part 1
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By Joe Lopes
Poor Michael Franks. He gets no respect, no respect at all from jazz purists.
Although most critics have grievously placed him in the same New Adult Contemporary, bush-league music category as that of L.A. keyboardist David Benoit - that is, of artists who've been plying their trade for years without either public acclaim or mass countenance - Franks doesn't look like a Rodney Dangerfield, nor does he act or sound anything like the late stand-up comedian.
Despite decades of slaving away in the pop-music business - in itself, nothing to laugh about, that's for sure - his biggest obstacle to lasting success has always been his inability to please those same critics, if indeed that's anything to lose sleep over.
As Rolling Stone staff writer Paul Evans so cleverly concluded about him, "The attitude his music is intended to provoke is invariably: 'Dim the lights, get out the Chardonnay, cuddle up.' "
But for the many Brazilian musicians and performers who've worked closely with Franks over the years, it's another story entirely.
Still, the oddest aspect of Michael's 30-year-plus singing and composing career is the West Coast native's apparent lack of hits (his "Popsicle Toes" from 1976's The Art of Tea aside) or multi-platinum-selling records to crown off his consistently earnest achievements.
The main difficulty, in a nutshell, remains his unattainability as a crossover specialist, a singer secure enough in his song-filled art at closing the ever-expanding gulf between the jazz and pop spheres so prevalent in the U.S. during his performance heyday.
Not that Franks worries one bit about his nondescript status among peers. It's just that the low-key method he's brought to his words and music, manifested in the refined manner with which he's formulated his spare yet insightful lyrics-abetted, to no end, by that Comparative English Literature degree he earned at UCLA in the seventies-hasn't exactly bowled over what's left of the uncommitted, and likely never will.
Surely Michael's laidback vocal temperament could be the hindrance, being that his basic singing style-closely resembling that of American pop crooner Kenny Rankin-has been allied more to sophisticated Brazilian-jazz contexts than to pop-music puffoonery.
One could even say that his voice is a warmed-over version of folk-rock's best friend James Taylor, but without the singer-songwriter's deviated-septum vocal production.
Coincidentally, before Taylor moved on to Columbia (now part of Sony) Records, he and Franks were Warner Brothers label-mates in the mid- to late seventies, as was smooth-jazz pioneer Al Jarreau, another underappreciated resident of the Redwood State.
In actuality, though, Michael Franks is the nearest Americans have ever come to having that old Bahian bossa nova stylist, the famously cantankerous maestro João Gilberto, in their midst-minus that eccentric singer's onstage peculiarities, of course.
It would not be an exaggeration, then, to suggest that Franks, in his inimitable fashion, is a continuation of the romantic spirit typified by the Brazilian composer Antonio Carlos Jobim-considered by Michael to be one of his prime movers 'n' shakers-alongside the still-imposing shadows of Cole Porter, Johnny Mercer, and the great George and Ira Gershwin.
But whatever issues he has pending with reviewers, they have had no ill-effects with steadfast fans who happen to be in the musical "know."
Take, for instance, former Steely Dan band-member turned record-producer Walter Becker, who paid the ultimate compliment to Franks' compositional skills in the September 1990 issue of Jazziz:
"There's a purity to what Michael does that I really admire. His songs are always simple in the best sense of that word. You immediately know what the song is about and where it's going. It has its effect without too much digestive effort.
"At the same time, there's a lot there. They're very perfect little gems of structure and lyrical purity. Michael has a directness and a Zen-like quality to what he does that I really admire."
That directness and simplicity was amply illustrated from the get-go with his trend-setting Art of Tea offering, particularly with such song titles as "Eggplant," "Monkey-See, Monkey-Do," "Mr. Blue," "I Don‘t Know Why I‘m So Happy I‘m Sad," and "Sometimes I Just Forget To Smile."
Part 2 next week...
A naturalized American citizen born in Brazil, Joe Lopes was raised and educated in New York City, where he worked for many years in the financial sector. In 1996, he moved to Brazil with his wife and daughters. In 2001, he returned to the U.S. and now resides in North Carolina with his family. He is a lover of all types of music, especially opera and jazz, as well as an incurable fan of classic and contemporary films. You can email your comments to JosmarLopes@msn.com.
Copyright © 2006 by Josmar F. Lopes
To read previous articles by Joe Lopes click below:
Brazil: A Candid Talk with Gerald Thomas
Getting to the "bottom" of Brazil‘s Gerald Thomas
A Brazilian Diva Torn Between Europe and Brazil
The Enraged Genius of Brazil's Maestro Neschling
A German Ring in the Brazilian Rainforest
Brazil‘s Musical Polyglots: What Was That You Were Singing?
Did Bossa Nova Kill Opera in Brazil?
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3/1/2006
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