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Singer-songwriter Chris Whitley died in his native Texas on November 20, though more recently his homes had been New York City and Dresden — places that seem to resonate more with the brooding intensity of his art. Lung cancer claimed the poetic lyricist and guitarist whose most recent albums seemed like stream-of-consciousness excursions through his brain and heart, albeit cloaked in tales of whores, junkies, convicts, and other lost souls in a personal style that was often as introverted as it was seductive. When I first interviewed Whitley, in 1991, just before his Columbia debut, Living with the Law, he credited early Johnny Winter and classic soul music for his keening vocals, ferocious guitar, and open tunings. His style seemed pitched to the then emerging Americana sound, and it was enlivened by a sonic approach as expansive as the Southwestern geography of his youth. After "Kick the Stones" from Thelma & Louise put him on radio and a tour with Tom Petty further raised his profile, he began a rapid evolution that ceased only with his death. Over the course of 11 albums he moved from Led Zeppelin stomp to weathered folk blues to electronica to an idiosyncratic method that mixed acoustic and electric guitars and improvisation with elements of classic jazz, blues, and rock. It was his own vision of what songs should be: freewheeling, yet intimate and revealing for those willing to listen. Over the last five years, his on-stage creativity was so attuned that he rarely played a song the same way twice. Stripped to its core, Whitley’s music seemed about the loneliness of the inner life, but as he unveiled more of his own brooding perspective he also seemed more comfortable offering social critiques. He did so overtly in 2004’s moving War Crime Blues (Messenger), protesting the Iraq war and the desensitization of our culture that allowed it to happen. Although he died far too young, at age 45, he had endured a long-term struggle with addiction that he often hinted at in the lines of his songs and in the inner-directed convolutions of his guitar phrasing. Yet it was cigarettes rather than heroin that apparently did him in. His final album, Soft Dangerous Shores (Messenger), was issued in July. It brought his fully realized style back to a band format, teaming him with a German rhythm section and reuniting him with his debut album’s producer, Daniel Lanois disciple Malcolm Burn. Among his survivors are his daughter Trixie, his brother Daniel, his sister Bridget, and his father Jerry. |
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Issue Date: December 9 - 15, 2005 Back to the Music table of contents |
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