October 23, 2008
Written by Allison Moorer and Bruce Robison
The sweetly, sultry voice that Allison Moorer possesses consistently places her among the most gifted singers of her generation, although she’s remained unwilling to submit to the latest trends of the fickle music industry. In fact, in the credits of her 2002 album Miss Fortune, Moorer clearly stated that Pro Tools had not been used in the recording of the album. Her commitment to subtlety and a certain rawness within her performances grounds them in reality, a fact that’s kept her favorable reputation alive and well with off-the-beaten-path listeners.
“Can’t Get There from Here,” a track from Miss Fortune, showcases Moorer’s lush, soulful vocals and her equally impressive, incisive writing style. Penned by Moorer and the brilliant Bruce Robison, the song is three minutes of ruminations of a lost and searching soul, and she handles it with both heartache and hope. While the song’s story itself (boredom with a tedious life and an even more routine love) is shaded with darkness, a little hint of healing and even acceptance seeps into the song thanks to Moorer’s careful reading. Although the frustrations and failings here are insurmountable, the strength in her message and her moving vocal prove that she’s momentarily conquered her significant doubt.
This tale emphasizes “all the things that (we) can’t touch” and how these “things” seemingly prove ever-elusive. But of course, this greed and unyielding need to corral certain aspects of our lives (may they be money, prestige or in this case, lasting romantic relationships) only exacerbates our desire for more success or happiness once our original goals are achieved. And Moorer echoes our craving for some semblance of peace in the face of “winds pushing (us) in all directions,” reinforcing our knowledge that life is best judged by our perseverance, regardless of our circumstance. In light of our current social and political climate, the ice, cold beer she suggests in the chorus may prove to be the only magic cure. At least until the “home” and a “place to belong” that she pursues in the final verse, the same senerity that we seek until our final moments, is found.
So to those that fight fingers to the bone, eight hours a day, for an honest dollar that turns so quickly into a dime, and those that find yourself flailing in a difficult and demanding love affair and even those that suffer from a constant fear of writer’s inadequacy (Boldt, party of one), three cheers, and here’s to getting there.
Recommend that track, folks!