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PressRichard Bicknell: a unique voice© The Nashville Tennessean, 12/19/03 By Peter Cooper Richard Bicknell had met heroes before. In the 1980s, he met Loretta Lynn in Washington, D.C. A photo taken of them shows her in country star garb, him with bleached-out white hair and smudgy black eye makeup. But no such encounter prepared him for the Atlanta night when the then-fledgling singer worked up the nerve to give Nashville song-poet Townes Van Zandt a version of Van Zandt's Waiting Around To Die that Bicknell had committed to tape. ''I was so into his music, and I would study him in every way,'' Bicknell said. ''I gave him a copy, and he took me downstairs into this little apartment underneath Blind Willie's, the club where he was playing. To my horror, he stuck it into the cassette player and played it. He turned around and said, 'You know who you should really listen to is David Olney.' '' Bicknell isn't one to ignore advice from high places. Soon he was engulfed in Olney-penned gems such as Deeper Well and Women Across the River. The experience was integral to Bicknell's development into an atypically affecting artist. More than a decade later, the Atlanta-based Bicknell is, he'll admit, something of an anomaly. He's a gay man in a largely straight Americana world, a disciple of Nashville luminaries Olney, Van Zandt and Emmylou Harris who keeps his back turned to the folksy Indigo Girls scene that dominates guitar-strumming Atlanta. In fact, Bicknell doesn't even play a guitar, instead singing his melodic and lyrical ideas to co-writers Steve Boyes and Scott Patton. ''In this town, I kind of stand alone,'' he said. Sometimes, though, he stands with the heroes who have become friends. Olney and Texas great Eric Taylor — the men he calls his mentors — are frequent collaborators onstage. Within weeks of receiving Van Zandt's advice, Bicknell met Olney. Later, Bicknell forged a friendship with Taylor, a critically heralded artist whose songs have been recorded by Nanci Griffith, Lyle Lovett and others. Taylor has a reputation as a prickly sort, but Bicknell found him outgoing, approachable and generous with advice. The three writers — two grizzled warriors of song and one emphatic, dramatic new voice — have at times performed together. In those situations, Bicknell manages a tricky balance, paying homage to his teachers and sometimes performing their songs in front of them, yet maintaining a unique presence. ''Richard is one of those people who can draw you in,'' Olney said. ''We do these shows, and they end up being these kind of . . . almost like production numbers. Anybody else, it'd be a monumental pain in the (rear). With him, it's a pleasure.'' In 1999, Bicknell faced down a challenge that was greater than holding his own with Olney and Taylor. He was diagnosed with cancer and began treatments that robbed him of energy and hair, but not of the will to write and perform. ''I felt like if I kicked off, if I died, the one thing that was freaking me out was, 'Where would my voice go?' '' he said. ''Everything else was OK to leave except that. I guess I felt like I still had something to do.'' In the midst of it all, Bicknell set out to write what would become his Baby Lightning album. He'd hole up at El Myr Mexican restaurant — where the jukebox features George Jones and Charles Mingus — drink margaritas and write. Then he'd go in and record, holding to a microphone for balance. By album's release, earlier this year, he was a cancer survivor, healthy enough to begin touring again. ''There's a difference in my voice, from before the illness to after the illness,'' he said. ''It sounds strange to say, but it added something. There's a gift to crawling in and out of a grave: It's not a point of view that a lot of people have."
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