True lies

Jules Verdone gets personal
on Diary of a Liar

by Brett Milano

It seemed a sure sign that Jules Verdone had arrived, at least locally. In the back room of T.T. the Bear's Place, there currently hangs a wall full of performance photos of assorted local and national bands, and Jules is there, along with Letters to Cleo, Silverchair, and Gigolo Aunts. When I meet her at T.T.'s, Verdone's photo is the only one with a big "Sold" sign hanging next to it. So she already has fans who love her enough to buy a photo? "Yeah, but it was my boyfriend," she notes sheepishly. "He bought it to give my father for Christmas."

Okay, so Verdone hasn't made it big just yet. But she's used to taking things slowly. Her new CD, Diary of a Liar (on Q Division), was the result of two years in the studio, during which time her band broke up, new songs got written and old ones thrown out, and the singer/songwriter/ guitarist did a lot of growing up in public. Five years ago she moved to Boston as an editor and a social worker/AIDS counselor (and a part-time rock critic, an occupation of which she's less proud) who'd never performed. Nowadays she's one of the brighter hopes on the local pop circuit. And the CD tells a lot about what happened in between.

The songs on Diary of a Liar aren't necessarily the best she's got. Her songwriting has taken some major strides in the past two years; the CD is given over mostly to her earlier efforts. You can hear how she's progressed, however: she started out aiming for maximum catchiness (the two earliest numbers, "Through My Teeth" and "Baltimore or Less," have plenty of that), then began to add left curves (the more recent "When I Snap Out of This" and "Dumb Rock Song" point to the more idiosyncratic style of the new songs she's playing live).

The songs on Diary have a loose storyline. In a nutshell, the singer leaves an old hometown ("Baltimore or Less"), struggles in a new one ("Debt"), and recovers from a really bad relationship (just about everything else). Since Verdone is known as one of the nicer people on the local rock circuit, it's a kick to hear her sing something as vindictive as "Everything's Your Fault." But even on a downcast moment like "When I Snap Out of This" -- a movingly creepy song from the middle of an unspecified personal crisis -- her songs exude a basic saneness and smartness, something one doesn't always find in rock lyrics. And she has a conversational way of singing that makes you think everything spilled out at just that moment.

Of course, the album's title begs the question of how autobiographical it all is. Like some of the songwriters Verdone admires (Mark Eitzel, Elvis Costello), she spills more personal details -- or reasonable facsimiles thereof -- in songs than she'd want to do in person. "This is true. And I wouldn't necessarily want to say what -- and definitely wouldn't want to say who -- they're all about. I'm not singing every song as a made-up character, but it doesn't all have to be about myself, either. And some of real life can be dreadfully boring. I hope to avoid that."

Which brings us to the old Richard Thompson question of whether you need turmoil in your life to write good songs. "Hope not. But the good news is, isn't life always up and down? I don't think I need a crisis in my life -- but then, it might help."

Verdone made a lot of friends on the local circuit before getting up the nerve to perform herself. Her involvement with Boston goes back to the late '80s, when she was Orangutang's booking agent. After moving here in 1992, she worked as a publicist for the (Corporate Sponsor) Boston Music Awards and later joined Kay Hanley and Dicky Barrett to organize the Safe and Sound shows and CD, which came together in the wake of the Brookline abortion clinic shootings. Notably missing from the Safe and Sound disc were any of her own songs, even though it was an obvious opportunity to get her name out.

"I could have done that, and I was asked to," she admits. "But I wanted it to be clear what my role was, and to put my music on would have been inappropriate. The people on the disc had ties to Boston, but they were people who were heard of outside of town -- people who could have drawn attention to the disc. I wouldn't have felt comfortable including myself."

Her own performing debut, back in '93, was done incognita at an open mike in Salem. "I was terrified, so I couldn't do it in front of anyone I knew. And sure enough, the guy asked me to come back the next week. He asked if I had enough songs; of course I lied and said yes. Then I had to bring along people who did."

The friends she brought along -- drummer Nathan Logus and guitarist Avram Gleitsman, then doubling as the Barnies, and Gravel Pit bassist Ed Valauskas -- remained her band for the next two years, before everyone got too busy. The current group is drummer Mike Baumer, bassist Tom Richards, and guitarist Scott Bowser (the last two ex-Boy Wonder). All of the above appear on the CD, with guests including Kevin Salem, Merrie Amsterburg, and Trona's Chris Dyas.

If Verdone took the back door to the pop spotlight, that's because she never intended to get there at all. "This may sound naive, but I always felt that performing was something other people did. I just strummed guitar in my living room, which wasn't the same thing. So I don't have the same attitude of someone who's wanted to do this all their lives -- I was terrified to do it in public, and I was surprised at first that people even responded. But I knew, just speaking for myself, that the songs were good company."

Jules Verdone will perform at the Met Cafe on Saturday, February 21 with Guster.