Happy 5th Anniversary to Lalah Hathaway’s Live, originally released October 30, 2015.
When asked in 1991, “Who else is out there that you like?” Whitney Houston paused to search her thoughts. “I like Lalah Hathaway. She’s got a rich, rich voice; reminds me of her father’s.” High praise notwithstanding, you may still not know her. This is common. The world exists in varying states of discovering who Lalah Hathaway is.
She’s a paradox: pedigreed music royalty and underdog all in one. Even with five GRAMMYs, some still can’t pronounce the Berklee graduate’s name correctly (it’s “LAY-luh,” just like Eric Clapton’s song about the woman that got him on his knees).
The last name is easier to remember. Her father Donny Hathaway, a vanguard of ‘70s soul, made it unforgettable with his stirring baritone and lavish musicality. Though his career was cut tragically short, he lives on through the artists who echo his influence. Still, few of those artists capture the complex, earthy yearning and push-pull of his voice like his own daughter Lalah.
She invested that inheritance into a discography that somehow never got a “greatest hits” treatment. Lalah Hathaway Live serves that purpose. Upon arrival, the disc became the entertainer’s highest chart entry, peaking at R&B #2. Apart from hosting 60 years of music history firsts, The Troubadour in West Hollywood is where half of Donny Hathaway’s watershed 1972 release Live was taped the previous year. Apropos, his daughter chose the location for her first live album as well.
I was at the earlier of two shows on April 21, 2015. The first number that evening became the resultant record’s opener and lead single: a note-perfect cover of Donny’s “Little Ghetto Boy.” I was transported to 1971 as we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, watching a glitter-speckled Lalah stand where her father stood, singing his song, in his key, in his way.
This was the closest I would ever come to experiencing her father live. Donny Hathaway’s spirit couldn’t have been anywhere else but that room that night, looking on proudly. There are moments during Lalah’s performances where it seems as though her father is literally singing through her. In a sense, both Hathaways won when The Recording Academy bestowed the GRAMMY for Best Traditional R&B Performance on “Little Ghetto Boy” in February 2016.
These concerts are not unlike a charismatic church service. First of all, the congregation will be asked to put their smartphones away, be fully present, and hold the music sacred. Second, you will be expected to talk back when the spirit moves you. Invariably, a lyric or a lick, a riff or a hum will smack your soul around and make you ask a neighbor, “Did you hear that too?” Finally, just as her dad’s 1971 concertgoers translated in real-time the feeling in the air, your enthusiastic feedback becomes an element of the music, completing the circuit between artist and audience.
You can hear that energy surge as the band glides into Anita Baker’s “Angel,” a setlist staple since tributing Baker with it at the 2010 Soul Train Awards. Baker made a rare public appearance at the Troubadour that night to bless the event. “Angel” was released as the second single which became an Adult R&B #1 and earned Hathaway her third consecutive GRAMMY in the Best Traditional R&B Performance category.
Although Hathaway’s 1999 studio take of the Randy Crawford deep cut “When Your Life Was Low” left no room for improvement, it got a nonpareil reinterpretation on stage that night. If you want to understand why there’s so much ado about her versatile alto, examine some of its features here.
Superior breath control keeps her phrases graceful, even when floating a melody above the crowd’s heads for an unbroken 37 seconds. She flaunts her pitch acuity by sprinting up a staircase of notes at the end, deftly landing on each one like a master orator crisply articulating each word. Though capable of casually dazzling feats, less is more. To wit, restraint is her chief feature.
That control allows for complex explorations on “I’m Coming Back.” Phrygian siren calls and indigenous ululations zigzag through her a cappella intro. With only rattling percussion to back her, curious tension steadily mounts until a shimmering groove begins trickling through at the one-minute mark.
This ballad once belonged to the late Vesta Williams whose 1986 original was impressive, but too rushed to appreciate the vocals clustered onto it. By contrast, Hathaway slow-cooks it until it’s fall-off-the-bone tender. A trio of sung somersaults garnish one phrase (“With every passing day I find / It was a fool’s mistake to run and hide”), prompting a listener to scream, “Sing, Lalah!” Such an outburst is normal. What’s odd is if you can sit in that audience, hear what the artist is giving, and still feel nothing.
While known for covers, Live also salutes original compositions from her 1990 self-titled debut (“Baby Don’t Cry”), its 1994 successor A Moment (“These Are The Things”), and the 2008 masterwork Self Portrait (“Little Girl” and “Breathe”). The concert portion concludes with a reprise of her song “Lean On Me,” inviting Robert Glasper to paint a brilliant keyboard solo across it before she bids the room adieu.
Hathaway believed in this project so passionately, she crowdfunded via Kickstarter to get it done. Live albums were once a rite of passage to prove an artist’s legitimacy. Now, in an industry plagued by artifice, they are nearly an act of rebellion. A section of requisite studio tracks on Lalah Hathaway Live is the easiest compromise.
A standout among them is the introspective self-love anthem “Mirror” which Hathaway co-wrote and produced herself. The DJ Camper-helmed “Whatever” is a hidden treasure built around an artfully destroyed Lalah vocal loop. She sings of soured love over a murky, brooding trap beat and synth fuzz bass (“I don't love you, I don't want you, don't need you no more / Everything that you done tried, I done seen it before”).
Those gloriously dark textures recur on a Terrace Martin remix simply titled “Ghetto Boy” featuring Snoop Dogg and Robert Glasper. Granted it’s not a part of the proper album, this stark yet hopeful overhaul of Live’s lead single is still essential listening.
Currently, a global pandemic has us wondering if we’ll ever again pass energy back and forth between artist and audience, packed shoulder-to-shoulder under hot lights, singing, swaying. Lalah Hathaway Live presciently documented that ritual, but only in part. Less than half the sprawling setlist survived the record’s final cut. Hopefully her divine rendition of her dad’s “A Song For You” will someday resurface.
Short of an in-person experience, you miss her disarming beauty and regal presence. The intellectual dry wit between songs gets lost. Prayerfully, it’s soon safe to again savor good vibes with likeminded aficionados of top tier musicianship. Until then, we have this magical release that ultimately took home the big prize, a GRAMMY for Best R&B Album. It’s not even the full extent of what Hathaway has to offer. It was just all that the microphones knew how to pick up.
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