This year marks the twentieth anniversary of Amy Rigby‘s cult classic Diary of a Mod Housewife album. Divorced and living with her daughter Hazel in pre-gentrified Williamsburg at the time, the songwriter and former member of the well-loved East Village Americana trio the Shams imbued her catchy songs with equal parts C&W, classic Brill Building pop, pink-collar defiance and outrageous humor. Two decades later, Rigby is the rare rock songwriter who’s earned her own Genius page, and she’s returning to her old East Village stomping grounds, with a couple of 8 PM shows at Hifi Bar tonight and tomorrow, Nov 16 and 17.
She played a weekly residency here in May of last year and predictably packed the former Brownies space. The premise was to play a completely different set each night, which was hardly an issue considering her formidable back catalog, but became problematic since she was getting so many requests from the floor. This blog was in the house for the final show when she finally relented and treated the crowd to a gently swaying, quietly heartwrenching take of the towering, Beatlesque ballad Summer of My Wasted Youth. In light of what happened a week ago Tuesday, it’s even more painful to look back and realize that there once was a time when an aspiring songwriter could survive on unemploymen without once using a credit card, study country harmony and afford to drink cheap Polish beer in a Williamsburg bar.
Rigby did most of the set solo, the uneasy tremolo in her velvet voice matched by the Lynchian effect on her guitar. Rode Hard, a cynically upbeat honkytonk-flavored rocker on album, took on a special plaintiveness in stripped-down form, but also raised the quiet, steely indomitability at the end of the song .The real creeper of the night was the bolero-flavored murder ballad Keep It to Yourself, which ponders taking out a nasty, narcissistic ex just plausibly enough that it might not be just a fantasy.
There were plenty of Rigby’s signature funny songs too. The best was the faux bubblegum-pop tune As Is, with its litany of damaged goods in the dollar store, Rigby’s broke narrator rationalizing how she and her daughter were going to make the best of a dire situation. She introduced it with a nonchalantly harrowing story of how deeply impoverished she and her daugher had actually been back in the 90s. There was some rare material in the set as well, including the uproarious riff-rocking Hometown Blues, dating back to the songwriter’s restless Pittsburgh childhood, and a quaintly rockabilly-flavored song about trying to get a band off the ground in the 80s (memo to aspiring youngsters – it was a lot easier than it is now, and it was hard back then).
Rigby’s now-grown bassist daughter then joined her to duet on a Tex-Mex flavored tune and an Everlys-inspired ballad. Then Rigby’s husband Wreckless Eric – one of the few musicians whose sense of humor and knack for spinning a yarn can match hers – supplied a fiery Chuck Berry Strat shuffle on a hard-charging take of another funny favorite, Get Back in the Car, a song any exasperated parent can relate to. There were also plenty of quieter numbers in the mix as well; it’ll be interesting to hear what else the prolific Rigby has come up with since then.