How Else Can This Story Go?

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  • Don't Stop Asking
  • To Die For
  • How Else Can This Story Go?
  • Impossible
  • The Boat That I Row
  • Her Next Life
  • Who Died & Made You King?
  • Here Goes Nothing
  • Sensitive Guy
  • Who's The Lucky Woman?
  • Too Much Baby Alright!
  • Show Me More
  • Elvis, What Happened?
Lucy Lee is coming to a town near you, and if you like retro-pop that rocks with tongue firmly in cheek, you will find this CD as irresistible as I have. I discovered this indie (West Pole Productions) in my favorite used CD store, and found my subconscious asking, "Why play one of my 2000+ disks when I can just play Lucy Lee again?" My answer was to repeatedly insert it into the player as if I was on automatic pilot.

Imagine Madonna turning to her not-blonde musical roots instead of going electronic. She finds a cache of previously unrecorded Brill Building songs with a punk attitude. The result: the 13-song Lucy Lee debut, which will be released on Island soon (hopefully).

Each song is a perfectly-crafted pop/rock gem that doesn't sacrifice emotion, despite the consistent vein of humor that pulses through each cut. "Don't Stop Asking" is the rueful request of a woman-on-the-move who doesn't have time to date ("Have your people contact mine/I wish that I was kidding"). "Her Next Life" is a satiric description of a woman who would prefer to pine poetically over a dead romance than to shift into mundane reality: "She wears her bleeding broken heart on her sleeve for everyone to see/...In her next life, she will always love him... he's gonna love her, too/in her next life"). This particular take on karma is as refreshing as it is funny--yet you can really feel the frustration of the drama queen's buddies who try to convince her to re-enter the real world. "Who Died and Made You King?" ("Why'd you think that I'd ever stoop to kiss the ring?") and "Show Me More" ("God's gift to women, baby, that's what you must think you are/You ain't showing me nothing/You've got to show me more/For me to love you now") have a feist quotient about which Christine Lavin could only dream. - Diane Wilkes, The Old Grey Cat

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