You Must Ask the Heart
Jonathan Richman deserves his due as a great pop cultural hero simply for being the original postmodern songwriter--and doing it at least a decade before we knew what that meant. Unfortunately, his output has been paltry of late. But even if 1995's You Must Ask the Heart runs a mere thirty-two minutes (half of which are taken up by covers), as a follow-up to an album where he remade his own songs in Spanish it will do just fine. Call him what you will, a rock-devolved folkie, an overly precious child-man, an adenoidal enigma. But when he sets his mind to it, Richman can still write songs as whimsical or as plainly astute as any guitar-slinger around. Self-conscious perhaps, but never self-indulgent, his songs don't get mired in the vague soul purging that makes many singer-songwriters insufferable. But a glut of retreads from a guy whose chief asset is his inventiveness suggests a drying well. He Jonathanizes Sam Cooke and "The Rose" with his sincere nasal singing, acoustic strumming, and some light accompaniment, but offers fairly standard readings. Only the up-tempo shuffle of Tom Waits's "The Heart Of Saturday Night" truly refigures the original.--Roni Sarig