For those of you out there who are still perplexed by the cult of Judy, may I suggest hardily this amazing DVD? Culled from her now legendary CBS TV series in the early 1960�s, this collection features a selection of solo performances, and �Come Rain or Come Shine� sums up things here perfectly. It is a frenzied, riveting, almost frightening reading of the song. Nick Cave or Polly Harvey wish they were this intense � or perhaps (wisely) they don�t. Judy at this point is a woman ravaged by both her life - alcohol, pills, suicide attempts, catastrophic illness and innumerable career failures and comebacks - and to a certain extent her own astonishing, almost vampryric talent. To see this frail little creature � she was in her early 40�s, but looks about 60 � totter onto this empty stage and become possessed by a song - her voice soaring, her talent surging through her like high voltage electricity - is almost too much to watch. But one has to watch her � even if only to see whether see she spontaneously combusts during the performance. (And those old time Judy-queens still amongst us � God bless them � swear this footage only hints at what it was like to see her live.) Must be seen/heard to be believed.

The first track from the first of Joni�s �jazz� LPs of the late 1970�s is all about opposition and equilibrium, (as are all her songs from this period). It is both richly melodic and dense/chant-like in structure, empty and lush in arrangement, its propulsive/hypnotic groove studded with Jaco Pastorius� weird, atonal bass speed bumps. Joni�s words/voice/performance is likewise wildly romantic and knowingly jaded simultaneously. The song is the sound of best singer/songwriter ever elegantly/effortlessly pushing the envelope.

An outstanding live reading of this song recorded by Talking Heads� �big band� on the tour to support �Remain in Light� in 1980. Augmenting their original quartet with six extra players, the sound of the group is huge and funky, but appropriately paranoid. Check out the use the of Adrian Belew�s freaky guitar textures � here between stints w/Bowie and Robert Fripp�s soon to be reformed King Crimson, and Dolette McDonald�s cinematic background vocals on the song�s break. (It�s all very Morricone-damaged, I think). And David Bryne is @ the absolute height of his powers, here.

Perhaps the least typical track from the 4AD house band � and, ironically, one of the project�s great triumphs. Abandoning for a moment their gorgeous� prototype - beautifully dreamy soundscapes and/or readings of songs by Tim Buckley, Alex Chilton, etc. � this Talking Heads cover is little more that a series of grinding, funky sample loops w/Alison Limerick�s soulful vocals drifting in and out. A brilliant rethink of the song, that anticipates (perhaps influenced?) the Bristol/trip-hop mob - Portishead, Tricky, Massive Attack, et al. (Can still be found as a vinyl 10� single, if you look hard.)

This is so wrong; it ends up being right somehow. On paper, this cover is a car wreck. Barbara takes on Bowie�s brilliant, epic ballad of camp surrealism � his homage to big, theatrical female belters like Judy Garland, Shirley Bassey and�Streisand, herself � and the song escapes her utterly. Her delivery sound like she learned the lyrics phonetically. (She might as well be singing in Cantonese.) And Jon Peters� production/Tom Scott�s arrangements bring to mind the cool, �L.A.-sound� of Joni Mitchell�s �Court and Spark� LP � minus all the clever bits Joni brought to the table. Yet it spite of all of these faults � this version works. The song is just too good, and Babs� charisma is just too powerful. It�s a [Space] oddity you�ve got to hear to believe.