There is a moment near the end of “Runaway” where Bonnie Raitt bends a note so slowly it feels like she’s deciding something mid-phrase — and whatever she decides, you believe her completely.
In the Mood arrived in 1977, Raitt’s fifth record for Warner Bros., and by then the label had mostly stopped trying to figure out what to do with her. She was too bluesy for soft rock, too rooted for country, too pretty for the serious blues press that still hadn’t fully let a white woman through the door. So she just kept making records that sounded like she wanted to make them, and this one is no exception.
The Room It Was Made In
The sessions took place primarily at Warner Bros. Recording in North Hollywood, tracked and mixed by the consistently excellent Ed Thrasher — though the sonic heavy lifting fell largely to engineer Val Garay, who would go on to produce Kim Carnes’s Bette Davis Eyes a few years later but was here perfectly content to serve the song. The production came from Peter Asher, the British half of Peter and Gordon who had reinvented himself as the go-to man for this exact kind of warm, unhurried California sound. He’d done the same for James Taylor, for Linda Ronstadt. He knew how to make a room feel like 11pm.
The band Raitt assembled was the kind of thing that only happened in that particular window of Los Angeles session history. Drummer Rick Marotta — who would work on everything from Paul Simon to Steely Dan — plays with this loose, behind-the-beat authority that never rushes her. Bassist Freebo, her road companion for years, holds down something that feels more like conversation than accompaniment. Will McFarlane on guitar. The piano work drifts in and out like a second opinion.
What She’s Actually Doing
Raitt’s slide playing on this record is the real argument. She learned from Mississippi Fred McDowell and Sippie Wallace — not from records, from the people themselves — and you can hear that transmission in the way she treats the instrument. It’s not decorative. It’s structural. On “Gamblin’ Man,” the slide lines do half the emotional work of the lyric before she even opens her mouth.
The covers here are characteristically well-chosen. She takes Chuck Willis’s “It Don’t Mean Nothing (Without the One You Love)” and strips away any nostalgia, making it feel like something she wrote this morning after bad news. Her reading of Bobby Charles’s “I Spent the Night” is slow and unashamed. This is a woman who had taste before taste became a brand.
The original material holds its own. “Runaway” — her own composition, not the Del Shannon song — is the album’s spine, the track you come back to. It has that quality of a song that seems like it was always there, waiting to be found.
I’ll be honest: In the Mood is not the Raitt album people recommend. Takin’ My Time gets the critical nods, Sweet Forgiveness had “Runaway” on a more visible release, and of course Nick of Time is where the mainstream finally caught up with her in 1989. But this one has a quality of unguarded confidence that some of the others work a little harder to achieve. She sounds like someone who has stopped worrying about whether anyone is listening.
The right moment for this record is maybe an hour after everyone else has gone home. Pour something neat, adjust the volume to where the room sounds right, and let Val Garay’s midrange do what it was built to do.