Look at me dance! Look at me cha-cha! Look at me jive! Yes, my chickens, I've returned, my ordeal of annoyance at last behind me (or at least somewhat manageable). How very patient you've been, and I truly appreciated all the get well wishes. But for reals, enough about me. Let's get down to the tunes, yo!
Did you rumba your summer away? In the sweltering heat? If you're like Signora Sophia, you just can't stop doin' the boom-shack-a-lak-a-lak-a, boom-shack-a-lak! (and really, if you were her, why would you?). I say we continue the festivities into the fall season - but with a delizioso Italian edge.
Ultra-Lounge, that standard bearer of fabulous CD mixes in the 90s and early 2000s, released one of their best in 2009, "Ciao Bella!" This was before Spotify and such could spit out themed playlists in nanoseconds, and while I like some of their lists - "Ooo, those algorithms!" squeal the nerds - they lack the touch of a human curator. That's where Ultra-Lounge can't be beat. Still. Where else can you hear Dean Martin croon "The Tree-Kay Trah-Kay" and Pat Suzuki sing "Volare" in the same mix? It's kicky like that.
And now, if you please, let's give a big shout-out to Miss Gloria Lynne. Did you know? Her career took off when she won First Prize at The Apollo's Amateur Night. She was only 15 years-old.
Unfortunately, she hit a few snags just after - unscrupulous managers, record executives ripping her off left-and-right - but she persisted, as they say. After slaying with TV appearances on "The Ed Sullivan Show" and a Harry Belafonte special, she hit the big time. And in 1962, she released "Gloria Lynne at Basin Street East" - a Cheerfully Go-Gloria Exclusive! - a thrilling live performance at the venerable Manhattan night club. My favorite track is "It Never Entered My Mind," a slow ballad which takes advantage of her gorgeous contralto voice, and which she infuses with aching emotion. And just listen to what she does with "Mack the Knife," riding that swinging beat, then delivering a growling scat that's pure joy.
Shockingly, money shenanigans continued throughout her career. She was never paid royalties on any of her LPs - not one! - so she was constantly on the road. The result was a painful, hand-to-mouth existence which at one point left her homeless (and subject to heartache from a string of physically abusive beaus). Yet she could not be stopped; she persisted. And she recorded with everyone, all the way from Ray Charles to Whitney Houston. Prior to her Basin Street LP, she recorded "Day in, Day Out," a sensational LP - and, yes, another Go-Gloria Cheerful Exclusive! just for you - which had her backed by Ernie Wilkins' rousing, horn-blasting orchestra. The final track, "What a Man," is delicious - the perfect marriage between jazz orchestra and singer.
Don't you j'adore the Belgians? They're known for their chocolates, their waffles, their fries. What's not to love? They're also known for a certain indomitable singing dynamo.
Yes, it's Annie Cordy! She sings, she dances, she acts, but mostly, she does cute-as-a-button like no one else. Throughout the 1950s and 60s, you couldn't get away from her in French-language countries. She was on stage, on screen, in clubs, on TV, spreading her brand of unstoppable Belgian perkiness wherever she went. She even appeared in 1957's "Victoria and Victoria," a remake of the 1933 original (which was remade yet again by Blake Edwards in the 80s) (but you knew that) ('cause you're clever that way).
Get this, she's still high-kickin' in her nineties, acting in movies, walking the carpet at Cannes. Oh, and in 2018, a park was named after her in her hometown, because she's just that delightful. In 1999, she recorded "Chante Broadway," a truly must-have in which she sings B'way faves in French, like "All That Jazz" and "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" (because if you must listen to Andrew Lloyd Webber, listen only to "Evita") (come at me, Webber-stans, I'm ready for you). Is it campy? Good lord, yes, and thank goodness for that, but it's also just flat-out fun. Just like Annie.
And on we giggle and go, this time to the land of va-va-voom, courtesy of Miss Carmen McRae.
I love Carmen's 1955 LP, "By Special Request" - a Cheerfully Swingin' Carmen Exclusive! - because it's so easy and breezy, and Carmen made it sound oh-so simple to do. It wasn't, of course, but that was one of her many gifts, including her ability to wring new, and sometimes darker, meanings from classic song standards. She once mentioned that she was inspired by Billie Holiday, and while you can hear a trace of Billie in her phrasing here and there, I'd say she was equally, and more demonstrably, influenced by her work as a talented jazz pianist (she played for Count Basie's band, among many others). Her voice is her instrument, and that's exactly how she used it.
Easy and breezy; adjectives that are seldom, if ever, used to describe Anita O'Day (and honestly, did you think I'd come back to you without an exclusive Anita?).
In 1983, the normally hip and peppery Anita slowed it wa-a-ay down, proving to her few naysayers (all of them from the East Coast, since they had it out for West Coast jazz performers) (people are snotty that way) that she could, if she wanted, swing it nice and easy. The result is a collection of stripped down tunes - she's accompanied only by piano - in which she demonstrates ravishing vocal sensitivity on tunes like "I'm Old Fashioned" and "Misty." It's the only LP in which she sounds tough, which we expect, and vulnerable, which we don't. It's one of her best albums.
The Secret Song File never injures herself or requires any kind of medical care. Why? Because she said so, that's why. Such confidence, such resilience! Which, of course, can only come with sage wisdom and age - but she'll cut you like a bitch should you ever mention "age" in her presence. That's just tacky (and you know how she hates tackiness).
But speaking of age, some singers are superhuman. Take a certain 92 year-old crooner who's still putting out hit albums, this time in a collection of duets with a 53 year-old Canadian jazz singer (she's practically a child by comparison!). Some might say the older singer left his heart in San Francisco - *cough*hint*soooobvious* - but I think he left a painting of his withering vocal cords in some mangy Nob Hill attic. It's the only explanation, dammit, and I'm sticking to it.
Oh, before I go, a program note, if you've asked for a re-up of anything, ask again (leaving your comment on the page in question). In case you didn't know, I've been away healing 'n' such and I didn't check on things because I'm lazy (but still pretty) (and ready for Halloween!).
Are you pretty? I bet'cha you are! I just bet'cha!
Leave chocolates or expensive little baubles in the comments, if you like!
