by Joe Mitchell
I like to reach up, grab the
essence, and run with it,” says Abra Moore, grabbing some air just above and tothe right of her head. She holds a tightly clenched fist aloft for a moment
before pulling it down to just below her jutted chin. She gently rocks it to
and fro like a sleeping baby. Her lips purse and her eyes blaze as she searches
across the room for her next words. She looks at the fist, then across the room
again. The words don’t come, but she’s said enough without them. There’s
something very heavy in her grip.
Moore’s story would be better told in a fairy tale than a journalistic
feature. She’s more about metaphor and allegory than straight linear narrative.
Her life and the stories she tells of it do not move fluidly from point A to
point B, but bounce about the alphabet of chronology in pursuit of some
ultimate truth that is often so obvious and simple as to become beautifully
complex in its transcendence. The old adage “Time is of the essence” does not
fly in Moore’s world. Taking Dylan’s old line out of its facetious context,
“She’s an artist; she don’t look back.”
Moore says she didn’t choose music as her life. It chose her. She had a
propensity for singing at an early age, falling by accident into a musical
career when she joined up as a traveling minstrel in the earliest incarnation
of Poi Dog Pondering. After pretty much selling everything she owned (as all
the members did) to fly from Honolulu to Los Angeles and to help buy a van for
the gaggle’s touring of the mainland, her adventures in Poi Dog eventually led
her to Austin.
“We woke up on this beautiful campus and made our way over to `the Drag’ and
everything went right,” recalls Moore. “The people were so great and we knew
this was our kind of place. It’s my home now. Austin is this comfy place I keep
coming back to, no matter where I go.” It’s true. Despite stints over the last
several years in such illustrious cities as San Francisco, New York, and Paris
— where she made a lot of worldwide connections while singing for spare
monnaie on the streets — Moore’s Zip Code still starts with 787.
While Moore was honing her skills as a performer with Poi, she began trying
her hand at writing. After an amicable break with the band, of which she
remains a sometime member, her full attention leapt into solo work. That labor
has now paid off with her debut LP Sing (on Denver’s Bohemia Beat label,
for whom fellow voicemeister Jimmy LaFave also records), which shows off not
only an incredible voice that Austin has known about for years, but also a keen
talent for writing songs with lots of soul and power. Aside from the originals,
Moore also put on the LP venerable versions of material by Poi-leader Frank
Orrall, the band Olomana, and Austin “hidden jewel” Andrea Perry. Perry’s “I
Look Around” is a terribly catchy tune in Moore’s capable hands, sounding
happily mellow and mainstream enough to knock Sheryl Crowe off her throne as
VH-1 queen. The LP has made a splash, garnering accolades from critics and fans
internationally, and has taken its place among the top Austin Artist LPs of
1995.
Moore has been compared in numerous media to Rickie Lee Jones and Edie
Brickell, a fact that does not surprise her. “All three of us are white girls
who grew up listening to the blues,” asserts Moore. The physical similarities
among the three cannot be denied. Yet on an emotional level, Moore has many
other kindred spirits. She has a bent for the ethereal that gives her an
emotional imprint not unlike that of big-sound bands Cocteau Twins and
Innocence Mission, and an occasional tough-babe stance reminiscent of Brenda
Kahn and Liz Phair.
Looking further below the surface, Sing is not just an LP to Moore.
It’s an act of soul therapy. “It’s been a real healing thing,” she confides.
“It’s dedicated to my mother who I lost when I was four. It’s given me some
closure in my life about her death.”
In the LP’s title cut, Moore sings to her mother as though she has been
granted a brief visit from beyond.
“Look at my eyes and my nose and my fingertips/I’m lookin’ so much like
you/Look at the way that I switch my walk mama/I’m walkin like you used to
do.”
Moore becomes the little girl again in the presence of her mother, proud of
how much she has become like her, hoping her mother will feel the same way. If
her mother were to hear this LP, pride would certainly not be distant.
Sing‘s reception has kept Moore busy. She’s now in the midst of a
three-week East Coast tour opening for Poi Dog. Thereafter, she heads over to
Europe for dates in Holland, France, and other points. She will then go back
into the studio to start her second LP for Boho Beat in February. Guitar
all-pro Mitch Watkins, who produced Sing, will helm this one, too.
“I’m gathering songs,” says Moore. “It’s coming together. I’ll have my
harmonica player, J.P. Allen this time.” (Allen missed the first album.) “He’s
from New York. He’s really good. I’m also gathering-up all these fine Austin
musicians and we’ll make another great record.” The album is currently slated
for a June ’96 release.
Through all the work and notoriety, Moore has managed to keep her feet planted
firmly on the ground, retaining a realistic personal and artistic philosophy.
“The bottom line is this,” says Moore of her credo, “live simply and express
myself.” What does she express? “Pain, joy, and the hardships of survival,” she
sighs, her visage growing quickly distant and pensive. “It’s really hard
attaining your goals, your visions, your dreams.” She ponders the floor a bit,
then looks back up. “It’s really hard being fragile.”
True to her philosophy, Moore does not measure the success of Sing and
her career in general in terms of record sales, packed shows, or good reviews.
“It’s about love and giving. That’s what it’s for. If I can touch one person,
that’s it. I did it. I succeeded.”
She’s succeeded at least a thousand times over. Perhaps when that clenched
fist opens, we’ll be touched again. n
This article appears in November 10 • 1995 and November 10 • 1995 (Cover).