Six Degrees of Carole King’s Tapestry

If you were old enough to follow what was happening on the radio in 1971, you knew Carole King's Tapestry was a big deal. King had already built a venerable reputation as a songwriter, co-penning with then husband Gerry Goffin a canon's worth of pop classics, from "Take Good Care of My Baby" to "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman." But not even her acclaimed solo debut, 1970's Writer, had... prepared King or the listening public for the impact that Tapestry was about to make. The album's lyrics were both frank and adult, whether the subject was a breakup ("It's Too Late"), desire ("I Feel the Earth Move"), missing someone acutely ("So Far Away"), or a turning point in a relationship ("Will You Love Me Tomorrow?," a less plaintive version of which had been carried to No. 1 by the Shirelles in 1960). King, a Brooklyn native who, at the age of 14, would take the subway to the city to shop her songs around to the record companies, had a powerful, unaffected singing style and a distinct interpretive perspective that people connected with viscerally. "Initial response to this beautifully produced and performed album predicts wide acceptance," a reviewer for Billboard observed at the time. In fact, the album held on to the No. 1 spot on Billboard's album charts for 15 weeks and remained in the Top 200 for six years. Joni Mitchell's equally groundbreaking 1971 album, Blue, by contrast, peaked at No. 25 five weeks after its release. This edition of Six Degrees features albums that, like Tapestry, are as unabashedly melodic as they are emotional. Throw them all together into one playlist and hit shuffle, as I did, and you'll find they weave together rather seamlessly.

In a 2007 concert at LA's Troubadour, James Taylor told the story of how he first heard Carole King's "You've Got a Friend." It was there at the Troubadour, and King was rehearsing it for Tapestry, but she let her friend Taylor record it that year nonetheless. It reached No. 1 which, if you ask me, is more than polite thanks. Released in 1977, JT also yielded enduring hits ("Handy Man" and... "Your Smiling Face"), as well as showed off the artist's, well, artistry. These days, anyone with an acoustic guitar and a mournful streak is a singer-songwriter. But when King and Taylor were pioneering the genre, musicianship and versatility were still a requirement. Sweet Baby James shows his wicked side on the sly rocker "I Was Only Telling a Lie," while on "Bartender's Blues" he sings in a convincing Nasvhille nasal twang. "Traffic Jam" brings out his Kafka-esque paranoia, and "If I Keep My Heart Out of Sight" is jazz-influenced and absolutely lovely. Before heading into the studio, today's singer-songwriters might want to ask themselves, "What would JT do?"

Fiona Apple could be King's genius daughter the moody, scary-smart offspring with inspiration and talent to burn. (No offense, Louise, King's real-life recording-artist daughter.) Like King, Apple commands the piano as if it were an extension of her body, but she's less polite than King, probably because she's more angry. The piano gets a workout, and so does the band Apple's songs are tornado-like, even at their most sedate. Like a jazz... artist, Apple takes her compositions in unexpected directions; and like a good jazz artist, she knows the way back home, even on songs with lots of switchbacks, like "To Your Love." Meanwhile, her verbosity, smoky vexation and unbridled virtuosity are thrilling and almost overwhelming on "Fast as You Can," which reached No. 20 on Billboard's Modern Rock Tracks chart in 1999, and "Limp." As King might say, When the Pawn is hot and cold, all over, all over, all over, all over.

A British teen soul singer in 2008 has nothing in common with a Brooklyn-bred veteran songwriter circa 1971, right? Before you answer, think of these two women's voices: self-assured, kinda scratchy, definitely not conventionally pretty. On 19, the Mercury Prizenominated debut by young Adele Adkins, the acoustic "Daydreamer" is the most obvious corollary to Tapestry. Consisting of nothing more than her expressive voice and some unobtrusive guitar, it's got all the power... of King's "So Far Away." But if 45s ever come back, someone should press a vinyl version of the kiss-off tracks "Right as Rain" and "It's Too Late." Both are up-tempo and uncompromising. Adele: "Wipe that dirty smile off, we/ Won't be making up/I've cried my heart out/ And now/ I've had enough of love." King: "Something inside has died/ And I can't hide it/ I just can't fake it." Is it wrong to like breakup songs this much?

Bon Iver's debut disc is in many ways diametrically opposed to Tapestry. A disenchanted Justin Vernon recorded the album after a breakup, locking himself away for three wintry months in a Wisconsin cabin. As if to prove that he didn't need anyone, like, ever again just as we all want to defiantly assert our independence after a relationship ends he made the whole thing himself. The vocals, the instruments, the lyrics, the... production. It's all him. King is far too much of a people person for that sort of approach, reminding us that we've got a friend, that she wishes people didn't move around so much, and so on. But the soul of her music, the persistence with which she explores what it means to be close to another person, that's here on For Emma. King was crying out from behind her piano in her sunny Laurel Canyon home, and Bon Iver is howling from the wilds of a frozen forest. But they're both feeling the same pain.

With little more than a shoestring budget and a serious dark side, Elliott Smith minted three solid indie-label albums before signing with DreamWorks and releasing 1998's wide-screen X/O. Either/Or is the last of these mostly bare-bones recordings (Smith even played all the instruments), and it shines. Breathy and almost reserved, Smith's delivery is very please-don't-look-at-me, like he's singing to himself. Yet the content of his discontent is thrust into the spotlight by... his expertly woven melodies. He wanted these songs heard, even if it pained him to write and perform them. Smith touches levels of bitterness that King would never descend toin the quiet sarcasm of "Angeles" and "Rose Parade," and the despair of "Between the Bars," which Madeleine Peyroux, of all people has covered. But the pure songcraft of his work, that's something the two share unequivocally. It's too bad only one of them is still around.