Down to the Ground, Down to the Ground

Week 8 of my Substack: Duchess of Rock

Hello, you. Here we are yet again, gathering for a musical meetup, via my weekly Substack: Duchess of Rock, with its song pick — some old, some new — chosen just for you each Friday. This is a deep cut for me, as in a track that goes all the way back to my roots, from an album that was on heavy rotation in my childhood home, by the first artist I saw play live when I was nine.

Today’s pick: “Down to Zero,” by Joan Armatrading, from her 1976 eponymous album

I was lucky enough to grow up in a household where the television didn’t dominate. Sure, we watched some TV as a family. But in their downtime, my parents could often be found playing records. They had amazing taste, from Pink Floyd and early Peter Gabriel to all of the era’s great female singer-songwriters: Joni Mitchell, Stevie Nicks, Linda Ronstadt, Kate Bush. I can remember them sitting and really listening, which set me up to be a passionate lifelong fan and music critic.

As a kid, I favored sing-alongs, like “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” by the Beatles and “Moonshadow” by Cat Stevens. But the performer who stirred a particularly deep ardor in me was Joan Armatrading. Especially beloved was “Down to Zero,” the first track from her 1976 album. The song is a masterclass in pop music orchestration; the opening acoustic guitar is romance writ large; as other instruments layer in — a waterfall of piano, a stuttering drum — the mood is stately, impassioned. Everything is pulled together by her inimitable vocals, her phrasing unique and resonant, her voice rich with her West Indies heritage and her childhood in Birmingham, England. (Her voice particularly shines in this raw, gorgeous live performance from 1979.)

Now, I’m struck by how adult her subject matter is, with lyrics like: “Brand new dandy, first class scene stealer, walks through the crowd and takes your man.” (My other favorite on the album was “Water with the Wine,” about a drunken one-night stand that could lead to love.) Of course, back then, the lyrics flew over my head. But I was a kid with big feelings, and a mini adult in the making. Often more at ease with the parents than the kids at our neighborhood potlucks, I was a born eavesdropper on grownup talk. I liked to be in the kitchen at my Grammy’s house after dinner while my mom and aunts washed the dishes, because that’s where the real conversations happened, and I wanted to get a head start and learn all I could about life. And so, I fixated on the confessional nature and emotionality of her singing and playing, how she packed in mini-short stories, full of emotion, with her gift for poetry and the expressive possibility of her guitar.

I was lucky enough to do a phone interview with Ms. Armatrading in the early aughts. She was as funny, humble, and warm as her songs, which I was happy to champion, finding them as fresh and emotive as ever. She seemed grateful to have a loyal audience that allowed her to keep touring, and fans like me, who had been turned onto her by my parents and stayed true. (I’m not the only one who appreciates her work, as contemporary musicians such as Devendra Banhart now champion her.)

I can’t exactly put my finger on why I was so deeply moved by her at a young age and continue to be now; the closest I can get is to say the experience of entering into one of her more searching songs is how it often feels to be me. And that is the rare power of music, that two people born of such different backgrounds can still be kindred spirits, and by listening to and appreciating her music, I can both get to know her experience of the world and better understand my own.

Please sing along to a song that you now realize was a little too grown up for you as a kid. You’ll be glad you did. Love, the Duchess

In book news:

My debut novel, “The Last Days of the Midnight Ramblers,” is due from Flatiron Books on February 13, 2024. The audiobook, produced by the fabulous team at Macmillan Audio, was read by the incredible Helen Laser, who I’ve been a fan of since I heard her deliciously dark narration of R.F. Kuang’s “Yellowface.” Listen to an excerpt and preorder the full book.