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A Day in the Life
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SECOND CHANCE
a defense by oncoming morales
For someone who was able to pull off the first-name-only celebrity moniker, Jewel has become merely a faded ink-stain on the rug of popular culture. After her decline into the pop-music trappings of Atlantic Records, the once Billboard folk darling seems to have all but disappeared. And considering how awful those last few records were, nobody seems to really miss her. But for the moment, let’s forgive Jewel for every career move she made in her late-20s, and take a look back. Because I’ll admit it, of all the albums I’m embarrassed to have owned in the nineties, Jewel’s Pieces Of You may be the one that shames me the least.
Those able to survive within the pop-culture realm by only one name often serve as an emblem to the ethos they represent. Cher is the embodiment of old-school pop stardom and plastic surgery. Madonna stands for sexual freedom, and post-Vogue, weirdo religious trends. Charo is the symbol of big hair, big tits, and a lot of sequins, although Dolly Parton could give her a run for her money. And after Pieces of You, Jewel became the poster child for the uncertainty of a girl trying to push her way through an emotional hailstorm.
Honestly, what 15-year-old girl didn’t think Jewel was the shit? She grew up in Alaska, lived in a van, learned to yodel, and recorded the kind of songs all 15-year-old girls try to write in their bedrooms after school. Back in 1995, when Pieces Of You was released, Jewel was invincible. She may not have been Liz Phair circa Exile in Guyville, but she was at least way cooler than Meredith Brooks.
Pieces Of You is a bevy of social outcry, from its chart-topping first track “Who Will Save Your Soul” on. Jewel covers all the hard-hitting issues of the day – poverty, pill-poppers, handicapped children, and prejudice, a la her title track, which while it’s a little goofy is so damn sincere that you can’t help but love the girl for trying. Songs like “Little Sister” could have been brilliant if only someone had bought the poor girl a thesaurus. And “Adrian”, while it may not surpass it, at least rivals Cat Power’s “Names” as the saddest song ever about kids you grew up with.
Mixed in with all this activism is the quality angst expected from a teenage lyricist with a broken heart and some daddy issues. In fact, after re-listening to “Foolish Games”, I think we may have dated the same guy in high school. Luckily, Jewel has her finger-picking down, which saves even the sappiest of songs from turning into Whitney Houston ballads. And in the midst of it all, she’s able to pull out “You Were Meant For Me”, which may be the cutest acoustic track ever. To this day, if you grab your roommate’s guitar and bust out a cover at some party, everyone is sure to sing along. She may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but at least Jewel’s not trying to be pretentious. She’s just sensitive. And she’d like to stay that way.
Admittedly, the book of poetry she published directly after the success of the album was terrible, but none of Jewel’s songs could hope to stand alone without her impassioned vocals either. Half breathy teenager, half full-bodied mountain woman, she audibly mimics that perfect balance between the intense human insight and silly adolescent prattling that characterizes her verses. And every time she botches a chord or her diary entries don’t match up with the melody of a song, it only makes her more endearing.
Jewel could never be classified as a major talent or a poet of poignancy. But before we turned to Ani Difranco, Patti Smith, or, god forbid, Connor Oberst, she was there to open the door. Jewel was our generation’s stepping stone into the singer-songwriter mentality, our sugary Bob Dylan (or at least our Joni Mitchell), with the stripped down sound of a homeless street performer, if that hobo happened to be a cute blonde with gigantic boobs. And if you didn’t fall in love with that picture of her on the trampoline in the album insert, then you may not have a soul to save at all.
Pieces of You is the album you would have made when you were 15. Yeah, it’s kind of dumb, but it’s more honest than if it had been a better record. Because at 15, everything hits you with more immediacy than is bearable. It doesn’t matter if your boyfriend broke up with you during finals or if you just saw something really sad on the news. The volume is turned up on all your emotions until your vulnerability becomes all that you are. You don’t get to feel things that intensely forever, which is good, because we’d all end up acting crazy all of the time, but at the core of all that overblown misery is an emotional purity that’s almost impossible to regain. Even though you’ve outgrown that part of your life, you can’t help but reflect back on it every once in a while. Jewel offers you a window to reconnect to who you once were. She knows your heartbreak was more profound than anyone else’s, she’s walked with you hand in hand through the wilderness of your sorrows. Jewel is you.
After Pieces Of You became a success, she attempted a semi-folk follow-up with Spirit in ’98, but by then the magic was waning. Jewel fell into the same trap as so many artists of her genre – you can’t capture that bare-bones down-and-out sound once you’re internationally successful. So instead of continuing on with overproduced “singer-songwriter” studio albums, she gave into the allure of the early 00’s blonde pop star. A poor choice, perhaps, but who can blame her? We can all bitch and moan about other people selling out because we’re not getting royalty checks in the mail from Razor commercials. And to her credit, “Intuition” kicks the shit out of Hannah Montana any day of the week.
Now Jewel’s married to some rodeo rider and is chilling on a ranch in Texas recording country albums. Which is exactly where she belongs as 30-something ex-celebrity: Out in the fields, yodeling some incoherent nonsense about cattle. But the rest of us will always have Pieces Of You to remember her (and ourselves) by.