I love Jon Brion. I have loved him for a long time, and my ears will prick up like a little puppy whenever I hear he is involved in anything. That’s how I came to give Fiona Apple a fighting chance in my music listening universe. Because if you know me, you know that I shut down whenever a piano-playing chick floats by on the cultural radar. Being that I am one myself, I have pretty high standards which include no whining, no gasping, and no self-pity. I assume all the other ladies are going to suck as bad as Tori Amos, all witchy-poo theatrics and histrionics. If I can’t deal with her, I certainly couldn’t accommodate some sulky anorexic teenager with big watery blue eyes and a pout that could crush a small city.
So when I had heard that Jon Brion produced Fiona Apple’s last album, When the Pawn blah blah blahdee blah… I decided to give it a listen and I actually liked it. For those of you who are not familiar with Mr. Jon Brion, let me give you a quick run-down. Jon Brion has produced such artists as Aimee Mann (his ex-girlfriend — oh the intrigue!), Rufus Wainwright, and even the new Kanye West; he has created gorgeous movie scores for Magnolia, Punch-Drunk Love and I Heart Huckabees; he was a founding member of LA power pop super group The Grays; he released his own heart-breakingly delicious solo album called Meaningless; but most of all he is the most fascinating, multi-talented instrumentalist I have ever seen. Jon Brion plays every single Friday night at the Largo in LA, and if you ever find yourself in LA on a Friday night, it is imperative that you witness what this man can do. It’s truly astounding.
I have seen him go around the stage and lay parts down on drums, guitar, bass, and organ, using some kind of sampler/looping device, then sit down at the piano and play and sing along as if there’s an entire band backing him up. He can play any ridiculous request thrown at him from the audience “Bohemian Rhapsody as played by Les Paul!” and he can just sit there and write a song on the spot. It’s heavenly to watch, because he’s also adorable, has a wonderful voice, and he’ll bring whatever hipster musical superstar is lurking in the back corner up to jam with him or cover some old jazz standard or Hollies tune. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of all genres of music and can imitate them perfectly, while throwing his own sweet spin on anything. He’ll play for hours, take a break, come back for more, all the while with a huge smile on his face and the audience in the palm of his hand. I’ve never seen anything like it, and probably never will. I hope he plays there forever. He’s the only redeeming thing about Los Angeles.
But, I digress.
One night while I was watching him, transfixed as usual, there was this skinny, tragic-looking figure waiting patiently by the side of the stage. She looked like she was about to cry, or disintegrate. Eventually he brought her out onstage and she pounded the hell out of a new song called “Better Version of Me.” Yes it was Fiona. And she rocked it.