A blur of sunshine '60s pop, cocktail jazz, '70s ennui, post Dylan openness and white gospel, Tapestry (Sony Legacy) endures because every aspect of it is thoughtful, well turned and almost cellularly satisfying. Originally released in March 1971, it was an instant sensation. King's dozen perfect concoctions were a weather report for the oncoming decade, and as beautiful and blue sky as many were feeling, the horizon was tinged with gray clouds. If Tapestry revealed one thing about young America it was a sense of profound confusion amidst all the newfound freedom. Choices are lovely but sometimes it's lonely standing at a crossroads. With church piano, quivering, achingly human singing and real poetry, King addressed these concerns, finding joy and sadness inside her questioning.
Recently on the Colbert Report, King joked that the reason for this latest reissue was “the label decided it was time to do another one." Her cheeky observation only points out that this album has never gone out of print but this latest incarnation is particularly nice. The fidelity of the remastered studio album is incredible, bringing the listener into the studio for a more intimate experience. The piano has real presence and the accompanying strings, acoustic guitars and focused rhythms all purr a little louder now. Harvey Kubernick's liner notes offer smart, passionate insight ("Tapestry breathes its eternal life as an album constructed of musical monologues and melodies of infinite possibility and unchallengeable fate.") and the vintage photos further add to one's sense of the special atmosphere behind this record. But, the real corker is the second disc of live piano and voice from 1973 and 1976. It's like hearing the original demos, or more accurately, King's thinking behind this album. The live disc is pulled from multiple gigs but sequenced like the original album (sans “Where You Lead"). It's a fresh perspective on one of the most enduring releases of the 20th century, and for that alone we should be grateful.
