It says something about the creativity of an artist, not to say resolve, when they can write two songs, ten years apart, that are both deeply profound and composed by the songwriter in question before they were 25 years of age.
With ‘Society’s Child‘ that she wrote as a 14-year-old in 1965, New Jersey-born Janis Ian composed a song of scarcely believable maturity for one so young. In creating the story an interracial love affair between a black man and white woman, she conveyed in emotive terms the prejudice and hypocrisy the couple endure – such subject matter not yet the domain of acclaimed songsmiths some years her senior.
Ten years later Ian turned her affecting turn of phrase to the mindset of a teenage girl who considers herself unattractive with the heart-rendering ‘At Seventeen‘ – this resonant composition striking a chord with a host of young females and also the record-buying public at large, who bought it in such numbers to give the writer one of the most compelling hit singles of the mid-70s.
The success of ‘At Seventeen‘ in climbing to number three on U.S. charts in September 1975 generated belated interest in parent album ‘BETWEEN THE LINES‘ (March 1975).
Six months after being released, Ian found herself at number one in the Billboard listings with an accomplished 11-track set, that while initially overlooked in the market place had generated no shortage of positive reviews.
Striking gold with her seventh album (platinum to be more accurate in terms of sales figures), it completed for Ian an undulating journey, who in the years since coming to prominence had never been a forefront figure in the late-60s/early-70s singer-songwriter fraternity, despite acclaim for the consistent high quality of her work.
Born Janis Eddy Fink (the new surname taken from that of her brother in 1964) to liberal-minded Jewish parents, Ian was barely a teenager when she began singing self-written, acoustic guitar based songs in New York folk clubs. Citing Joan Baez as a prime influence, one such piece ‘Hair of Spun Gold‘ – written at the age of 12 – aroused significant curiosity to earn her a feature in influential folk magazine ‘Broadside’.
From this exposure came the offer of a recording contract with Atlantic Records who financed a self-titled album that contained the aforementioned track, but most notably ‘Society’s Child‘. Yet given the contentious subject matter of the standout song, the label demurred when it came to releasing both the single and album, giving the master tape back to Ian.
Containing material recorded in 1965, ‘Society’s Child‘ and her debut L.P. finally saw the light of day in the early weeks of 1967 after being released by Verve Records, whereupon the single peaked at number 14 (despite refusal by several radio stations across the U.S. to play the record due to the lyrical content). The album from which it was taken also performed well, selling 100,000 copies in climbing to number 29, Ian later in her career receiving a public apology from Atlantic label head Jerry Wexler for their lack of courage in supporting her efforts.
Still living at home, she subsequently cut two albums for Verve and played countless concerts on the U.S. college circuit. After cutting the ‘Present Company‘ set for Capitol in 1971, Ian withdrew, somewhat disillusioned, by the music business and three years passed before a deal was signed with Columbia Records. The well-received ‘Stars‘ (1974) formally announced her return, the title track pulling no punches on the illusion of fame, while another memorable cut ‘Jesse‘ became a hit for Roberta Flack.
Despite only making modest chart headway (U.S. 63), ‘Stars‘ set in motion growing improvement in her fortunes. With increased lyrical maturity and more effective arrangements she continued to incorporate touchstones of folk and light-jazz, these dimensions carried over into ‘Between the Lines‘ – the album where Ian would hit paydirt.
Recording again at 914 Studios, New York and with Brooks Arthur retained as producer, this thoughtful collection contained the recognizable folk-rock stylings of the ’70s singer-songwriter album in the vein of Paul Simon. But her sharp wordplay and diverse array of styles, ranging from country-pop to strains of choral music, keep originality levels high in sustaining interest from the listener.
Throughout Ian delivers her keenly observed lyrics, that often have the complexities of love at their core, in an assured voice which lends authenticity to her expressionism, even when it occasionally strays toward the oblique.
She is immediately heard to impressive effect on smoothly lilting opening track ‘When the Party’s Over.’
The acoustic guitar framework coupled to theme of how love can be fleeting in nature takes it close to Joni Mitchell territory. But Ian has some interesting things of her own to say on the subject, ruminating on how a relationship that at first seems natural can flounder before being full-realized:
‘Anyone can make it two/Any two can turn to one/And the melody’s lost/Before the song’s begun.’
Using the allusion of two people dancing together as a metaphor for falling in love, (‘I’ll teach you how to sing and dance/With a song and dance routine/And when the party’s over/You can fall in love with me‘), the writer is conscious affection can be hard to sustain, being an advocate of living in the present.
Ian exudes poignancy to even greater extent on ‘At Seventeen‘, recalling the anxieties of adolescence with serene despair.
To her own acoustic guitar accompaniment and that of an atmospheric flugelhorn, the narrator opens this magnificent ode to the insecurities of youth by recalling her own naivety and negligible faith in herself:
‘I learned the truth at seventeen/That love was meant for beauty queens/And high school girls with clear-skinned smiles/Who married young and then retired/The valentines I never knew/The Friday night charades of youth/Were spent on one more beautiful/At seventeen I learned the truth.’
The second verse delves deeper into the realms of loneliness, extending her lament to include those who felt similarly excluded, ‘And those of us with ravaged faces/Lacking in the social graces/Desperately remained at home/Inventing lovers on the phone‘. Ian then skillfully addresses the angst from a time when life was confounding and while hindsight may have made such concerns seem trivial, they were no less all-consuming in the moment:
‘To those of us who knew the pain/Of valentines that never came/And those whose names were never called/When choosing sides for basketball/It was long ago and far away/The world was younger than today/When dreams were all they gave for free/To ugly duckling girls like me.’
Altogether a bittersweet commentary on adolescent fragility as conjured from the perspective of a 24 year-old, the song has equal resonance irrespective of gender. Indeed, not only did it achieve great success when issued as a single, Ian subsequently won a Grammy for ‘At Seventeen‘ in the category of Best Female Vocal Performance.
On ‘From Me to You‘ Ian is found offering empathy to a friend needing to disengage from a failing relationship. Decorated by wistful violin and crisp, understated drumming from Larry Alexander, the writer makes clear her loyalty, ‘Though I’d like to be the one to see you through‘, but is nonetheless aware her support is there to be taken or left:
‘You’re more than beginning, you’re learning to fly/Feels like you’re falling, but it passes in time/And I hate to see a friend go down in flames without a song/So I’m waiting by the doorway, I will not linger long.’
With ‘Bright Lights and Promises‘, Ian turns her ruminations back on herself in contemplating the empty promises of fame, this through a song which at times has overtones of a show tune when piano and clarinet come to the fore.
Aware of just how superficial stardom can be, Ian asks ‘How long does it take to make the grade?’ something of pertinent question given she had been trying to consolidate her initial success for the best part of ten years. This dismissive take on it all, (‘Bright lights and promises, that’s all it’s for/Leave and enter by the service door’), paints a disconcerting picture of the whole scenario, the downbeat portents nicely offset by a melody that could have made its way from nearby Broadway.
Reflecting upon a chance encounter with an ex lover who is now happily married, ‘In the Winter‘ stands as a piano-based, string-laden depiction of living in solitude.
Accepting her lot with weary resignation, (‘The days are okay/I watch the TV in the afternoons‘), some instincts concerning her former partner have been hard to overcome, ‘I am wiser now, you know/And still as big a fool concerning you‘.
As the lyric develops it takes on a conversational element, Ian expressing good faith when she offers compliments, although a rueful air descends when comparing how her life once was to now:
‘You have a lovely home/Just like a picture/No, I live alone/I found it easier/You must remember how/I never liked the party life/Up all night/Lovely wife/You have a lovely wife.’
The emotionally charged ‘Watercolours‘ finds a couple deep into the final throes of an embattled union neither of them has the emotional resilience to repair. Both parties are worn down by arguments and reconciliations, the latest rupture being a row too many.
Delivering the song on acoustic guitar with support from an evocative string arrangement and sympathetic bass, she considers the situation from his perspective (‘He turned and said, you ask much of me‘). Her sentiments, however, are more accusatory in tone, ‘Go on, be a hero, I set you free/Your stagehand lovers have conquered me.’
While the romance to all intents and purposes has run its course, the process of stepping away is left to begin tomorrow, this particular day coming to a close amid circumstances that have occurred before:
‘We’ll talk it over again sometime/I’ll send you some flowers/To change your mind/But for tonight, turn out the light/Hold me.’
When digesting such lyrical eloquence it barely seems feasible that Ian has not yet reached the age of 25, her ability to explore the nature of human connection is again displayed in the title-track that opens side two.
Commenting on the cracks in a relationship that can close or widen at stroke, shaped by forceful piano chords, Ian describes how truth is often found between reality and perception, ‘There’s never much to say/Between the moments of our games and repartee/There’s never much to read/Between the lines of what we need and what we’ll take/There’s never much to talk about or say aloud/But say it anyway.’
Yet in the following track, ‘The Come On‘, her outlook is affected by self-doubt, ‘There must be something terribly wrong with me/Sometimes I feel like I haven’t learned anything.‘
Set to undemonstrative acoustic guitar work, Ian produces a suitably plaintive vocal as her melancholia (‘ I haven’t been loved by a man in quite a while/You know it ain’t easy making me smile‘) veers dangerously close to self-pity. Yet just when the album seems to be teetering on the brink of over indulgence in regard to personal hardship, she and Arthur have the presence of mind to sequence ‘Light a Light‘ next. The tone of the piece is immediately lighter, even if some of the couplets (‘There’s a wisdom in the teachings/Of the old familiar songs/And a sorrow in repeating/All the old familiar wrongs‘) apply the brakes to any sense of unbridled joy.
Prominent orchestration returns, as do sombre sentiments on ‘Tea and Symphony‘, Ian writing in the persona of an elderly woman at odds with her life due to losing a loved one, the song ambiguous in regard to whether he has died or simply left:
‘And when the guests have done/I’ll tidy up the room/I’ll turn the covers down/And gazing at the moon/Will pray to go quite mad/And live in long ago/When you and I were one, so very long ago.’
Given the connotations of the title, there is inference the central figure could be from a 19th century work of English literature, the demise she envisions for herself, ‘And when I have no dreams/To give you any more/I’ll light a blazing fire/And wait within the door‘, evoking Miss Haversham from the Charles Dickens novel ‘Great Expectations‘.
Closing track ‘Lover’s Lullaby‘ brings the record to an end in appropriately poignant fashion, Ian penning a tender piano ballad ostensibly for a sleepy child, (‘Softly now, close your eyes/Lightly will you fade/The moon was made for wakeful boys/To keep the night away‘). The oft-repeated line ‘This is a lullaby‘ leaves no doubt of her intentions for the song, the gradual introduction of bass guitar and resounding drums supporting another captivating vocal performance as the piece moves to a conclusion.
Despite having been dismissed as ‘humourless and bitter‘ by Rolling Stone when it first appeared – one of the few negative notices it attracted – ‘Between the Lines‘ sold steadily though the summer of 1975. But then buoyed by the concurrent success of ‘At Seventeen‘ in the singles market, it reached the top spot on September 20.
In a year when the U.S. album chart was pretty much dominated by Led Zeppelin, the Eagles and Elton John, Ian arrived there in the middle of a somewhat curious period, L.P’s by The Isley Brothers, her and Jefferson Starship each reigning at the summit for seven days, the list having a different number one in three consecutive weeks.
While failing to chart in the U.K. ‘Between the Lines‘ found favour with the critics, the New Musical Express describing Ian as a ‘potent lyricist‘. She undertook a successful British tour the following year in support of her new ‘Aftertones‘ album, this run of shows culminating with a live performance for BBC weekly music programme ‘The Old Grey Whistle Test‘ in October 1976.
The concert has been reshown several times down the years, serving as testimony and reminder of the capacity of Janis Ian to write well-crafted, intensely personal songs.
JANIS IAN – BETWEEN THE LINES (Released March 22 1975):
When the Party’s Over/At Seventeen/From Me to You/Bright Lights and Promises/In the Winter/Watercolours/Between the Lines/The Come On/Light a Light/Tea and Sympathy/Lover’s Lullaby;
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