Ten female singers of note

Karen Carpenter: The girl-next-door with the milk chocolate voice. The Carpenters were dismissed in their 1970’s hey-day due to their squeaky-clean image and a few questionable song choices, post 1976, and counter to 2010's pop landscape, Karen’s singing was never about bombast or vocal acrobatics; she simply sang the song, and she did so exquisitely. Download this album: A Song For You.

K.D. Lang: Underground interpreter began her career as a tongue-in-cheek country singer and blossomed into a vocalist beyond classification: is she country? Is she pop? It doesn’t matter, because she makes every song she sings her very own. Download this album: Ingénue.

Pat Benatar: I barely paid attention to Pat Benatar in the 1980’s, during her commercial peak, and it was my loss. Classically trained, Benatar applied her opera instruction to rock-and-roll and paved the way for girl-rockers today. She sings way too little these days, as far as I’m concerned. Download this album: Crimes Of Passion.

Denise Williams: You know her fluky hits from the 1970’s and 1980’s, “Too Much, Too Little, Too Late,” with Johnny Mathis, and “Let’s Hear It For The Boy,” from the movie, "Footloose," but there’s so much more to this phenomenal and underappreciated talent with a voice like an angel. Download this album: This Is Niecy.

Ann Wilson: When Ann released her first Heart album with her sister, Nancy, everybody thought she was merely a Robert Plant wannabe, a flash-in-the-pan novelty, but over the next decade and with two, major stylistic shifts, Ann Wilson proved she possessed a completely unique gift, and we music fans are all the better for it. Download this album: Dreamboat Annie.

Joni Mitchell: Mitchell’s voice has taken on a different timbre over the years, moving from the high-registered hippie chick from the late 1960’s, to the sultry jazz crooner in the 1970’s, to the sage and sooty, road-worn vocalist that graced her most recent album, the solemn and prayerful, Shine. Download this album: Court and Spark.

Patsy Cline: is timeless, because of her straight-forward approach to tackling songs, taking country foundations and adding a bit of pop and tin pan alley into a highly original sound that still sounds fresh today (and is, indeed, still emulated). The dance floor fills every time they play “Crazy,” as well it should. Download: Few original albums remain in print, but most “hits” packages take you where you need to go.

Tracey Thorn: Smoky, sexy, and mysterious, Thorn’s voice is the lynchpin for the duo, “Everything But The Girl,” and her quiet power sneaks up on you on spine-tinglers, like “Rollercoaster,” “Corcovado," or their best-known song, "Missing." Download this album: Amplified Heart.

"Stardust," by Willie Nelson

Willie Nelson spent the 1960’s writing hits for other country superstars, including two of his best known songs in the same year, 1961: “Hello Walls,” a number one hit for Faron Young, and “Crazy,” a top ten hit for Patsy Cline. Yet, solo success was elusive. But finally in 1975, derailed and tired of trying to fit the trends du jour, Willie Nelson decided to just be himself: he stopped cutting his hair, he exchanged his cowboy boots for running shoes, and he released the semi-autobiographic album, Red-Headed Stranger. The world’s love affair with everything Willie hasn’t stopped since. So many hits from so many albums followed: “Blue Eyes Cryin’ In The Rain,” “Good Hearted Woman,” “On The Road Again,” “Always On My Mind,” etc., but it’s 1978’s out-of-nowhere album, Stardust, that remains the perennial fan favorite.

Stardust is an album of pop-standards, and Nelson approached this concept well before doing so became a music business inevitability. Today, it’s practically a right-of-passage for middle-aged singers past their “sell by” date to record a series of albums covering “The Great American Songbook.” This proliferation of nostalgia has a long history: Carly Simon (1981’s Torch), Linda Rondstadt (1984’s What’s New?), and Sinead O’Connor (1992’s Am I Not Your Girl?). More recently, Rod Stewart and Barry Manilow have both made late careers of repackaging pop memories, and in spite of its greatness, Willie Nelson’s Stardust is, arguably, to blame.

But here’s how it happened: in the wake of his mid-70’s country crossover success, Nelson felt moved to pay tribute to the songs that inspired his own work. His record company understandably resisted the idea, as their star had finally found a commercially viable country niche, so why mess with a winning blueprint? But Nelson prevailed, choosing homage over formula, and Stardust went on to become one of the most successful country albums of all time, selling millions of copies and spending a decade on the charts.

And what’s so great about Stardust is its sheer testament to music as a shared language – his interpretations defy categorization. They’re not country, but they’re not pop, either. On Stardust, they’re simply Willie Nelson songs. In fact, when technology allowed musicians to easily “sample” other artist’s work in the early 90’s, it was controversial. But I never understood the contention. Musicians had been referencing the past from the beginning of recorded song. You can’t listen to a Simon and Garfunkel album, for example, without hearing echoes of the Everly Brothers, and what rock album released post 1969 doesn’t illustrate clear references to the Beatles? Hasn’t “new” music always been informed by what’s come before? Nelson’s Stardust illustrates this time-honored tradition of musicians inspiring musicians…and we listeners reap the benefits.

The Stardust album opens with a mystery: “Sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely nights dreaming of a song.” And Nelson spends the rest of the album answering this question: for the love of the music. With Stardust, Nelson blends country, jazz, and pop into an unidentifiable new sound never heard before or since. Always just ahead or just behind the beat, Nelson’s vocal makes one thing clear, while the songs may be familiar, it’s Willie’s house we’re in. And the album sequencing is perfect; creating a patchwork mood for the album that never lingers on one emotion for long. Stardust bounces from the quiet contemplation of “September Song” to the giddy skip-and-step of “Sunny Side Of The Street” and then back again.

In space, stardust is a tiny granule of terrestrial matter that existed before the earth was formed: a dust grain that condensed from cooling gases of prehistoric stars. Essentially, stardust is an artifact of what came before, but is now gone. And the songs Nelson picked for this album seem to follow this motif, longing for what is no more: longing for home (“Georgia On My Mind,” “Moonlight In Vermont”), longing for connection (“All Of Me,”), or longing for lost love (“Unchained Melody,” “September Song,” and of course, the title track).

And the longing is what keeps me coming back to Stardust over thirty years later. In fact, this album regularly finds its way on my playlist during quiet weekend afternoons with my partner, when I’m feeling nostalgic about the farm, or when I’m thinking of those I’ve loved and lost along the way. The songs somehow bring everything and everyone back as if they'd never been gone, or as Nelson sings, “the melody haunts my reverie, and I am once again with you.”