NEWS : WED, OCT 9, 2024 at 7:00 AM
Clairo Shares Cover Of “Love Songs” By Margo Guryan
As previously announced, On November 8th, Sub Pop will release Like Someone I Know: A Celebration Of Margo Guryan, a 12-song compilation and homage to Guryan’s classic 1968 record, Take a Picture. Today, Clairo has shared a dreamy cover of Guryan’s track, “Love Song.”
This 12-song compilation features additional reinterpretations by contemporary artists such as Margo Price, TOPS, Rahill, June McDoom, MUNYA & Kainalu, Frankie Cosmos & Good Morning, Kate Bollinger, Pearl & The Oysters, Bedouine & Sylvie, Barrie, and Empress Of. The release of Like Someone I Know: A Celebration Of Margo Guryan also coincides with the third anniversary of Margo’s passing. A portion of proceeds from this album will be donated to providing and advocating for affordable reproductive health services.
About Margo Guryan:
Most of our stories about cult musicians who make an album or two and then seem to vanish are framed by grief, despair, and frayed ambition. Not so with Margo Guryan, an ardent jazz anomaly who disdained pop music until hearing “God Only Knows” in 1966, opening a window onto the wonders that form could contain. Only two years later, she released her own set of little pop symphonies, Take a Picture, to great praise and expectation. But having already divorced the hard-gigging valve trombonist Bob Brookmeyer, she declined to tour or even talk about it all that much, content even if her reticence meant Take a Picture was soon consigned to discount racks and cutout bins. She wrote and recorded for years to come, even collaborating with Neil Diamond’s band, but mostly she seemed satisfied by her relatively private life—raising her stepson, Jonathan; carousing with a small clutch of pals; talking politics with whoever was game. Rather than a tragedy, Guryan was an ornate pop architect who also drew and lived by her boundaries.
But as befits music so stunning and subtle, Guryan, who died in 2021, has enjoyed several renaissances over the last few decades—multiple reissues and international intrigue, faithful champions who introduced her tender work to successive generations. And now, it’s happening again: Soon after her near-whispered and lovelorn hymn “Why Do I Cry” made her a TikTok star in 2021, the same year she passed, Numero Group launched a reissue campaign, resulting in the acclaimed 2024 set, Words and Music. And now, a dozen artists—none of whom were born when Take a Picture was made, most of whom weren’t even born for a crucial early reissue by Franklin Castle—have reinterpreted and reimagined that entire album (plus one bonus track) for Like Someone I Know: A Celebration of Margo Guryan. Empress Of, Margo Price, Clairo, June McDoom: They all affirm Guryan’s sharpness as a songwriter and the brilliance of an album that has far outstripped whatever promotional cycle Guryan rejected so long ago.
Guryan was born to a sprawling family in a home so big it housed multiple generations just before World War II in Far Rockaway, back when the place was still mostly framed by trees. Her family was matrilineal, with a mother who worked as a radiologist while her father played piano at home and a widowed grandmother who ran the place with unwavering sovereignty. While still a composition student at Boston University, Guryan stumbled into a gig playing piano between Miles Davis Quintet sets, signed a songwriting deal with Atlantic Records, and botched a session with Nesuhi Ertegun. But she wasn’t looking to be a singing star, anyway. In 1959, she headed to the foundational Lenox School of Jazz in the Berkshires, staving off advances from her contemporaries to write for Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry, earn the attention of instructor Max Roach, and made a longtime mentor and friend of Gunther Schuller. She became an accomplished lyricist, writing not only for Coleman and Nancy Harrow but also for Harry Belafonte and Gary MacFarland.
But it was that subsequent encounter with the Beach Boys that opened the trap door for Guryan to Take a Picture and scores of other super songs, many of which appear on Words and Music. Take a Picture is a sophisticated survey of mid-20s romance and indecision, from the flirty romp of “Sunday Morning” and falling-for-you affirmation “Can You Tell” to the desperate helplessness of “What Can I Give You.” In less than 150 seconds, “Thoughts” traces a relationship from its ecstatic start to empty end, Guryan’s pillowtop voice sitting perfectly between the bouncing piano and lachrymose strings. She mines nostalgia for the recent past in “Someone I Know” and, quite brilliantly, for something that hasn’t even ended yet in the title cut.
What remains astonishing about Take a Picture is how placid and nice the surface can seem yet how much is going on just beneath it—the difficult rhythmic shifts, the textural juxtapositions, the dissonance and eeriness lurking in the crevices. Twice as long as almost everything else here, the willfully psychedelic excursion and closer, “Love,” is a jarring semaphore, telling you to go back and listen for the intricacies in everything else. “When do you get to be someone who can give/And live without hurting someone you love?” she coos over caustic guitar and curling organ, the question spilling in reverse over the rest of the record.
Those mirrored senses of slyness and meticulousness, both musical and lyrical, presided over Guryan’s output long after any idea of stardom had faded. She turned earthquake danger into existential boogie on “California Shake,” celebrated the outlaws and their long odds during “I’d Like to See the Bad Guys Win,” and danced with entendre during “Come to Me Slowly.” Indeed, Guryan was not afraid of mischief, whether lampooning the president and all his men during a three-song suite about Watergate or presaging Rihanna by half a century on “Under My Umbrella.” Her perpetually soft voice, audacious songcraft, and complete candor: Guryan, in 1968 and beyond, was making daring music, no matter how gently those sounds seemed to move.
A portion of proceeds being donated to providing and advocating for affordable reproductive health services, Like Someone I Know reinforces the strength of Guryan’s songs by allowing different artists to take them for trips of their own. The core always remains, unwavering. McDoom stretches static and harmony beneath “Thoughts,” as if they’re spinning on a dub plate beneath her arcing vocals. Rahill lets “Sun” unfurl over harmonium drone and entrancing percussive ticks, digging into Guryan’s interest in the surreal. Frankie Cosmos and Good Morning take a country shuffle through “Take a Picture,” entwined vocals falling over the rhythmic skips with perfect romantic relish. Over the last few decades, it has become increasingly clear just how good Guryan was, how sturdy her songs have been amid varying tides of taste. Like Someone I Know offers absolute validation, a testament to the enduring relevance and brilliance of Guryan’s work.
Most of our stories about cult musicians who make an album or two and then seem to vanish are framed by grief, despair, and frayed ambition. Not so with Margo Guryan, an ardent jazz anomaly who disdained pop music until hearing “God Only Knows” in 1966, opening a window onto the wonders that form could contain. Only two years later, she released her own set of little pop symphonies, Take a Picture, to great praise and expectation. But having already divorced the hard-gigging valve trombonist Bob Brookmeyer, she declined to tour or even talk about it all that much, content even if her reticence meant Take a Picture was soon consigned to discount racks and cutout bins. She wrote and recorded for years to come, even collaborating with Neil Diamond’s band, but mostly she seemed satisfied by her relatively private life—raising her stepson, Jonathan; carousing with a small clutch of pals; talking politics with whoever was game. Rather than a tragedy, Guryan was an ornate pop architect who also drew and lived by her boundaries.
But as befits music so stunning and subtle, Guryan, who died in 2021, has enjoyed several renaissances over the last few decades—multiple reissues and international intrigue, faithful champions who introduced her tender work to successive generations. And now, it’s happening again: Soon after her near-whispered and lovelorn hymn “Why Do I Cry” made her a TikTok star in 2021, the same year she passed, Numero Group launched a reissue campaign, resulting in the acclaimed 2024 set, Words and Music. And now, a dozen artists—none of whom were born when Take a Picture was made, most of whom weren’t even born for a crucial early reissue by Franklin Castle—have reinterpreted and reimagined that entire album (plus one bonus track) for Like Someone I Know: A Celebration of Margo Guryan. Empress Of, Margo Price, Clairo, June McDoom: They all affirm Guryan’s sharpness as a songwriter and the brilliance of an album that has far outstripped whatever promotional cycle Guryan rejected so long ago.
Guryan was born to a sprawling family in a home so big it housed multiple generations just before World War II in Far Rockaway, back when the place was still mostly framed by trees. Her family was matrilineal, with a mother who worked as a radiologist while her father played piano at home and a widowed grandmother who ran the place with unwavering sovereignty. While still a composition student at Boston University, Guryan stumbled into a gig playing piano between Miles Davis Quintet sets, signed a songwriting deal with Atlantic Records, and botched a session with Nesuhi Ertegun. But she wasn’t looking to be a singing star, anyway. In 1959, she headed to the foundational Lenox School of Jazz in the Berkshires, staving off advances from her contemporaries to write for Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry, earn the attention of instructor Max Roach, and made a longtime mentor and friend of Gunther Schuller. She became an accomplished lyricist, writing not only for Coleman and Nancy Harrow but also for Harry Belafonte and Gary MacFarland.
But it was that subsequent encounter with the Beach Boys that opened the trap door for Guryan to Take a Picture and scores of other super songs, many of which appear on Words and Music. Take a Picture is a sophisticated survey of mid-20s romance and indecision, from the flirty romp of “Sunday Morning” and falling-for-you affirmation “Can You Tell” to the desperate helplessness of “What Can I Give You.” In less than 150 seconds, “Thoughts” traces a relationship from its ecstatic start to empty end, Guryan’s pillowtop voice sitting perfectly between the bouncing piano and lachrymose strings. She mines nostalgia for the recent past in “Someone I Know” and, quite brilliantly, for something that hasn’t even ended yet in the title cut.
What remains astonishing about Take a Picture is how placid and nice the surface can seem yet how much is going on just beneath it—the difficult rhythmic shifts, the textural juxtapositions, the dissonance and eeriness lurking in the crevices. Twice as long as almost everything else here, the willfully psychedelic excursion and closer, “Love,” is a jarring semaphore, telling you to go back and listen for the intricacies in everything else. “When do you get to be someone who can give/And live without hurting someone you love?” she coos over caustic guitar and curling organ, the question spilling in reverse over the rest of the record.
Those mirrored senses of slyness and meticulousness, both musical and lyrical, presided over Guryan’s output long after any idea of stardom had faded. She turned earthquake danger into existential boogie on “California Shake,” celebrated the outlaws and their long odds during “I’d Like to See the Bad Guys Win,” and danced with entendre during “Come to Me Slowly.” Indeed, Guryan was not afraid of mischief, whether lampooning the president and all his men during a three-song suite about Watergate or presaging Rihanna by half a century on “Under My Umbrella.” Her perpetually soft voice, audacious songcraft, and complete candor: Guryan, in 1968 and beyond, was making daring music, no matter how gently those sounds seemed to move.
A portion of proceeds being donated to providing and advocating for affordable reproductive health services, Like Someone I Know reinforces the strength of Guryan’s songs by allowing different artists to take them for trips of their own. The core always remains, unwavering. McDoom stretches static and harmony beneath “Thoughts,” as if they’re spinning on a dub plate beneath her arcing vocals. Rahill lets “Sun” unfurl over harmonium drone and entrancing percussive ticks, digging into Guryan’s interest in the surreal. Frankie Cosmos and Good Morning take a country shuffle through “Take a Picture,” entwined vocals falling over the rhythmic skips with perfect romantic relish. Over the last few decades, it has become increasingly clear just how good Guryan was, how sturdy her songs have been amid varying tides of taste. Like Someone I Know offers absolute validation, a testament to the enduring relevance and brilliance of Guryan’s work.
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