Neighborhood Girl

David Bowman interviews Suzanne Vega, whose poems and lyircs were recently published in the volume 'The Passionate Eye'.

By David Bowman

Feb 17, 1999 | Suzanne Vega's new collection of lyrics, poems and journalism, "The Passionate Eye," published by Avon in a handsome volume, is more substantive than a mere fan's book, but the singer-songwriter's elliptical and strangely impersonal Dickinson-ish verse will most soundly resonate with readers who already belong to her cult.

Oh, Vega has one. Many members are men. You know the kind of guy I mean -- suckers for aloof, wounded women. Think back to Vega's first, self-titled record. Not only did she proclaim Marlene Dietrich as a chilly heroine, but in "The Queen and the Soldier," a young soldier is executed on the order of the frigid queen who is "strangling in the solitude she preferred." Back in the spring of '85, when "Suzanne Vega" was released, a thousand young men (myself included) dreamed of her as an unobtainable ice maiden.

Vega released just four more records over the next 15 years. While her hit was the beaten-neighborhood-kid number "Luka," her best CD so far is 1990's "Days of Open Hand." Discreetly electric, its elegance makes it a classic somewhere between Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends" and Leonard Cohen's "New Skin for the Old Ceremony."

Although Vega's next two albums contain strong songs, both are marred by Mitchell Froom's heavy-handed production -- the man wrecked Vega's sound as thoroughly as he did Richard Thompson's. Ah, but a fellow who is about to interview Vega inside a conference room at her publisher's office better watch what he says! Vega married Froom back in 1995 and bore his child ...

So what's with Suzanne Vega in the '90s? Leonard Cohen has put out more records than you.

[Laughs] That's not true! How can that be? I had one come out in 1990. Then 1992. And 1996. That's three. How many do people want? Three seems like plenty to me. And I had a baby. And all this other stuff happened, too.

When we were kids, musicians came out with a record every year ...

Except Leonard Cohen. Yeah, but it was a different time. I don't think I could ever do that, because I find the whole thing of promoting records and being on tour absolutely exhausting. Try taking the ferry from England with a 2-year-old who has just had a chicken pox vaccine and is throwing a screaming fit. You won't think, "Oh, I'll sit down and write a beautiful, poetic song."

Have recording plans?

Not really. I'm just reorienting myself. A lot of things changed this last year. I had been recording with Mitchell and so we're not going to work together anymore. Then my record company was swallowed up by another record company. I used to be on A&M, and now I'll be on Interscope -- that is, if they don't do some massive housecleaning.

Nervous?

They've told me I'm one of the artists they're happy to work with. That's nice to hear. I believe it. I'll continue to believe it until I hear otherwise. [Pause] Yeah, I guess I'm a little nervous.

What year did Folk City [where Vega got her start in Manhattan] close?

Probably '86. Which is so ironic. There was this big folk boom that we were all supposed to be enjoying and then it just closed. Robby [the owner] was going to open Folk City somewhere else. But then he just disappeared.

Folk music still exists, but there's nothing about your work remotely hootenanny-esque. Do you care about music labels?

No. [Laughs] Over the years I've collected a fairly eclectic audience that appreciates me for the thing that I do. On the other hand I have to say that I really had a home at Folk City from the years 1980 to 1985. I was in heaven because I found other writers who were really interested in lyrics and in playing the acoustic guitar. You could argue with them and stay up all night and drink. It was great.

I didn't mind being called a folk singer back then, although I have to say it didn't help me get any gigs. I was considered kind of odd. Usually if a college coffeehouse wanted a folk singer, they wanted someone who could make the audience feel cheerful and I didn't do any of those things.

So when did you go electric?

What do you mean -- when did I put a band together? As soon as I could. Probably in 1983 I started to fool around adding a bass player. Then a synthesizer. And in 1983, the synthesizer was a big deal, a big scary step.

People have tried to get me to play electric guitar and I can't. The strings just ring out. I was trying to play electric guitar up in Woodstock and the amp caught on fire.

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