Many of the names might mean nothing to us now. But then, many of them probably meant little at the time: Russ Kunkel and Joel O’Brien on drums, Charles Larkey on bass, Danny ‘Krootch’ Kortchmar on guitar and Ralph Schuckett on electric piano. A troupe of consummate yet anonymous session hands supporting a largely unknown singer. That Danny Kortchmar had helped define the signature sound of singer-songwriters like Carly Simon and James Taylor and had supplied no small amount of magic for artists like David Crosby, Graham Nash, Linda Ronstadt and Harry Nilsson didn’t really make an impact. Neither did the fact that this rather scruffy and unpretentious bedsitter with the frizzy hair and the comfortable sweaters had written some of the most memorable tunes of the previous decade make much of an impact either. Writers like Carole King and Gerry Goffin had exchanged all the flamboyant excesses of fame for the private satisfaction of knowing that the tunes the milkman was whistling in the morning had come direct from their own dairy: Take Good Care of My Baby, The Loco-Motion, Go Away Little Girl, I’m into Something Good, One Fine Day, Pleasant Valley Sunday, Porpoise Song – you hum it, Carole probably had a hand in writing it.
In 1971, however, things changed. A steady succession of bands began to have hits with their own material and the competitive steam-rooms of the Brill Building – where song writing teams had bashed out tunes on demand on a routine basis for the best part of 15 years – slowly ran out of steam. Suddenly there was a loose, unanchored (and hugely successful) assembly of writers who had neither the patience to endure the compromises that come with being in a band, or the cynicism to call it a day. And between this rock and a hard place – a new breed of recording artist was born: the singer-songwriter, typically dressed down, typically unassuming and humble, and typically tendering tunes of such soft introspection that you use them to wipe away the tears of a thousand disappointments. Even the cover-art for Tapestry proved something of a declaration of intent: barefoot, curtains barely drawn, clutching a cushion, surrounded by cats and retreating from the sunlight with the quiet resignation of a spurned lover – it’s a pure, iconic moment, and one which inevitably propped up millions of loner types, holed-up in small and musty garret rooms across the globe.
Although released with little fanfare, the album stayed at the top of the charts for fifteen weeks and bagged four Grammy Awards, including Album of The Year, Best Pop Vocal Performance (Female), Record of the Year (‘It’s Too Late’) and Song of The Year (‘You’ve Got A Friend’).
Produced by Lou Adler at A&M Studios in Hollywood, the team had decided early on to capture the intimate personality of the demos: quiet and unfussy. In recording terms it was a face without make-up; not the face you wake up with but the face that been up a few hours, taken a bath, maybe a stroll in the park, a black and white movie, a face enjoying the luxury of the moment – an evening face. And it’s there too in the names of the songs: ‘So Far Away’, ‘Home Again’, ‘Beautiful’, ‘You’ve Got A Friend’, ‘You Make Me Feel Like A natural Woman’. Sure there’s some anxiousness about tomorrow, but on this album at least – even some 40 years after it was first released – tomorrow is still very much another day.
‘TAPESTY’ – LEGACY EDITION – DELUXE TWO-CD VERSION RELEASED 22.04.08 (Disc 2 includes previously unreleased live piano-voice versions of the songs).