Underground Songstress

Mary Lou Lord says she's finally letting go of the apron strings. Her first full-length album, set to hit stores in late January, will feature a greater proportion of the folksy-yet-punky original material that has become a fixture at the subway stations where she plays. After nine years of playing covers of other indie bands in prime commuter locations across Boston, the city's underground songstress is thrilled that she's finally getting the financial backup to explore her creativity in the studio. It feels good to know that others believe in her--and if the crowd's reponse to her short set at the Middle East 10th Anniversary Party is any indication of marketability, Lord may soon be faced with the same small-label royalty status that Parker Posey has achieved in indie film.

Lord promises that God No Shadow, the upcoming album released through The WORK Group, surpasses the artistic merit of her two EPs on Seattle's Kill Rock Stars label; the pieces are more adult than the "high school bedroom songs' she's sung for so many years. Got No Shadow also features full band backup on most songs, which could either be a detriment or a complement to her usually acoustic style.

On Lord's eponymous debut, for instance, the wistful effect of songs like "Helsinki" and "He'd Be a Diamond" was enhanced by the simple production values of girl-and-guitar, while "Lights are Changing," the only band-backed song, set the album off to a more invigorating start. In fact, as an album, Mary Lou Lord provided hope that the folk genre goals of simplicity did not preclude melodiousness and rhythm.

Her second release, Martian Saints!, somehow neglected her characteristic earthiness and honesty in favor of the slickness of the package. Ironically, Lord is most disappointed in the delivery of the last two songs on the album, which returned to the acoustic route. Her versions of Pete Droge's "Sunspot Stopwatch" and Peter Laughner's "Cinderella Backstreet," she laments, were "done a long time ago" and therefore "rough around the edges." It's a little dubious, then, whether a full-length band album can successfully maintain the sincerity of Mary Lou Lord while integrating studio production elements.

According to Lord, the five months she's spent in the studio have all but obliterated any uncertainty she may have had regarding the artistic feasibility of a studio recording of subway songs. She's done her time touring the country, made some friends and foes and brings less venomous alliances with her into the new effort: Stevie Nicks and Shawn Colvin sing backup up some of the tracks.

Colvin, in particular, has been incredibly supportive throughout Lord's progression from subway singer to indie artist. Lord refers to her as an "inspirator and guardian angel" and is psyched that Colvin has met with her own commercial success. "I've always felt that it's my mission in life to turn the world on to Shawn Colvin," she says. Lord calls Colvin's contribution to Got No Shadow "haunting," and remarks "It's very rare to love anything I do, but this...this is a beautiful record."

At the Middle East, Lord teased the audience by starting her set with a Ween cover, and then moving on to two new original pieces--"His Lamest Flame" and "Western Union Song"--which may or may not appear on Got No Shadow. Although Lord played both songs solo, either could easily be adapted as band material, especially "His Lamest Flame," an upbeat and gregarious sour grapes song which wouldn't easily be adulterated by backup accompaniment. The audience responded enthusiastically to the new material, crowding up to the stage for the first time during the sequence of bands that evening; they also got a kick out of Lord's announcement that she would be playing a limited engagement in the subway the following evening.

To a large extent, Lord's artistic sustenance has depended on her ability to draw a crowd to her stage; busking (playing in subways) in Boston, Seattle and L.A. requires an artist's material to have a certain universal appeal.

"One thing my music isn't," she observes, "is arty. When you play on the subway or in the street, you can't decide who your audience will be. Your songs have to appeal to everyone, make complete sense, but be melodic, understandable and not ground down to a certain genre."

At the same time, street performance requires a singer to modify her tactics so a not to appear too forthcoming and obtrusive. Whereas a band at the center of attention in a club is expected to entertain a well as perform, a street performer "would rather invite people in than intrude of their space." The upside of busking though, is that Lord can play place she chooses to play whenever she choose to play, and feels much more connected to the joy of performing--the reason she entered the music world in the first place. "If some one hears and is inspired," she's happy.

In "His Indie World," a song from he first EP, Lord dropped a lot of names and worried that she didn't belong to a music scene that included fellow Kill Rock Star performers Huggy Bear and Bikini Kill. N matter what the future may hold, she insists that her first full-length album does not mark a departure from that scene. And success she reaches with the WORK Group CD will only be reflected in back catalog sales for Kill Rock Stars, enabling them to keep the records of other struggling indie artists on the shelves. In addition, the covers she's doing for Got No Shadow include a great deal of indie material; she's especially proud of the new Nick Salaman covers she's doing, which she calls "poppy and beautiful." Salaman, former leader of Bevis Frond, has collaborated with Lord in the past, but the Got No Shadow material is most characteristic of his individual music, with less guitar and "more pop virtuoso."

At the same time, though, Lord promises fewer and fewer covers in the future: she's tiring of her original influences, including Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell. "All songwriters start out as fans," she says. "They do all covers, then they get bored playing the same songs over and over again, and start thinking, 'Maybe I'll write my own.' It's like looking back at a relationship, like a part of growing up." At this stage in her career, Lord's ready to come into her own; see admits she's "rest-less for [my] own niche."

Touring streets and subways coast to coast has had many effects on Mary Lou Lord; for one thing, she's a little lonelier, and looking forward to being a bit more rebellious when she begins touring with her band in January.

She's also had the opportunity to become acquainted with receptive crowds in three major cities, and chart the differences in attitudes in each locale. In Seattle, where she's become almost as much of a fixture as she is in Boston, she's referred to on the radio as "Seattle's own Mary Lou Lord," and her concert audiences feature "couples in raincoats" who are decidedly more relaxed than Boston crowds. She's most amazed, though at the friendliness of the people who stop to listen to her on the Santa Monica Promenade. "The happy uppity sunshine people," as she calls them, tend to say, "Dude, you're so cool," when she's finished, whereas in Boston, the courtesy is the same, but the remarks are more along the lines of "Thank you very much. You just made my day."

What differentiates Mary Lou Lord from most artists is the joy she receives in return; she's still so connected to her art that the people and performances make her day as well. It should be interesting to see whether the influences of big label production do anything to squelch the natural enthusiasm and on-the-street simplicity

At the same time, though, Lord promises fewer and fewer covers in the future: she's tiring of her original influences, including Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell. "All songwriters start out as fans," she says. "They do all covers, then they get bored playing the same songs over and over again, and start thinking, 'Maybe I'll write my own.' It's like looking back at a relationship, like a part of growing up." At this stage in her career, Lord's ready to come into her own; see admits she's "rest-less for [my] own niche."

Touring streets and subways coast to coast has had many effects on Mary Lou Lord; for one thing, she's a little lonelier, and looking forward to being a bit more rebellious when she begins touring with her band in January.

She's also had the opportunity to become acquainted with receptive crowds in three major cities, and chart the differences in attitudes in each locale. In Seattle, where she's become almost as much of a fixture as she is in Boston, she's referred to on the radio as "Seattle's own Mary Lou Lord," and her concert audiences feature "couples in raincoats" who are decidedly more relaxed than Boston crowds. She's most amazed, though at the friendliness of the people who stop to listen to her on the Santa Monica Promenade. "The happy uppity sunshine people," as she calls them, tend to say, "Dude, you're so cool," when she's finished, whereas in Boston, the courtesy is the same, but the remarks are more along the lines of "Thank you very much. You just made my day."

What differentiates Mary Lou Lord from most artists is the joy she receives in return; she's still so connected to her art that the people and performances make her day as well. It should be interesting to see whether the influences of big label production do anything to squelch the natural enthusiasm and on-the-street simplicity