MUSIC REVIEW

RICKIE LEE JONES, Pop from the far side. Tuesday and Wednesday nights at Irving Plaza, Manhattan. Seen Tuesday.

By Letta Tayler
Staff Writer

In a hypnotic set Tuesday night at Irving Plaza, Jones took listeners on an emotional journey through her favorite back alleys and lonesome streets as she wandered through every phase of her career. The songs were set to her signature, bohemian blend of jazz, pop, folk and blues. But there was nothing tired about the sound. Jones' breathy, high-pitched voice, which she shaped into ghostly, ethereal curls, still lures like a siren and reverberates with surprises (with seeming effortlessness, she turned the word "torch" into 10 harrowing syllables). And her new covers, which she inhabited and rearranged as if they'd always been her own, were as seductive as older gems.

photo by Rick May

Jones sang and played guitar and piano, backed by a band that swelled from three core musicians (a standup bassist, drummer and keyboardist) to five as the music dictated. The sound was at once understated, accessible and complex.

Equal parts shaman and torch singer, Jones was the visual as well as the emotional anchor; at 46, she still projects the vulnerability of a young child.

One of Jones' many gifts is her dexterity. Though the offbeat, jazz-inflected groove was a constant of her two hour set, no two songs sounded alike.

She began with"Ghostyhead," the title track of her 1997 album. An eerie Beat prayer that she punctuated with scratching noises on her hollow-bodied electric guitar and propelled with howling, otherworldly wails, the song was as desolate as wind whipping through a remote bluff.

The sound was boppier but no less experimental on "Weasel and the White Boys cool," while Steely Dan's "Show Biz Kids" got a minimalist, slightly discordant spin. Gaye's "Trouble Man" (a perfect fit for Jones' sympathies with the downtrodden) was ruefully torchy.

Jones' mini-set at the piano showcased wrenchingly stark ballads such as "Coolsville" and "Skeleton," her song about the police shooting of an innocent man that remains relevant nearly two decades after it was released. The songs were propelled as much by Jones' icy piano playing as by her voice; jarring discord gave way to passages of sublime beauty.

But the mood lightened with Jones' jaunty cover of Lerner and Loewe's "On the Street Where You Live" and her wistful reworking of "Smile," a song written by Charlie Chaplin.

Jones didn't perform "Chuck E's in Love," her lone popchart hit from 1979.

It was both a brave move and a sensible one, underscoring her rightful place as a beacon on the fringes.