Her last record was her best. That would have been important to Kirsty MacColl. “Whenever I go into a studio, I always operate on the principle that I might get hit by a bus tomorrow,” she said earlier this year. “I’d hate the obituaries to read, ‘And her last album was her not-very-good album’.”

No chance of that; Tropical Brainstorm, her Latin-drenched finale, was superb.

—Neil Spencer, The Guardian, 23 Dec 2000

After releasing the rather dark album Titanic Days in 1993, Kirsty MacColl’s career went on life support. She had recorded the album before she landed a record deal, and the label ZTT agreed to release it only as a one-off. Her marriage to Steve Lillywhite ended in divorce shortly after the album was finished, and the stress and strain of breaking up the family,  the need to care for her children, and her justifiable disdain for how the music industry treated women led to a lengthy fallow period during which her only releases were two critically acclaimed compilation albums. She also suffered from a bad case of writer’s block, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. “For two years she didn’t write any songs at all. ‘I used to worry about writer’s block, but I think this time it was God’s way of saying: ‘You’ve got nothing to write about, so shut up.’ In any case, I didn’t want to make another melancholy record. That would have been grim. Instead I started to do some of the things I’d wanted to do since forever.'” (Spencer, ibid)

“One of those things was travelling to Cuba, which she did first in 1992, and thereafter on a regular basis. MacColl, who had a Latin track on Electric Landlady (“My Affair”) and had sung on David Byrne’s Rei Momo album, had liked Latin music for a long time. Her fascination stretched back to her childhood, when her father gave her an album of Mexican mariachi music. The young Kirsty was fascinated by the gaudy cover, the band’s exotic clothes and instruments, the carnival atmosphere of the music. ‘I think that’s where I got it into my head that anybody who spoke Spanish was having a better time than me.’ Once she’d visited Cuba, the Latin bug bit hard. When her Best Of compilation appeared in 1995, there was Kirsty on the cover dressed in Castro cap, lighting a fat cigar with a US dollar bill. She became a regular at Cuban Solidarity Campaign shows, and took Spanish classes. Here she met a Brazilian who became her lodger at her Ealing home, paying his rent with Portuguese lessons. Her love of Cuban music extended to Brazil, which she also visited.” (Spencer, ibid)

Her fascination with Latin music and cultures provided Kirsty with a path forward, and she was careful to avoid any hint of cultural appropriation.

“. . . I didn’t want to try and recreate an authentic sound with just me singing. I couldn’t really see the point ‘cos first of all I’m not Celia Cruz and I’m not going to suddenly appeal to millions of people who don’t speak English, seeing as a lot of people like my music mostly because of the lyrics. And also I didn’t have a record deal when I started recording the album anyway, so I couldn’t have afforded to go off and find a top Latin producer in Miami or anywhere else. And I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to try and fail at being the Buena Vista Social Club. I wanted to succeed at being Kirsty MacColl. There was no way it was ever going to be an authentic record, because I’m not Brazilian and I’m not Cuban. It wasn’t going to be purist because I wanted to use elements of music from different countries — Brazil, Colombia and Cuba — and not be limited by the rules. The fact is, I deliberately recorded the album with two people who I’ve worked with a lot before and who have no history whatsoever of playing Latin music. If you don’t know what the rules are, then you don’t have to stick to them which is very liberating. If it sounded good we could do it.” (KirstyMacColl.com)

The two people she mentioned were her old friends and collaborators Dave Ruffy and Pete Glenister. Once the writer’s block vanished and her imagination kicked into high gear, the trio began work on the new album in Glenister’s studio. “We started off, very unorganically if you like, using samples from CDs that I’d brought back from my travels. I’d write the songs first, and then I knew how I wanted them to sound, so I’d say to Dave, ‘This is the kind of rhythm I want,’ and he’d either be inspired by what I played him, or we’d use it for the track. We added the organic stuff, the live players, after the tracks were down and I got a record deal and we could afford musicians (including Omar Puente, Luiz de Almeida, Chucho Merchán and Joe de Jesús).” (ibid)

The trio’s DIY efforts did not go to waste. Tropical Brainstorm is a delightful and diverse listening experience featuring Kirsty at the top of her game, vocally, musically and lyrically. Nigel Williamson of fRoots Magazine summed it up thusly: “Witty, imaginative pop songs of the kind MacColl has been writing since ‘There’s A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He’s Elvis’ almost 20 years ago are at a premium at the best of times. Combine them with a liberating and feisty sexuality and some sashaying mambos and cool sambas that have nothing in common with Ricky Martin’s ‘Livin’ la vida loca’ or Geri Halliwell’s trashy take on Latin froth-pop, and you have something very special indeed.” In contrast to the bleakness of Titanic Days, it feels like Kirsty is having the time of her life, throwing caution to the wind and thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to break all the rules of the music industry in a supreme act of personal liberation.

The album is indeed superb, but what I cherish most is that Kirsty radiated joy in her final contribution to popular music.

*****

Note: I’ve included links for the samples used on the album. 

“Mambo de la Luna” (Kirsty MacColl, Pete Glenister, Dave Ruffy. Samples: “Sazonando’ performed by Felix Chappotin; “Avance Juvenil’ performed by Israel Cachao Lopez ): Arriba! Arriba! Kirsty kicks things off with an ode to Cuban culture set to a classic clave mambo beat in 4/4 time with punctuating syncopation. According to Ballroom Dance Songs.com, “The Mambo tempo feels exhilarating and demanding, pushing dancers to execute sharp, quick steps and dynamic hip movements in sync with its syncopated rhythms. The music compels the body to respond with energetic precision, yet also invites playful expression and a sensual, flirtatious connection to the beat.” The site also notes that “Despite its current popularity, Mambo was initially condemned by churches and restricted by authorities in some countries due to its sensual nature, before becoming a global phenomenon in the 1950s.” Fortunately for the puritans, Elvis came along to give them something else to bitch about.

The song opens with the sample, featuring a fanfare of trumpets followed by a shout and a shift to the core mambo rhythm. It had been nine years since she recorded “My Affair,” and seven years since she released anything new from Kirsty, so I can imagine that the initial reaction of a good chunk of her fan base upon hearing the intro to “Mambo de la Luna” was something along the lines of “What the hell?” Hearing Kirsty deliver the opening lines in a demure voice while harmonizing with herself in the closing couplet likely soothed their anxiety.

I know an island where the people are kind
And the rest of the world seems far away
Maybe it’s only in the back of my mind
But I know when I go that’s where I’ll stay

The verse turns out to be a deke, as most of the remaining lyrics are in Spanish, and the CD did not include translations (official translations from KirstyMacColl.com):

“C’mon, c’mon” dice la Inglesa
”(“Come on, come on” says the English woman)
“C’est bon, C’est bon” dice la Francesa”
 (“It’s good, it’s good” says the French woman)
“Ay, que lindo” dice la Cubana singing far away
 (“Oh how pretty!” says the Cuban woman)
Que buena fortuna
 (What good luck!)
Esa es mi vida
 (This is my life)
Como el mambo de la luna
 (like the mambo of the moon)

I hope the fans got over the “What’s she going on about?” hump and focused on the playful joy in Kirsty’s delivery. The second English verse may have calmed some nerves and encouraged listeners to imagine a life without worries of what tomorrow might bring.

I know a land where they live for today
‘Cause tomorrow is too far away
Maybe one day you will go there with me
And we’ll dance underneath the ceiba tree

It turns out that the Cuban paradise is not all fun and games, but the need for work-life balance is ingrained in the Cuban soul:

“La vida es dura, el corazon es puro, y cantamos hasta la madrugada” 
(“Life is hard, the heart is pure, and we sing until the early morning”)
“El dia no es facil, el trabajo es dificil, entonces bailamos hasta la madrugada”
 (The day’s not easy, work is hard, then we dance until the early morning)

The last English verse is a message to those still frustrated by the Spanish lyrics: get your head out of your ass and immerse yourself in the music!

Love is the key to the dance, you can move in a trance when the music sets you free
Don’t be afraid of the rhythm it’s made to give life to the way you want to be

The arrangement goes beyond the sample to create a “you are there in the plaza” experience, with background vocals from Ernesto Estruch, Felix Gonzalez, Gabriel Fonseca and Omar Puente and a stream of Cuban rap from Felix Gonzalez. Opening the album with “Mambo de la Luna” and releasing it as the lead single was a pretty gutsy move on Kirsty’s part, but it demonstrated her commitment to make the album she wanted to make, industry norms be damned. 

“In These Shoes?” (MacColl, Glenister. Sample: “Spanish Grease” performed by Willie Bobo and Mel Lastie): Ah! Women and shoes, a complicated topic indeed. Compared to Imelda Marcos and her estimated thousands of shoes, I’m a piker. I only have thirty pairs (half of which are “come-fuck-me” shoes), and ten purses that go with the footwear. Because my mother raised me to follow European fashion and make-up norms, I am very careful to wear shoes that fit the occasion and work well with whatever I’m wearing, even when gardening.

Not all women share that obsession, but for those of us who do, the best explanation I’ve read came from Lisa Lee Freeman, editor-in-chief of ShopSmart. “Shoes never make your butt look big, you don’t have to worry about squeezing into them if you’ve put on a couple of pounds, and they can instantly make you feel sexier.” Women often check out the shoes worn by other women, and the highest compliment you might hear is “Cute shoes!”

I have used the phrase “In these shoes?” or its variants several times in my life, mainly with my get-up-and-go father who gets frustrated when I say, “Just a sec, let me change my shoes.” Kirsty takes things to another level as she encounters three oblivious males whose erotic fantasies fail to take her shoes into account. In the process, we learn that Kirsty is already wearing her come-fuck-me-shoes and ready to take charge!

I once met a man with a sense of adventure
He was dressed to thrill wherever he went
He said “Let’s make love on a mountain top
Under the stars on a big hard rock”
I said “In these shoes?
I don’t think so”
I said “Honey, let’s do it here.”

“So I’m sitting at a bar in Guadalajara
In walks a guy with a faraway look in his eyes
He said “I’ve got as powerful horse outside
Climb on the back, I’ll take you for a ride
I know a little place, we can get there for the break of day.”
I said “In these shoes?
No way, Jose”
I said “Honey, let’s stay right here.”

Then I met an Englishman
Oh” he said
,
“Won’t you walk up and down my spine,
It makes me feel strangely alive.”
I said “In these shoes?
I doubt you’d survive.”
I said “Honey, let’s do it.
Let’s stay right here.”

Doing it on a hard rock? You take the bottom, and I’ll wear the knee pads. Fucking in the morning? No thanks. Walk up and down your spine? I’m cool with masochists, but causing massive spinal injury is not my bag. What all three missed in sizing up Kirsty is her belief that dancing to sexy music is the most intimate form of foreplay, as explained by the four-man chorus.

“No le gusta caminar. No puede montar a caballo
” (“She doesn’t like to walk, she can’t ride a horse”)
“¿Cómo se puede bailar? ¡Es un escándalo!
” (“But the way she dances, it’s a scandal!)

The song opens with a brief autoharp crescendo played by Kirsty followed by sexy music in Willie Bobo’s unique style: “What we’ve tried to do is play the music we know best, the music a Latin cat in Harlem would dig.” The trumpet providing counterpoints to Kirsty’s vocal is not part of the sample, but a contribution from Ben Storey. The music is solid, but the real treat is in Kirsty’s delivery, a mix of kittenish sexuality and dry humor.

“Treachery” (MacColl, Graham Gouldman. Sample: “Yo Soy El Punto Cubano” performed by Celina Gonzalez.): Though not listed in the credits, I assume that the strange sounds that open the song come from a synthesizer attempting to capture the weird brain hiccups of someone who has lost touch with reality. In this case, Kirsty plays the role of a pop star who flips the stalker narrative and begins stalking a fan who has stopped listening to her records. In essence, the song is a commentary on how fame can fuck you up in a heartbeat when you feel your audience has begun thinking of you as yesterday’s news.

I’m stalking a fan
He used to write all the time
How lovely I am
He really made me feel fine
But how they forget
He needed a wake-up call
And he will regret
Having been so shallow
He made me believe
That I was some kind of myth
So here I am
How could he treat me like this?
Treachery made a monster out of me
 (4)

Wherever he goes
I won’t be too far behind
Just hanging around
Driving him out of his mind
I’m stalking a fan
He’s gone to the record store
To buy a CD
By some other girl not me
He’s taking her home
Getting her out of her box
And putting her on
And dancing around in his socks
Treachery made a monster out of me
 (4)

Call in the men in the white coats and put this broad in loony bin—pronto!

The music is upbeat Latin, which may seem like an odd fit, but it blends well with Kirsty’s manic delivery, capturing the fear of falling from the heights of stardom to nobodiness.

I get the sense that many of today’s musicians prioritize fame over quality. As George Harrison described the situation in an interview on Far Out Magazine, “You know what irritates me about modern music, it’s all based on ego.” If you’re a fan of one of those I-me-me-mine stars, watch out—they may start stalking you if you miss the concert or choose to skip the new album that sounds just like the last one.

Kirsty MacColl was not a part of that crowd.

“Here Comes That Man Again” (MacColl, Glenister): Kirsty slips out of one costume into another, this time playing the role of a woman who took a trip through cyberspace and happened to hook up with a Dutch pornographer who continues to pay her nightly visits.

Similar to “Treachery,” the song opens with strange noises, in this case likely designed to mimic dial-up modems and the magic of connecting with someone far, far away. Those techno-sounds are soon joined by a burst of Latin percussion from Bosco DeOliveira, who clears the way for the violin trio of Ernesto Estruch, Gabriel Fonseca and Omar Puente to present the central motif with its bright, playful melody. Kirsty enters the scene to introduce her internet companion, and though the words “here comes that man again” initially convey “Oh, shit, it’s HIM again,” that interpretation falls apart when you realize that she stayed up way past her bedtime waiting for his call.

Here comes that man again
It’s always round midnight
That Amsterdam creeps into my PC

After a long hard day selling pornography
He likes to come home and talk to me
Oh, goody

Kirsty certainly knew something about internet history, as the Dutch were early market leaders in internet porn. “Other early sites modified the 1-900 phone-sex systems already in heavy use to provide users with temporary access for a fixed fee. For example, The Red Light District (fun.nl) was a Dutch porn site founded in 1994 by David Vander Poel.” If you’re thinking about leaving me to explore fun.nl, don’t bother. It’s now a gaming site completely free of tits and ass. Sorry!

Things heat up pretty quickly, and our heroine finds herself oscillating somewhere between shame and the innate attraction of being naughty.

He’s got his mind on the job but
His technological props
Oops, another file on the email
Oh, oh, oho
And though I’m scared to click open
I just can’t help having a look

Oh, here comes that man again
A car crash in my psyche
My curiosity’s driving me

Yes here he comes again
Who’d have thought I’d have as much fun
With an anonymous Dutchman?
I never knew I had it in me

In the bridge, the Dutchman attempts to launch a video call, but this cyber-conversation must have taken place before Broadband became ubiquitous and Zoom was far, far away:

He says the camera is on and
Can I see him yet?
I say “No, Babe you look like a ghost
And sound like a Dalek to me”
So let’s go back to the written word
Even though we both know it’s absurd

For those unfamiliar with Doctor Who, a Dalek is an extraterrestrial cyborg with a living body inside.

The Dutchman makes a second attempt at video call, but the blurriness makes the dick he holds in his hand look like a teeny-weeny mouse. Oh well, dirty talk will have to do:

Although when I tell him he’s corny
It seems to make him quite horny
And through the cyberspace
I watch the rapture on his face
Yes while his girlfriend is sleeping
His sexuality’s peaking

Here comes that man again
After a long hard day
He likes to come home and talk to me
He says it’s something he needs
He can’t stop spilling the seeds
God bless European unity
And all those who never sleep

And she can’t stop the estrogen rush:

Sha la la la la, get your rocks off baby
Sha la la la la, get your rocks off baby
Sha la la la la, get your rocks off
Another stain on another blue dress

Those closing lines are adorned with sweet, little-girl harmonies of purest innocence. Our heroine has overcome her fears and finds herself in seventh heaven.

Because I need all five senses on active mode to initiate an orgasm, I am a complete virgin when it comes to internet sex. However, I have to express my deepest appreciation for Kirsty’s completely non-judgemental approach to a form of sex most people would classify as weird. From adolescence to menopause or andropause, human beings are horny and need to release the often unbearable tension. Unlike rape, no one gets hurt masturbating to porn pics or live-stream nudity. Shaming people for engaging in unharmful versions of release serves no purpose whatsoever.

I think an update to the Holy Bible is in order. “Judge that ye not be judged, let he or she who hasn’t watched porn on the internet cast the first stone.” (Arielle 7:5)

“Autumngirlsoup” (MacColl): We leave Latin America and find Kirsty the autumn girl back home in London feeling lonely, desperate, and vulnerable as she searches for warmth in the form of love.

The scene takes place in a metaphoric kitchen. The tone in her voice conveys fragility, which should evoke feelings of empathy and concern in a partner, but there are too many men in the world who are raised to be predators and believe the strong are born to conquer the weak:

You needed something to get your teeth into
And in my voodoo kitchen you said
“I’ve got something to show you,
It’s a recipe handed down from father to son
For a thousand years, and it goes with those hot salt tears.”

Kirsty employs cooking metaphors (after all, a woman’s place is in the kitchen, isn’t it?) to describe an experience that may have quelled her physical needs but not her emotional needs. Sometimes you feel so lonely and fragile that you’ll accept anything that mimics an act of love.

Get me on the boil and reduce me
To a simmering wreck with a slow kiss
To the back of my neck
Carve up my heart on a very low flame
Separate my feelings then pour them down the drain
Close my eyes and sweeten me with lies
Pierce my skin with a few well chosen words
Now you can stuff me with whatever you’ve got handy
And on a cold grey day a cold grey man will do

She knows she’s being used, knows he doesn’t care, and her self-loathing is more than obvious . . . but a cold, grey man is better than nothing:

Kirsty was a pretty strong woman, but even the confident suffer from bouts of low self-esteem from time to time, and her conflicts with men inside and outside the music industry are well documented. I like to think that the pathos of this song might have been intended as a message to women everywhere to stand up for yourself and never settle for anything less than what you really want out of life or in a partner.

“Celestine” (MacColl): The music has faint hints of Latin in its bouncy beat, but what I love most about the song is the composition and chord patterns. The song is about Kirsty’s split personality, and that theme is enhanced by a split in the music in the form of a key change from verse to chorus. The verses are in the key of E major, but Kirsty built an imaginative path to get there: C#m-A7-B-E. The chorus is in B major with another roundabout path to resolution: G7-Cmaj7-F#-B. Because the B is the tension chord that leads to the resolution chord of E, all those unusual patterns come together and fit like a glove. Bravo!

We broads are not born with a split personality, but many of us develop one due to cultural traditions. I will fully admit that I am a slut, but I have a pretty good brain as well. I can’t count how many times a man I was dating told me something along the lines of, “I love you in bed, but you’re a little tough to take in real life.” Yeah, whatever, dude. Now take a hike.

I’m pretty sure Kirsty enjoyed a passionate night in the boudoir as much as I do, but we both wanted men who loved us for our brains as well. In Kirsty’s case, her erotic alter ego became quite a nuisance:

Oh she is hot, she’s hot, she’s hot
She’s just a wild and wicked slut
And she lives inside my head and stops me sleeping

And when I think she’s finally gone
Some guy arrives and turns her on
Then she parties until dawn
This can’t go on

Celestine
Get out my dreams
You’re killing me so slowly

Kirsty complements her lead vocal with a girlish, wordless background vocal of note clusters that might mean she considers Celestine an airhead. After an instrumental passage featuring Joseph De Jesus on jazz trombone, Kirsty enters a phase of uneasy resolution. 

My lover looked into my eyes
And I could tell by his surprise
It was not me he saw in there but Celestine
And now it’s her that he lusts after
I can hear that wicked laughter
Still he comes to me but I know where he’s been

My lover hasn’t got a clue
He doesn’t know that he’s untrue
And it’s not me he makes love to but Celestine
Oh yes she’s hot, she’s hot, she’s hot
I guess she’s everything I’m not
And she lives inside my head and stops me sleeping

My only gripe with the song is that I think it would have been fun had they sampled Sinatra singing, “All of me, why not take all of me?” That’s all any of us really want.

“England 2 Colombia 0” (MacColl) Sample: “Tendras Tu Castigo” performed by Conjunto Casino: If you thought Kirsty was just acting when she ripped Shane MacGowan a new one in “Fairytale of New York,” guess again. When it comes to cutting a jerk down to size, she had no equal.

The trumpet-heavy sample is full of drama, providing Kirsty with the perfect background to support the dramatic revelations in the song. It all begins with a couple heading to a pub in the elegant surroundings of Belsize Park, London, to watch a football match.

Oh you shouldn’t have kissed me and got me so excited
And when you asked me out I really was delighted
So we went to a pub in Belsize Park
And we cheered on England as the sky grew dark

Sounds like fun! Oh! A friend of his has joined the party. How nice! Uh-oh, her date has passed out! Kirsty patiently waits for him to wake up, then delivers the bomb:

Oh you shouldn’t have kissed me cause you started a fire
But then I found out that you’re a serial liar

You lied about your status
You lied about your life
You never mentioned your three children
And the fact you have a wife
Now it’s England 2 Colombia 0
And I know just how those Colombians feel

If you hadn’t passed out while I was talking to your friend
It could have really ended badly cause you very nearly had me
If he hadn’t taken pity on my heart full of desire
I might never have found out you’re a serial liar

Kirsty’s voice is filled with anger, outrage, disgust, betrayal . . . you name it, it’s all there. Man, I’d hate to be on the other end of an outburst like that! Believe it or not, Kirsty still has plenty to say about this shocking turn of events.

It is not in my nature to ever pick the winning team
I always pick a bastard who would have me for his dinner
I can never possess the object of my desire
Cause he’s bound to turn out to be a serial liar

OK I didn’t mention my kids, I thought I’d wait a bit
But I am free and single and he’s a lying git
Cause he lied about his status
He lied about his life
He forgot he had three children
He forgot he had a wife
And it’s England 2 Colombia 0
I know just how those Colombians feel

So I got into a taxi and sobbed all the way home
Called my friend up in Sao Paulo and cried down the phone
I played some tragic music and I lay down to die
B
ut later I woke and I hadn’t stopped crying

You should never have kissed me, you tasted of deceit
Your perfume was Adultery but I’m not a piece of meat
So I’ll be the one that you couldn’t acquire
I found out in time you’re a serial liar

You lied about your status
You lied about your life
And I pity your three children
And I pity your poor wife
Now you can go to Hell
I’m going to Brazil
Still it’s England 2 Colombia 0

She delivers that closing line in a dramatic crescendo in sync with the sample, sending chills up and down my spine. If you’re not convinced that Kirsty was one of the greatest lyricists of her generation, read through the lyrics again, and pay attention to her gifts for rhyming, metaphors and sardonic wittiness. Caitlin Moran of The Times wrote about the song in a summary review: “And it shows, once again, that MacColl’s only current peer as a lyricist is Jarvis Cocker. Take, for instance, ‘England 2 Colombia 0’, about MacColl’s first and last date with a cad who took her to a pub to watch the last World Cup on TV. It’s full of quotable couplets like: “I never can possess the object of my desire/ Because he’s bound to turn out to be a serial liar/ OK I didn’t mention my kids/ I thought I’d wait a bit/ But I am free and single, and he’s a lying git.”

The presence of the “I didn’t mention the kids” line is so Kristy. She could have left out that little snippet and no one would have noticed, but she simply had to let us know that she bore some responsibility for the failed relationship by not sharing her whole story.

“Não Esperando” (MacColl, Glenister): Having recently reviewed Getz/Gilberto, I found this song pleasant, not particularly compelling, and only faintly Brazilian. I’ll take a pass on this one.

“Alegria” (MacColl, Ruffy): Sorry, but this song feels out of place. It’s a techno-Latin-hip-hop blend that doesn’t blend. The repetition of the words “happiness and joy” deserved a better setting.

“Us Amazonians” (MacColl, Glenister): You would never want to fuck with Kirsty MacColl, and the same holds true for the Xikrin women of the Amazon. These women have done more to reduce the risks of global warming than anyone on the planet. From the Nature Conservancy: “From 2000 to 2012, deforestation in indigenous lands in Brazil was less than 1%, compared with 7% deforestation and 27 times more carbon dioxide emissions from deforestation outside them. Indigenous peoples’ wisdom and understanding of the ecosystem and natural resource management is key to ensuring resilience in the face of immense pressures.” The article also contains a quote from one of those women that helps explain Kirsty’s song: “We, Xikrin women, are very important and have to be valued within and outside our villages. This isn’t an argument; it’s our right.”

Set to a background of marvelous guitar arpeggios from Pete Glenister and a hearty contribution from Dave Ruffy on the drums, Kirsty presents Xikrin female dominance in the realms of male-female relationships and city vs. country contrasts.

Here in the country we dance and we play
And we pray to our saints and we make love all day
I fell in love with a real city boy
Who’s afraid of his nature, afraid of his joy
I punched him out and brought him to this hut
But I know he’ll thank me when he wakes up
We got trees, we got snakes, we got acres of sky
His life in the city was making him cry

Come on, come on darling, be brave for a while
You don’t look afraid when you laugh and you smile
I’ll be good, I’ll be strong
I’ll be just what you needed all along

I can think of a few guys in the United States government I would like to punch out and drag to the Amazon where they’ll cry like the sissies they really are.

Kirsty notes that while the ladies don’t need a man, they can be useful in certain circumstances . . . if they behave.

Us Amazonians know where we stand
We got kids, we got jobs, why do we need a man?
Us Amazonians make out alright
But we want something to hold in the forest at night

Here’s my boyfriend, he’s small, he is blue
He is cold, he is rough, he’s appalling that’s true
But he’s got the power, he’s got the fire
To be just like us is his only desire
He’ll learn to hunt and I’ll teach him to fish
We’ll boil up our rice in a satellite dish
We’ll plant cassava wherever we can
Us Amazonians always get our man

‘Nuff said. I’ve already added a trip to the Amazon to my bucket list.

“Wrong Again” (MacColl): Tropical Brainstorm allowed Kirsty to get a whole lot of things off her chest, especially her string of unsatisfactory relationships with men. In this song, she moves away from the vitriol expressed in “England 2 Colombia 0” to capture the sadness of it all.

Cause my friends are people who love me
Not like you, not like you
And they try to take good care of me
They wouldn’t hurt me like you do
Will I ever get smart, once again I’m the fool
To let you be so unnecessarily cruel

And now you tell me you love someone else
I was just light entertainment
Did you think you would cause me no pain?
Wrong again, wrong again

Now I’d like to punch out all the guys who harmed this wonderful woman.

“Designer Life” (MacColl, Kenneth Crouch): When F. Scott Fitzgerald suggested to Ernest Hemingway that “The very rich . . . are different from you and me,” Hemingway responded, “Yes, they have more money.” Despite the Cuban connection, Kirsty would have dismissed Hemingway’s opinion as utter bullshit (and I agree).

The relaxed bossa nova beat and Kirsty’s suitably tempered vocals stand in stark contrast to the biting lyrics, giving the song an ironic touch. The music conveys the good life on Easy Street while the lyrics unmask the truth about those who live to impress others with their material success.

There’s a brand new car in your driveway
And a blonde new girl in your bed
You’ve everything you ever wished for
Happy little bubblehead
And you can’t fill it up with promises
You can’t fill it up with lies
And you can’t fill it up with business lunches
Oh but you can try

Who am I to criticise you?
Just a girl that you despise
Welcome to designer living
This is your designer life

There’s a big house high on a hilltop
And another house in Spain
Mummy’s little soldier’s riding on the gravy train
And my you’re looking lovely
May you stay forever young
May you never get a conscience
About the things that you have done

Not all rich people are indeed selfish pigs, but we have far too many of the latter in today’s fucked-up world.

“Head” (MacColl): The album ends with a performance from Kirsty reminiscent of the smoky bar vocals of some of the great female jazz singers of the 30s and 40s. In addition to that unexpected stylistic turn, the song finds Kirsty deeply in love with a man who actually cares about her, most likely James Knight, her last boyfriend (who also plays saxophone on the song).

You go to my head till I’m losing my mind
Your beautiful words stretch me out on a blanket of sky
I don’t want to come down
No I don’t want to come down
Just want to stay lost in your eyes

You go to my head, I dream I am loved
You’re flowing through me like a river of poetry
I don’t want to come down
No I don’t want to come down
Just want to stay lost in your eyes

So keep feeding the fire, I can’t get any higher
Till the night burns with the fire of a thousand stars
You go to my head and I know I’m alive
You could waken the dead with your beautiful mind
I don’t want to come down
No I don’t want to come down
Just want to stay lost in your eyes

Oh, how I wish she could have basked in those feelings forever and lived a long and happy life.

*****

As I intended this review as a celebration of Kirsty’s remarkable talents and endless potential, I have avoided writing about her tragic death at the age of 41. If you want to go there, her Wikipedia page will tell you all you need to know.

I’ll be back next week with back-to-back posts on Saturday and Sunday. The first is a Chick Riff concerning major changes in my life that will likely have some impact on the site’s future; the second will finally earn Bob Dylan a spot on the menu bar.

Cheers!