MUSIC. MUSIC, MUSIC

OH, MY NOLA (Harry Connick, Jr., Columbia)

Harry Connick, Jr., has done it again. This multi-talented artist just keeps getting better with time, stretching himself with wide ranges of music and performance experience. (His turn on Broadway last season in The Pajama Game was a big hit.) But perhaps the biggest sign of his maturity as an artist is that his work no longer needs to be THAT important—that one can play and dabble in different areas and create freely, joyfully, without holding on too tightly. Some of Harry’s earlier albums were marked by earnestness, a sense that this was an amazingly gifted prodigy. (Though completely different in style, one might say the same of Josh Groban’s efforts—incredibly gifted but a bit precious at this, still the start of the game.) The last few efforts Harry has made, however, are born of confidence. No longer having anything to prove, he can just cut loose and make music. This was true of his last popular music album, the highly enjoyable Only You, and now it’s even more evident in Oh, My Nola. The art is so good that it’s artless and Harry is just plain having FUN—and so do we with this collection old time favorites re-visited, songs it would be great fun late on a Saturday night in a honky-tonk or club to revisit. “Working in a Coal Mine,” “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey?” “Jambalaya (on the Bayou)” . . . the effect is infectious fun, with Harry sounding relaxed and the arrangements sounding by turns hot and playful. Looking for something fun to listen to—this is it!

NOT TOO LATE (Nora Jones, Blue Note)

Meanwhile, Nora Jones has returned with a third album, Not Too Late, another collection of sultry and sublime numbers rendered in her inimitable style. Ravvi Shankar’s daughter (lest we forget) is a talent that is in no hurry—she’s real and she’s here and she’s not about to disappear, such that we again will follow her anywhere she chooses to explore. This may not be her greatest album—that may still be to come—but from her very first till now, she has provided musicianship, talent and taste, all with a refusal to pander and a respect for her listener. Here’s to you, Ms. Jones!

PRICE OF FAME

Okay, okay a couple of months back, I mentioned that Anna Nicole Smith had had so much time in the spotlight that even Andy Warhol would cry out, “Enough! Enough!” And now, like so many before her, she’s gone—but her fame lives on and on.

The human being is gone, like her son before her, and an apparently troubled soul can finally get some rest.

But the image she so dedicatedly built and created lives on after her—and with all the legal mysteries surrounding her estate and the future of her young baby, doubtless she will be with us for many, many years to come. (Like it or not, even I am having to write about it, compelled to do so in part because the media keeps bringing the subject to my attention.)

Marilyn Monroe haunted us, not only with her image, but also with her talent and her pain. Anna (or rather her image) may haunt us with her fame and entrepreneurial nature. Not quite the same trade-off, in my humble opinion.

What is it with this country and our love affair with fame? Why do we all long to be so in the spotlight that we will suffer however many indignities to stay there? Even beauty appears not to be a natural thing anymore, but a renovation project, a makeover to be dissected and discussed at each water cooler in the country. Should we be mourning the death of substance?

When news of Anna’s sudden death hit the airwaves, people in offices around the country were shocked but not with sadness. Oh, yes, they all felt they should say it’s too bad for the human being and her young child and the string of tragedies that had taken place over only six months, played out nightly on the TV news as if it were as important as happenings in Iraq and Afghanistan. But there was an almost tangible need to suppress an involuntary giggle—as in, “Now what? You’re kidding, right? This takes the cake!” As if the overexposure had actually made us callous to any deeper feelings of sympathy.

If we cannot find more interesting things to feed our interest, we as a nation are in big trouble. Enough fake celebrities. Enough fake heroes and enough fake wars. There ARE real heroes out there. There ARE real soldiers risking their lives to support our country (even though there are politicians sending them there with their own agendas). There ARE real people who make the lives of their communities better. ABC World News Tonight does a one-minute piece each week, their “Person of the Week,” where they celebrate someone whose thoughtfulness and caring for others motivates them to do something to make life better for their friends and neighbors. One minute out of how many others of violence, pettiness, and politics?

When do we decide what REALLY matters? I'm sorry for Anna Nicole Smith, I really am. She paid a high price for something of no real value. And now, it should all ber put to rest and we should never hear about her again. But that's not likely to happen now, is it?