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 I used to think Jill Jack was just a 'darling of the monied middle-class' who created safe pop music for mass consumption. Her popularity in certain circles piqued my aversion to trends and it was easier to discount her than to find out why she mattered. But knowing my presumptions were loaded, I went to P.B. Putters to find out for myself why "Jill Jack" is such a well-known alliteration in this state.
Click "Read More" for a lengthy article.
Darling of the Middle Class
With the Stanley Cup safely within the grasp of our Wondrous Red Wings (7-0 shut-out over Colorado? If they lose The Cup to Carolina I'm gonna cry) , I slipped out to catch Jill Jack at P.B. Putters, an A-Frame dinner bar in New Hudson.
I was reminded of Jill Jack after hearing her sing back-up on Robb Roy's new single,"Roll On." If she's good enough for our Scottish home-boys she must be worth a serious listen.
"I never even considered anyone else to sing that part," said Graham Strachan, lead singer and songwriter for Robb Roy. "I could hear that voice in my head." Indeed, Jack's voice lends a distinctive flavor to the tune that illustrates some of Strachan's road experiences.
Of course I'm way late coming to the party: Jill Jack's won numerous Detroit Music Awards over the years and has a long list of other accomplishments and credits. She's became popular enough for everybody in the press to take a shot at her, including me. If I remember correctly, in 2000 I pegged her as the 'darlling of the monied middle-class" - a cheap shot based on her popularity and her Courtney Cox hair-do of all things, a first impression from a crank with an aversion to trends.
Welcom to "Golf-Hood"
Since P.B. Putters was in the hood (with the most liberal use of that slang - any house with less than a $300,000 market value in this area is considered "the projects") I figured it was a safe two-mile drive. I'm not into sports-theme dinner bars, especially when the theme is golf - I can't shake the stereotype of it being a classist pastime for rich white guys (at least not while there are "Fuzzy" rednecks out there playing the game who make cracks about fried-chicken to Tiger Woods). But I can certainly understand the attraction to these gig$; there won't be any haggling over bar-tabs or 'taking the door' at this pub. Hell, even the obnoxious drunks drive new Cadillacs.
The crowd in the upstairs loft was sparse, which was unusual for a Jill Jack appearance at P.B. Putters according to the bar-maid who made sure I understood this was not a typical night "Jill Jack" night.
"I don't understand it - must be the hockey game," said the barmaid. "But she does a great 'Sweet Child 'O Mine!' Wait til she does that!" Oh, the anticipation...
A seven-foot blond (well, she seemed that tall from my vantage point) in tight pink "slacks" was challenging the blood-pressure of an old guy on the dancefloor. He was eighty if he was a day. That's the kind of joint this is; where beautiful young women dance with rich old men. The old guy was eating it up and the blond was already teetering from an early start. If the show fell flat, I might still get some quality entertainment.
Soccer-Moms and Soul Queens
The first thing to strike me about Jill Jack was her piercing voice; its rare to hear a singer whose voice can cut through a five-piece band and create enough separation to be distinctly heard. I'm not just talking about a good mix here, but a unique timbre that sets an instrument apart from the rest. Not at all unpleasant, but piercing.
It's one thing to have a nice instrument but Jack knows how to use it to keep those well-paying golf gigs. She can color it with the rootsy swallow of Roseanne Cash, channel the passionate blues of Janis Joplin, or make Chris Robinson wish he'd opted to have his testicles removed after all.
No wonder the putter-toting business class love her; from the stage she looks as harmless and pretty as a yuppie soccer-mom but she works the vocal mojo like an sexy soul-queen. Cheryl Crow's got nothin' on you babe (except a Grammy I suppose - but there's still time ).
Upon closer inspection, Jill Jack didn't strike me as the country club type at all - she wasn't wearing any make-up (she didn't need it) and her dress was closer to music-gypsy than Martha Stewart. The rough edge below her smooth features suggested she may even be from my side of the tracks - a presumption of familiarity that put me at ease.
Timber Time for Towering Trollops
I made it through three covers and one drink before a couple of well-lubricated local girls came up to ask, "Are you reporting on us?" They giggled and poked at each other as I routinely explained the reason for the writing pad and the camera. As usual, the explanation was anticlimactic.
"I'd write about you if you did something interesting, " I jabbed. That shut 'em up, but not soon enough. The seven-foot blond dancing with the eighty-plus "geri" (i.e. geriatric person) fell right on her ass into a front-row table, knocking drinks and chairs to the floor and I missed the whole damn thing. But I did see something more interesting if not as entertaining.
In a touching act of grace, Jill Jack took it upon herself to leave the stage and help the bumbling blond to her feet. She was probably too drunk to be embarassed, but Jack commiserated with the poor girl anyway and made jokes at her own expense to dissipate the scene. I'm liking Jill Jack more by the minute.
The band jumped in and began "The Love Hotel", the title track from Jill Jack's fourth full-length release. It's a country-flavored roadhouse piece with a hip-swaggering rhythm you can't help but tap with your foot. I haven't a clue what the song's about (even after reading Jack's cryptic lyrics) but it had a catchy beat and filled the dance floor with what there were for patrons. The eighty-something "geri" was giving the seven-foot blonde another shot at giving him a heart-attack on the dance floor. Paddles please. Clear!
You don't know Jack
After a few more covers, most of which the band were pulling from memory for their own pleasure due to the low turn-out, Jill Jack sat down to chat and fill in the blanks for me. She was much warmer, personable and laid-back than I imaginged her.
Jill Szczesny grew up the middle child of five (four girls and one boy)in Huntington Woods. Her musical tastes and interest in playing guitar were hand-me-downs from her older sisters who cultured her in the rock 'n roll of the times. When high school rolled around, Jill was singing in talent shows and began to discover her voice.
When she'd fully come of age (twenty-seven), Jill married David Jack (currently drumming with The Forbes Brothers) who she followed through a string of bands she said never quite satisfied her desire to write or succeed. When Jack quit her cushy day-job at an accounting firm to pursue her own music full-time, their ten-year marriage fell apart.
"There was a lot of talking and ideas being thrown around in those bands but nobody was doing anything about it," Jack said. Making the decision to go solo was something she felt compelled to do, despite the consequences for her and her daughter.
In the mid-nineties, Jill Jack hooked up with Ash Can Van Gogh guitarist Billy Brandt who encouraged her to write her own music. Brandt released Jack's critically acclaimed debut, "Watch Over Me." on his Drum Dancer Records label. Since then the two have been inseperable, both on and off stage.
Alabama is a place to go...
Jill Jack now divides her time equally between raising her daughter and pursuing her musical passions - wherever they may lead. But the evolution of her career may depend on a geographic shift for both if her feelings can be trusted.
"I'm feeling a strong connection to the south lately," said Jack. "Alabama, in particular." a series of coincidences and nagging intuitions kept leading her to the same conclusion. "Just the other day I was talking to a friend about the music scene down south and who do you think was playing the in background?" she smiled. Alabama, of course.
Though it'd be a loss for The Great Lake State, it's probably just as well; over the past five years she and Brandt have taken her music about as far as it can go in this state. She's opened for national acts at both Pine Knob (DTE Energy Music Theater) and The State Theater, she's been hired to sing commercial jingles, collected favorable press clippings and made appearances on just about every local media outlet of any merit, produced three full-length CD's and one six-song EP and has a box-full of Detroit Music Awards to prove her worth to anyone who questions it. At this point in the Michigan game, anything else might be anti-climactic.
Death by Overexposure
In fact, the popular tide has already begun to turn against Jill Jack; this year she was nominated for five DMA awards and didn't win a single one. Not because she isn't deserving, I'd bet, but because even the voters of the MCMF are tired of seeing her name come up time and again. That over-exposure has led some misguided journalists (a'hem) to take cheap shots at her - or worse, ignore her latest effort altogether.
But Jill Jack has taken the rejection in stride. She's much more relaxed these days and seems quite content to keep doing what she knows, what she loves and what she's good at. Losing the DMA's this year might very well prove to be a good omen.
"I'm certainly not as naive as I was when I started all this," said Jack, sipping an ice-water to sooth her weary throat. She was suffering a head-cold but you'd never know it to hear her sing. "But I really believe "The Love Hotel" is the best work I've done to date."
With her current line-up of Billy Brandt on guitar, Chris Colovas on bass, Jason Fisher on guitar, Nino Dmytryszyn on drums and Tim Diaz on keys, Jill Jack continues to do whatever it takes to get her voice heard. Though she doesn't know what's next, I think she knows to just keep moving.
'Old Man, Put That Bottle Down'
The night was winding down and the small crowd tucked away in the cozy loft at P.B. Putter's was thinning out. By this point, even the seven-foot blond was beginning to sober-up, having danced most of the alcohol out of her system with just about every guy in the room - though I think she had a soft-spot for the eighty-something geri who enjoyed more turns at the tower than anyone.
"We've only got time for one more, so what do y'all want to hear, " Jack queried the room. Thankfully, but much to the bar-maid's chagrin, Billy Brandt rejected the idea of closing with Guns 'n Roses, "Sweet Child 'O Mine." Then the bartender yelled out "Play 'Old Man'."
"You mean from our record? Our 'Old Man?"" Jack questioned coyly. After all her successes, she still didn't seem to believe someone really wanted to hear a song she wrote. "Ok, I wrote this song about a old guy I saw sitting on the curb on 8 Mile with a bottle of gin," and the band took it from there.
Though they could expertly cover rock, pop and soul tunes for the Putter-ing patrons, I was struck by how the band came alive when playing their originals. First with the soulful and wrenching "Full Circle" off her EP, Live From Billy's Basement then with the closer, "Old Man" off of her latest release, "The Love Hotel." Old Man has a repetitive chorus that strikes at the root of Jack's unique voice, giving it almost a bell-like quality that rings in your ears long after listening.
Necessary Sins
I drove the two-miles home with the "Old Man" hook playing a loop in my head. I was glad that my preconceptions of Jill Jack had been put down. If she truly were the 'darling of the monied middle-class' she'd earned it with her unique voice, her heart-felt songwriting, and all the hard work and risk she'd put into her music over the past five years.
I just hope her talent is appreciated by the people who want her to sing their favorite bar-cover. It's an unfortunate but necessary sin that she has to sing anything she didn't write. But I'm grateful I had a chance to see her perform before she moves on.
If Jill Jack is feeling Alabama, all I can say is, "God speed, Jill Jack."
- Mitch Phillips
Visit Jill Jack's Website
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Re: Rediscovering Jill Jack (Score: 1)
by distortiondave on Tuesday, June 11, 2002 @ 16:10:38 MDT
(User Info | Send a Message) | Mitch,
With the exception of mispelling "darling" of the monied middle class (5th paragraph) and not knowing that Cheryl Crow covered "Sweet Child 'O Mine" (or did you?) before Jill did, I have to say that you did a splendid job on this article!
Keep up the good work!
(I know, shut the ***** up)
Napolean K
On my way to Alabama with a banjo on my knee....................... |
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Average Score: 4.66
Votes: 6
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