This week In Singing Ladies 05/52
Sharleen Spiteri, Karen Carpenter, Melody Gardot, Diana Krall, Julia Holter, Caro Emerald, Miley Cyrus & Melanie Safka, Brandi Carlile, Norah Jones, Agnes Obel, Lisa Stansfield, Madeleine Peyroux
They are the 12 Singing Ladies selected among the 355 Posts we publish this week.
Here, they are reunited in one glorious playlist. Enjoy!
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Tracklist
![]() 1 . Sharleen Spiteri . Say What You Want (w/ Texas)Texas’s “Say What You Want” emerges as a polished gem from the Britpop aftermath, infused with Sharleen Spiteri’s soulful crooning and Johnny McElhone’s knack for sleek production. Released in 1997 as part of the *White on Blonde* album, the track sidesteps the swagger of mid-’90s alt-rock in favor of a glossy, assured vibe that manages to be both sultry and self-possessed. The warm, deliberate pacing of the rhythm section provides a solid foundation for Spiteri’s restrained yet emotive delivery, hinting at catharsis without ever fully tipping over into melodrama. Charting at number three in the UK Singles Chart, the song became a steady fixture, racking up a ten-week stretch of commercial relevance before solidifying its place in the UK music psyche. In 2023, recognition comes in platinum streams—600,000 units’ worth—proving that cool understatement can outlast flashier contemporaries. The accompanying music video channels a vaguely futuristic aesthetic, with Spiteri wandering through minimalist art direction that feels both dated and oddly charming viewed through today’s lens. A remix with Wu-Tang Clan members Method Man and RZA in 1998 ups the ante, adding a swaggering hip-hop edge that takes the track’s smooth core and flips it on its head. That version, retitled “Say What You Want (All Day, Every Day),” broke into the top five in the UK and rattled charts from Iceland to New Zealand, proving that even melancholy can pack a punch given the right company. The combination is more of a curiosity than a transformation, but it underscores Texas’s stylistic agility and their willingness to step outside the predictable Britpop mold. Whether in its original muted glory or its brasher remix incarnation, the song occupies a space that feels both of its time and a step ahead, a reminder that understatement rarely goes out of style. ![]() |
![]() 2 . Karen Carpenter . Only Yesterday (w/ Carpenters)“Only Yesterday” by the Carpenters, dating back to March 14, 1975, finds Karen Carpenter gliding through layers of multi-tracked vocal silk, delivering lines that teeter between heartbreak and hope. A product of Richard Carpenter’s meticulous arrangements and John Bettis’s knack for tying sentiment up in lyrical bows, the track is a late-stage nod to their chart-dominating peak. It secures its Adult Contemporary crown but only climbs to number four on the Billboard Hot 100, marking the bittersweet reality of being both celebrated and slightly past their commercial zenith. The song’s lush instrumental backbone is a blend of studio precision and emotional grandeur, carrying Karen’s tender yet commanding voice to a place that feels both intimate and cinematic. The visual counterpart, featuring the Huntington Library Gardens, serves as a visual balm – serene, precisely manicured beauty complementing the polished nature of the track. Critics like *Cash Box* wisely caught onto the song’s dynamic balance between vulnerability and technical ingenuity. This is no brash pop track clamoring for attention; it’s a carefully measured clinic in subdued power – much like the Carpenters’ legacy itself, equal parts dazzling and softly fading into yesterday’s light. ![]() |
![]() 3 . Melody Gardot . Your Heart Is As Black As Night“Your Heart Is As Black As Night” finds Melody Gardot weaving a smoky, jazz-inflected tapestry of betrayal and melancholy that seems pulled straight from a noir film. Her vocals, languid yet cutting, drip with a cynicism that could curdle cream, while the understated instrumentation—a moody cocktail of double bass, muted trumpet, and brushed drums—lurks in the shadows, refusing to demand attention but impossible to ignore. The track tiptoes between allure and menace, capturing the duality of attraction and mistrust in its subdued, sultry phrasing. Part of her critically lauded second album, “My One and Only Thrill,” this song epitomizes the record’s embrace of retro sophistication, sidestepping trends for an aesthetic that’s timeless yet defiantly old-school. While some may call her delivery theatrical, it’s this very sense of studied drama that Gardot leans into, giving weight to lyrics that might collapse under a lesser vocalist’s care. It’s not the kind of track to shout its genius—but much like the dark heart it accuses, its power lies in what it hides, not in what it declares. ![]() |
![]() 4 . Diana Krall . Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest WordDiana Krall’s take on “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word” is an elegant nod to Elton John’s 1976 original, without veering far from the blueprint. Released on her 2014 album *Wallflower*, this version gains texture through David Foster’s meticulous production and William Ross’s arrangements, managing to feel both intimate and polished. The song is a natural fit for Krall’s soft-spoken piano-driven style, yet one can’t help but notice the effort to stay reverential, to the point where it flirts with predictability. For an artist celebrated for injecting jazz phrasing and personality into covers, this rendition feels caught in a careful balancing act between homage and restraint. Her admiration for Elton John is audible, but the performance seems more deferential than transformative, less a reinterpretation and more a faithful replication with some modern sheen. *Wallflower* thrives on nostalgia, and this track is no exception—it’s a wistful exercise in remembering rather than reimagining. Chart success supports the appeal of Krall’s approach, with the album hitting notable positions globally, including number 2 in Canada and the top 10 in the US and Australia. Yet for all its technical finesse, this rendition raises the question: does faithfulness sometimes smother originality? It’s reflective and lovely in parts, but one can’t help but wonder what it might have been if daring had replaced reverence. ![]() Verve publish Diana Krall’s twelfth album . ‘Wallflower’ (2015) |
![]() 5 . Julia Holter . Feel You“Feel You” opens with the gentle shimmer of harpsichord notes, instantly evoking an air of fragile intimacy that Julia Holter leans into with precision. As the first single from her fourth album, *Have You in My Wilderness*, it offers a noticeable pivot in her artistry—a move toward something more personal, almost confrontational in its openness, without surrendering her esoteric edge. The album’s 1960s balladry influences quietly echo in the strings, which sweep in and out like they’re auditioning for the score of a lost French New Wave film. Holter’s voice, at once detached and deeply earnest, threads the needle between dreamy abstraction and immediate emotional pull. The production, co-handled with Cole M.G.N., avoids oversaturation, allowing space for every element to breathe, from the harpsichord’s crystalline plucking to the understated thrum of percussion. Critics have hailed the album’s lush soundscape, with “Feel You” serving as its gateway—a love song, perhaps, or just a reverie on human connection, as elliptical in its intent as it is meticulous in its execution. Performed live during a KEXP session, the song retained its layered textures even in a stripped-down setting, a testament to its craftsmanship rather than mere studio polish. If her earlier work felt like an exercise in conceptual rigor, *Wilderness* dares to engage with vulnerability, and nowhere is this clearer than in the crystalline poignancy of “Feel You.” ![]() |
![]() 6 . Caro Emerald . Just One Dance“Just One Dance” by Caro Emerald sidesteps contemporary trends, opting instead for a cocktail of vintage jazz, Latin flair, and modern beats that feels both nostalgic and cleverly subversive. Lifted from her 2010 debut album, “Deleted Scenes from the Cutting Room Floor,” the track finds itself among a dozen carefully curated songs that pay homage to an imagined golden age of glamour, yet smartly avoid being mere pastiche. The album, which spent an impressive 439 weeks scattered across global charts, refused to be confined by local borders, reaching admirers from Poland to the UK, Austria, and beyond, proving that music with an old-world sparkle can find 21st-century relevance. “Just One Dance” stands out for its cinematic provocations, layering infectious rhythms with the smoky allure of Emerald’s vocal delivery, suggesting a midnight rendezvous in some bygone speakeasy that never actually existed. The accompanying video, now tallying well over 4.7 million views on YouTube, leans into the fantasy, adding visual charm without descending into self-parody. While the album as a whole was an undeniable chart juggernaut, “Just One Dance” plays its part with an understated confidence, offering a sound that’s confident without overstaying its welcome. The project walks a tightrope between meticulous artifice and genuine devotion to the genres it emulates, leaving listeners suspended somewhere between a whimsical interpretation of the past and the beats of the now. ![]() |
![]() 7 . Miley Cyrus & Melanie Safka . Look What They’ve Done To My Song MaMiley Cyrus teams up with Melanie Safka for an intimate rendition of “Look What They’ve Done to My Song Ma,” a folk-tinged lament that carries a certain timeless melancholy. Originally penned and performed by Safka in 1970, the piece serves as a reflection on creative integrity under the pressures of commercialism, a topic still startlingly relevant decades later. The pairing isn’t as odd as it first seems; Cyrus’s more subdued, raspy approach complements Safka’s vintage charm, resulting in an intergenerational handshake that feels earnest rather than engineered. The performance is part of Cyrus’s Happy Hippie Presents: Backyard Sessions, a project committed to social causes like LGBTQ+ rights and youth homelessness, but rest assured, the activism remains peripheral to the music itself. The song’s poignant lyrics find fresh resonance through Cyrus’s lens, as she expertly skirts her pop polish to lean into something rawer, echoing Safka’s original vulnerability. Interestingly, the song, though not a blockbuster in its time, has enjoyed an unusually eclectic life, having been reimagined by figures as diverse as Ray Charles and Dalida, making it a curious case study in cultural malleability. Among the more notable covers, The New Seekers’ version achieved considerable chart success, especially in the U.S., where it climbed to No. 14 on the Billboard Hot 100—a feat that Safka’s own version didn’t quite replicate. This specific duet leans into understated instrumentation—a muted acoustic foundation that suggests a respect for the song’s lineage while sidestepping modern production excess. Viewed in isolation, it’s an enjoyable, if minimalistic, rendering, but its true effectiveness lies in the broader effort to pair music with social impact, a novelty that’s remarkably rare in the era of quick-hit singles. What truly stands out here isn’t the execution itself—commendable though it is—but the clear chemistry between the two artists, as they navigate the song’s reflective tone without veering into self-indulgence. ![]() |
![]() 8 . Brandi Carlile . The Things I RegretBrandi Carlile’s “The Things I Regret” doubles as both a confessional and a sonic showcase, tucked inside the critically heralded album “The Firewatcher’s Daughter.” Recorded almost entirely in unvarnished first takes at Washington State’s Bear Creek Studio, the track captures the raw vulnerability that defines Carlile’s approach to music. Its placement on an album that broke into the Billboard Top 10 speaks volumes about its alignment with Carlile’s ethos: musically unpolished yet emotionally precise. Supported by her ever-loyal collaborators, Tim and Phil Hanseroth—collectively dubbed “The Twins”—the song floats on a balanced interplay of harmonies and an acoustic backbone that feels both intimate and urgent. Live performances of “The Things I Regret,” including minimalist acoustic sets where amplification took a backseat to unadulterated musicianship, underscore its elemental potency. Though the song hasn’t grabbed the spotlight individually with awards or chart-topping accolades, its resonance within Carlile’s fanbase is impossible to dismiss. The track is an invitation to reflect, laced with a spirit of unrepentant hindsight, and yet delivered without ostentation—a reminder of the cathartic power found in musical self-honesty. While it may lack the lyrical magnetism that anchors some of Carlile’s other work, it remains tethered to a larger narrative of unfiltered emotion and communal longing. ![]() On radio today, Brandi Carlile At ‘Live From Here’ (2016) |
![]() 9 . Norah Jones . Not My FriendSliding into Norah Jones’ “Not My Friend” feels like arriving at an awkward dinner party where polite smiles hide simmering grievances. The track opens with minimalist instrumentation—plaintive piano chords and sparse acoustic strumming—leaving ample space for Jones’ smoky, subdued vocals. Unlike her earlier works that exude warmth, this song leans into colder territory, a quiet confrontation dressed in melancholy. The lyrics play out like pages torn from a particularly restrained breakup letter, filled with ellipses where more confrontational artists might have inserted exclamation points. This restrained approach isn’t new for Jones, but here, it verges on aloofness, as though the track is observing its emotional tension from a safe distance. The production, overseen by Lee Alexander, mirrors this intimacy without overcompensating—achieving an almost skeletal simplicity that strips the song to its essence. It’s part of “Not Too Late,” an album that topped charts globally in its heyday but, critically speaking, feels caught between breakthroughs and retreat. What’s intriguing is how the song’s passive-aggression mirrors the tonal development of Jones’ career—a steady departure from her Grammy-drenched debut to a more muted narrative voice. But while the song’s delicacy might appeal to devotees of restrained balladry, it risks fading into the background for listeners craving something sharper, richer, or simply less self-contained. ![]() Blue Note publish Norah Jones’ third album . ‘Not Too Late’ (2007) |
![]() 10 . Agnes Obel . Over the Hill“Over the Hill” by Agnes Obel fits seamlessly into the introspective, spare aesthetic of her debut album *Philharmonics*, released in 2010. A self-produced effort, Obel crafts an atmosphere of muted elegance, with the song leaning into her signature hushed piano arrangements and meditative melodies. The album’s success, topping charts in Denmark and Belgium while making an impression in France and the Netherlands, speaks to Obel’s quiet ability to find resonance across borders without catering to any obvious trends. “Over the Hill” itself is not the kind of track that shouts for attention; instead, it beckons you into a subdued world where her voice and instrumentals act as co-conspirators in a narrative shrouded in melancholy. There’s no high-profile collaboration or grand, cinematic hook here—just the kind of muted brilliance often ignored by mainstream pop’s thirst for spectacle. The song’s modest presence in her live performances, while not universally documented, reflects an artist confident in letting her music do the whispering. Whether through the reflective tone or the precise emotional detailing, it’s a track that invites interpretation without demanding it. It feels less like a declaration and more like a conversation between memory and fleeting introspection. ![]() |
![]() 11 . Lisa Stansfield . Can’t Dance“Can’t Dance” by Lisa Stansfield struts into the room with a polished swagger, flaunting a blend of vintage funk and contemporary gloss that feels both deliberate and effortless. Born out of her collaborative cocoon with Ian Devaney and accented by Jerry Hey’s masterful arrangements, the track carries its retro influences lightly, never collapsing under the weight of its own nostalgia. It’s a tight production, anchored by John Robinson’s drum grooves and Neil Stubenhaus’ earthy basslines, creating a rhythmic foundation that insists with a polite but firm grip. The horns, sculpted meticulously by Hey, inject sharp bursts of life, occasionally daring to recall his previous work with Michael Jackson—though there’s no moonwalking here, just a subtle nod from across the room. Stansfield’s vocal approach threads that fine line between restrained seduction and playful vitality, embodying a performer who’s acutely aware of her strengths without loudly announcing them. The remixes, from Moto Blanco’s club gloss to Snowboy’s dusty funk revival, add layers to the song’s identity without fully reconstructing its DNA—like trying on different coats while keeping the same outfit. Yet, for all its crisp execution, it doesn’t quite transcend its influences—its refusal to take risks leaves it feeling more precise than passionate. Still, whether performed live during her *Seven Tour* or bouncing through headphones on repeat, “Can’t Dance” finds its strength in its steady pulse and confident restraint, less a revolution and more a knowing wink to the dance floor veterans. ![]() |
![]() 12 . Madeleine Peyroux . The Things I’ve Seen TodayMadeleine Peyroux’s “The Things I’ve Seen Today” unfolds like a wistful postcard from a wanderer, perched between jazz-inflected phrasing and a tinge of country-folk whimsy. Clocking in at 3 minutes and 44 seconds, the track sits snugly in her 2011 album “Standing on the Rooftop,” a record that playfully dips its toes into genre-blending without fully committing to any particular pool. The song’s texture feels deceptively simple, with its laid-back tempo and sparse instrumentation offering Peyroux’s voice the spotlight to meander through its melodic terrain. Brushed drums, warm upright basslines, and easy guitar strums create a languid atmosphere that mirrors a long amble through a sunlit Parisian street—or so one imagines, given Peyroux’s formative years busking in the City of Light. Lyrically, it’s equal parts reflective and conversational, a narrational style that could double as journal entries from one of her carefree, transient days abroad. On paper, “The Things I’ve Seen Today” feels unpretentious, almost overly so, but when paired with Peyroux’s nuanced vocal delivery—lightly burnished yet bruised just enough—it becomes trickier to dismiss as merely quaint. The album’s broader reception—hitting a respectable number 22 on Spain’s music charts—hints at its quieter, niche appeal rather than mass-market ambition. Released under Decca with a music video by Pennywell Productions, the visuals opt for a straightforward accompaniment, reinforcing Peyroux’s penchant for understated storytelling. For context, Peyroux has always elicited comparisons to Billie Holiday, though increasingly, she seems eager to carve out a more idiosyncratic space for herself, swapping mimicry for reinterpretation. While her reimagining of Serge Gainsbourg’s lament “La Javanaise” in *The Shape of Water* soundtrack may have introduced her to broader audiences, “The Things I’ve Seen Today” tugs at a more intimate thread—quietly persistent rather than cinematic. Peyroux doesn’t promise fireworks here, and truth be told, the song sometimes skirts dangerously close to the mundane. But it’s in the fine details—the lift in her phrasing, the shuffle of the rhythm section—that one senses the fragility of human experience she’s attempting to bottle up and present, without much pretense or polish. Is it groundbreaking? Not remotely. But in the right moment, it simply does what it’s supposed to: it hums in the background, curling up like an old friend recounting faintly familiar stories. ![]() Madeleine Peyroux records her sixth album . ‘Standing on the Rooftop’ for Decca (2011) |
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