Note: At the request of the label, we are unable to offer a song.
On a hot summer morning on Manhattan’s west side, the sight of a debutante
in a black dress, wearing what appeared to be a most uncomfortable pair
of high heels, planted the seed for the title track on Richard Julian’s
latest, Sunday Morning in Saturday’s Shoes. Julian recalls. “There
was no way she’d gotten dressed that way that morning.”
Such attentive observation is a staple of Julian’s songwriting, on
full display in his fifth full-length album (and second for Manhattan.)
When asked for a reference point for his style, the songwriter mentions
filmmaker Alexander Payne (Sideways, Election) before mentioning other musicians.
Julian’s screenplay-worthy craftsmanship is a skill that’s earned
him entrance to a mutual admiration society that includes artists like Randy
Newman, Norah Jones and Bonnie Raitt. In fact, it was Raitt who initially
suggested producer Mitchell Froom (Los Lobos, Richard Thompson, Elvis Costello
and many others), who signed on to help Julian shape Saturday Morning in
Sunday’s Shoes.
“The songs weren’t just blank canvasses,’” Julian notes.
“They had evolved into more intricate compositions, probably because
I hadn’t made a record in a while, and Mitchell is really skilled at
arranging that kind of thing. He has a highly developed sense about what
a song needs, or doesn’t need. He knows when to perform a surgical
maneuver, but also knows when to step back and just let the music be music.”
Froom paid close attention to Julian’s 11 finely honed songs, constructing
meticulous arrangements that brought out the best in Julian’s jazz-musician
sidemen, bassist Tim Luntzel and drummer Dan Reiser, as well as Julian himself.
After much musical deliberation, Froom added his own keys to a handful of
cuts.
“Mitchell would say, ‘Hey, no drum entrance here. Let’s drop
the bass out of this solo section.’ Or he might just stick an electric
guitar in my hand.” And he would do all this before we even played
a note. It wasn’t like we went in there and he just started pushing
buttons. We would discuss the tune for 15 minutes or so—he doesn’t
like to press ‘record’ until we’ve all locked eyes and know
what we’re about to do.”
Such an approach bears dividends on tracks like “Brooklyn In The Morning,”
where the music mirrors the lyrics in every aspect—a stark, almost
single-note guitar line beginning the song, drums and keys entering as the
narrator opens the curtains and faces the day, then bass dropping in as
the day gets into full swing.
“Even on songs where it’s just me playing guitar, like on ‘A
Thousand Days,’ it’s still Mitchell’s arrangement, because
he had to convince me not to screw it up with busy production ideas,”
Julian says, chuckling...
Julian says he’d always considered himself a writer—with the singing
as an afterthought—until recently. “I think that really busted
open for me on this record after working with those two singers and learning
about phrasing and letting my voice go.”
Recording with Norah Jones and bouncing ideas off Bonnie Raitt is a long
way from playing Vegas cocktail lounges, which was how Julian began his
musical career.
But after four records and logging thousands of road miles, this mild-mannered
and disarmingly charming, bespectacled artist can stop loitering in the
corner of the public's eye and takes his rightful spot front and center.
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