In those seemingly long-ago times of loneliness and lockdown, artists around the world invited us into their kitchens and living rooms as they sang into their webcams and iPhones, some more successfully than others, doing what they needed to do. The most successful, the one I truly looked forward to, was Mary Chapin Carpenter who, every week, welcomed us into her sun-dappled Virginia farmhouse for a chat and a song. She was joined by Angus, a puppyish Golden Retriever, and occasionally by White Kitty, a blind and aged Rag Doll rescue, who has since crossed the rainbow bridge as folks like to say these days. She offered short personal anecdotes, signed off with a reminder to “be strong” and, in between, dipped into her award-winning song bag. “Home is a Song” as she writes and sings on her new album in her distinctive, intimate and perfectly pitched voice.
We zoom-talked in the September, just after the release of The Dirt and the Stars and before her Thanksgiving performance at Wolf Trap: One Night Lonely, a generous two-hour set during which she stood alone on stage, swapping between her Greven and Martin guitars. By then I was grieving a loss, and I found her immensely consoling.
Personal History is her first solo album since 2020, though earlier this year she released one of her many collaborations, Looking for the Thread, with Julie Fowlis and Karine Polwart. And it’s a beauty that I’ve had on repeat this past week. It’s gentle, reflective, thoughtful and thought-provoking, and, at times, MCC stands totally naked in her honesty. Produced by Josh Kaufman (who also plays guitars, harmonium, and harmonica) and recorded at Peter Gabriel’s Real World Studios in Bath, to which she is no stranger, it is exquisite.
Don’t expect anything up-tempo – there’s no “Down at the Twist and Shout” or Shut Up and Kiss Me”; “Bitter Ender” is a rocky as it gets. As she explains: “A novel that I’ve loved for years is My Name is Lucy Barton, written by Elizabeth Strout. There’s this moment where the main character is taking a creative writing course, and her teacher says to her, ‘You will only have one story. You will write your one story in many ways.’ I remember reading that line and taking an audible breath. In that moment, I said out loud to no one, ‘Oh, that's what the songs are’.”
Personal History opens with a meditation on that strange year, “What Did You Miss?”, a reflection on loss and longing, the solitary walks, and distanced beers with neighbours, the paradox of blue skies and personal darkness. It’s not mawkish – MCC never is – just soothing and thoughtful, always thoughtful. And real; authentic. Listen to “Girl and Her Dog”, a song about the choices we make, or that are made for us, sometimes breaking our hearts but also making us stronger. Bittersweet but without a hint of self-pity, she writes about the wisdom the years bring, and hopefully the peace and contentment: “a girl and a dog riding in a truck… the older I get, the less I need”. In “Hello, My Name Is”, she writes of “taking stock and letting go”.
There’s a charming waltz number, “On the Night We Never Met”, a sort-of Brief Encounter moment, pondering love as “an accident of timing”. Strummed guitar, brushed drums and Matt Rollings’ delicate piano work all contribute to this perfect miniature. Philosophical, encouraging us to “take the measure of our days”, to find the lighthouse in the storm, “Say It Anyway”, on which Carpenter is accompanied only by Rollings’ delicate piano, examines life’s many cliches and the truth contained in each. “Some days we’re all imposters but pretend we’re not… All the world’s a stage except if you’re a woman of a certain age” she sings, speaking for herself and generations of intelligent women.
Write on, Mary Chapin. Sing on, sing out. A songwriter for the ages, Carpenter deserves every one of her five Grammys.
