Close to Home Liner Notes

January isn't supposed to be like this in Ithaca, New York. By now, we should have a couple feet of snow on the ground, and cars that won't start anymore. Instead, we're in the middle of a heat wave, with the first flowers of spring rising up out of the ground, and the Burns Sisters leaving their jackets inside as they take a break from recording. From the beginning, their parents -- an opera singer mom and career politician dad -- tried to teach their kids some basic values. "To stand up for what you believe in," says Marie, the seventh of twelve kids, "and to keep your sense of humor." "To think for yourself," says Jeannie, number eight. "To follow your heart," says Annie, number nine. Some thirty years later, they're still "a family kind of family," singing together, writing music together, and raising their non-traditional families within a few miles of each other. When they first moved here from industrial Binghamton in the late seventies, the others followed, bringing with them all the closeness, all the games, and all the history of growing up together. For all of us who've gotten to know them here in Ithaca, their art is as much in their lives as it is in their music. It's in their passion for living, the commitment they bring to all their relationships, the sense of hope they reflect back onto the world around them. It's the joy of nurturing their children, and the strength in their sense of social justice. It's all there in the music, too: in Marie's "Savannah," where she watches the ashes of a friend flying south; or Jeannie's intro to "Patriot," where one line speaks a lifetime of determination; or Annie's "You have Arrived," where all of a sudden, everything seems possible: All the times you have tried, All the dreams that were denied, Can't touch you now, Can't hold you down, You've risen above the pain in time. With the sun starting to set, the Burns Sisters have earned their few minutes of rest. They've been working on Close To Home longer than any of them want to admit, writing, arranging, rehearsing, touring. It's the best work they've ever done, and with the hardest part of recording almost finished, they've finally arrived. After years of singing with their two other sisters, Sheila and Terry, they've made their transition to a trio, and from pop singers with two hit singles to seasoned, self-confident acoustic singer-songwriters. From the exuberant Wall of Sound of their Columbia debut, they've expanded their range of emotional possibility, crossing the boundaries between country, gospel, rock and r&b, and learning to express themselves as individuals within the framework of the band. Most important of all, they've taken control of the whole process, from start to finish. Heading back into the studio, they're joined by Jeannie's daughter Ella, who gets to pull the sound engineer's ponytail while everyone else goes back to work. Just on the other side of the glass, the Burns Sisters are setting up again, untangling their headphones and gathering around a single microphone. They take a few seconds to warm up before launching into the backing vocals for "Freedom Reigns," with absolutely nothing tentative about it, even on the first few notes. Without rehearsing it, they know exactly where they need to be. They've been singing together for so long, they harmonize on instinct, sensing perfectly how their parts will fit together. They don't sing notes anymore, they sing chords, gorgeous, graceful triads that pour out of them, with only a glance or two passing in between. After the first take, there's a little disagreement: who's a tiny bit sharp, and who's a tiny bit flat? So they sing it again, one at a time, listening, adjusting, and stepping back to the microphone for a second take. And a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, until they're all sure they've got what they want. Because Annie sings lead on this one, Jeannie and Marie defer to her ever-so-slightly. Then on the next song, they'll change places, and change again after that. Singing harmony, the three of them blend into one glorious, effortless whole, the tones all coming together like faces in a family photograph. But for all they share, their voices are so different - Annie's breathtaking pop dynamics; Marie's sweet, strong vulnerability; Jeannie's soulful, uncompromising honesty. "If you really want to know the truth about something, ask Jeannie," says Annie, settling back down by the control board. "Annie's the dreamer, the go-getter," says Marie. "She's the one with the big ideas." "Marie is the one who really knows how to enjoy her life," says Jeannie. "The one who knows how to have fun." With the end of tonight's session almost in sight, Ella climbs back into her mother's lap, and the Sisters talk about what to do for the last song of the day. After three albums together, including last year's self-produced Songs of the Heart, there's no question they're finally in charge of their own careers, with a degree of control that would have been unthinkable in their days as pop singers. Over the years in between, they've sung together and apart in so many different permutations - Marie with the old-timey Woodshed All-Stars, Jeannie with sister Terry and Walter Strauss in the folk trio Isn't It, Annie with Rich DePaolo in her rock band, The Rain - but never with this kind of power, or this kind of depth. There's a sense of grace they've brought with them to these sessions, an ease that comes from being so close to home, surrounded by family and friends, the "people who understand me." They've touched all of us here in Ithaca - as singers, mothers, activists, neighbors. We know them for their sense of humor, their political causes, their legendary gigs at the Rongo. They lend us their cars, help tend our gardens, and add to the cultural life of this small town in a way that can never be measured. Kenny Berkowitz Ithaca, New York