Billie Holiday Post Script 2: Carnegie Hall, 1956 -- The Refracted Set

On Tuesday night at Minton's Harlem, with a wonderfully enthusiastic audience (another full house!) and my coterie of musicians, I deconstructed Billie Holiday's last Carnegie Hall concert from November 10, 1956, which was created to promote her autobiography Lady Sings The Blues. Instead of reading from the book, I read from bits and pieces of ephemera I found at the New York Public Library.  It was a stellar night.

The next time you think of Billie Holiday as a victim and a heroin addict first instead of a genius musician, there are a few explosively noteworthy trainwrecks that you should reconsider, too. Frank Sinatra -- who openly admitted that everything he knew as a jazz vocalist he got from Lady Day -- was a violent alcoholic, addicted to painkillers and, some say, bipolar. Thelonious Monk drank, smoked pot and did drugs to excess. And yes, he had bipolar disorder.  Charlie Parker's propensity towards drug excess was legendary.  Miles Davis. Need I say more?

Nevermind infamous jazz musicians -- everybody knows about them. What about common drug usage?  During the Victorian era, laudanum -- a mix of 10% opium and 90% alcohol and flavored with cinnamon or saffran -- was especially popular.  And why not? It had been popular with the Greeks in antiquity. The Victorians used it to cure menstrual cramps, headaches, as a tranquilizer, even fed it to cranky babies. Everybody drank this stuff.  Keats. Shelley.  Dickens. Louis Carroll.  It was as common and as socially acceptable as scotch -- and much cheaper.  Not surprisingly, it was the beginning of the 20th century before they realized it was lethal.

And the rest? Chopin did opium drops on sugar cubes every day.  Leonard Bernstein was heavily addicted to alcohol, drugs and painkillers, quite possibly because of his latent homosexuality -- or heterosexuality, depending on who you ask. Stravinsky was horribly addicted to all kinds of medications.  Contrary to popular belief, Miss Holiday was hardly the only one on a landscape of creative individuals that drank, smoked pot, did drugs and led what many consider to be a tragic life.  (Charles Mingus? Louis Armstrong? Bessie Smith? What black jazz musician led a life that wasn't tragic in some way?) Everyone had their fair share of misery but for some strange reason, no one else's addictions are listed before their achievements.  Probably because of the media hype that sensationalizes every foul aspect of What Happened To Her -- along with that ridiculous, cockamamie biopic starring Diana Ross -- we are left to view her as a hapless victim. No one seems particularly interested in focusing on her accomplishments, which are nothing short of incredible.

 Well. I'm interested.

Join me next week at Minton's, where my April residency in tribute to Lady Day continues. For more information, click here.

Sunday Sermonette

Here's a real gospel shouter, if there ever was one -- Dorothy Love Coates (imitated by many pop/soul vocalists, including Wilson Pickett, Little Richard and Mavis Staples) and The Original Gospel Harmonettes (also imitated to death), singing I'm Just Holding On. Listen in and be blessed.

more la baker

i've read a bio or two about josephine baker. i know the trajectory of her life, stateside and in paris -- her poverty stricken childhood in east st. louis, her initial successes, her delusions, her children, that bombastic ego, her downfall, her triumphant return -- but whenever i see her take the stage, it shakes me to my core. in the clips from the 60s and 70s, she is clearly not a young woman by any far stretch of the imagination. and yet, she is gorgeous, she is vibrant, she is sexy, with this lean, toned body that's so full of energy and vim, it's absolutely astonishing. as a performer, she's even more of a powerhouse than eartha kitt -- and that's saying quite a lot.

some time ago, someone told me that i reminded them of josephine baker. i didn't really get it at the time. they said that it's because i like to talk to the audience spontaneously, especially when things go wrong onstage. apparently, miss baker was a regular chatty cathy, too. i can't stand the idea of a dead mic. if something goes wrong, it's my job to deal with it head-on -- not walk off-stage until it gets fixed. if people got off the couch and paid good hard earned money to come and see me perform, the least i can do is give them a show.

they said that like la baker, i tend to drift towards elegance when i sing onstage. who doesn't look pulled together in a gown? i'm not so sure how far i delve into fantasy, though. clearly, she's a showgirl of the highest order, at all times. sylvester is definitely the male embodiment of that aspect of her performance. he actually met her before she died and she told him, it's all about the fantasy, give them the fantasy.

i'm kind of annoyed that she's wearing pants in the first clip because her legs are kind of fantastic.

there is something buoyant about all the charm she displays in these clips. so highbrow and yet so accessible and real. she looks like someone who should hold themselves away from you and yet she reaches out to you warmly, wanting to hold onto you, wide-eyed and friendly and smiling incessantly.






i know the following video says it's from the 50s but it was actually shot in the 60s. la baker was nearly 60 years old. (!!!)

black music month video #4 - la josephine!

for some, a singer is a singer is a singer. she is there to be seen and not heard, for the most part. at the very least, the physical aspect of who she is can be ingested and thrown into the equation of her assessment as a vocalist well before her talent is called into question. for all intents and purposes, she is whatever they think of as pretty. and pretty, as any female on the planet will tell you, is its own currency. pretty matters. a lot. sometimes, it matters too much. or rather, a certain kind of pretty matters too much -- one that is virtually unattainable. but i digress.

how heavily all of this weighs on the singer in question depends on which genre you embrace. jazz, it seems, requires a certain level of musicianship -- like ella fitzgerald, obviously. blues demands a powerhouse, a la koko taylor. and although what you look like is important all the way across the board, when it comes to producer-driven pop and r&b, what you look like is way more important than what you sound like, which is why a lot of those singers are visually primed and sonically irrelevant. when they can sing and not just warble with a lot of electronic assistance, they usually sing at you -- not to you.

ah, but these are the video ready times we live in. as you consider the latest offering from your favorite multi-hit wonder, its important to remember that once upon a time, not too long ago, live music was everywhere -- supper clubs, cabarets, breakfast sets, big bands, after hours combos, church gatherings, parlor dances, tea socials, juke joints, road houses, speakeasies. every venue seemed to demand a different kind of singer. a supper club appearance required a floor show -- something that eartha kitt could fill easily. a cabaret act? give dianne carroll a call.

interestingly, there were song stylists everywhere -- those singers whose outfits and presentation and arrangements were paramount. their performance level was incredibly individualistic, highly personalized and intimate. what they did onstage seemed effortless. a song stylist has to be able to do it all.

case in point? everyone considers nancy wilson -- who sings blues, jazz, cabaret and pop, and who had her own variety tv series back in the day -- to be a jazz vocalist but she calls herself a song stylist.

for me, josephine baker epitomizes this in all the right ways. for those of you who don't know, the performance in this video is how should be done.

here she is, la baker, way past her prime supposedly -- and yet she shines. she is old -- she is of the age that is dismissed, that is ridiculed, that is ignored by society. and yet she is slim and shapely and shimmering and elegant and beautiful. mesmerizing, really. she is singing to you and she is using everything she's got -- not just her voice but her all -- to give you this song.

of course, it helps that she has an endless supply of that indefinable thing called charisma but who would seriously think to get onstage professionally without any of that?

Vocalist Monday - Florence Quivar

someone recently asked me who my favorite vocalist is. it's a surprisingly short list, filled with names that don't get bandied about very often in the media. this opera singer is one of them.

i love florence quivar for so many reasons - mostly for this: i have yet to hear another opera diva sing classical music with so much soul. listen to ride on king jesus, the album she did with the harlem boys choir, in its entirety. i dare you. clearly those songs mean a lot to her personally. she is singing with what can only be described as pure raw emotion, and with a voice that is as refined and developed and sure as any of her generation. what you are hearing within those spirituals is the sound of her very soul, the absolute essence of who she is, praising God.

and isn't that the point - to be a conduit for the divine when you open up creatively? to praise God with whatever you do, however you can, with whatever you've got? in hearing ms. quivar's voice and her performance on that album and in considering what's floating around out there in the miasma, you don't have to listen for long before you click into so much narcissistic, self-serving dreck that consistently continues to miss the fracking mark.

she's the reason why i still love opera, why i'm so glad that i studied it formally at such an early age, why i continue to take lessons privately.

why this woman isn't a household name is beyond me.

i wish i could find some selection from that album to post here. instead, here's a duet that she did with pavarotti. not the tenor that i'm in love with, by any far stretch of the imagination. but maybe i'll let you in on that one next week.

gone fishin'...

while writing is always a constant at the start of my day -- whether i'm putting pen to paper or making my pithy thoughts come alive electronically on these pages -- i can't seem to pull it off very well while i'm living out of a suitcase.  there's a lot of business to take care of and there are a lot of ideas flying around and there is a lot of love in the room and there are way too many happy albeit dissonant distractions in my head.  in a week, i will have returned to my harlem manse and settled back into my daily bump and grind, and hopefully i will have made a substantial amount of progress.  i've certainly left you plenty to peruse while i am away.

rest assured that i shall return victorious, much encouraged and full of the sun.

until that happy moment, i leave you with this: a small slight snippet of the one and only ivie anderson with duke ellington and his orchestra singing -- appropriately enough -- oh, babe! maybe someday. 

isn't she something?!

terrence howard sings?

will oscar-nominated actor terrence howard's jazz debut CD shine through it succeed? who can say? one thing is certain: just because one has a great love of music doesn't mean that you can or should sing. it especially doesn't mean that you can or should sing jazz -- or call whatever comes out of your mouth "jazz" because you genuinely appreciate the genre.

here's an interesting quote from the new york times article about the album's release:

"When Mr. Howard would not relent [on his demand to produce the album himself], [Sony Label Group VP] Lisa Ellis gave him a modest prerecording budget, essentially in the hope that he would learn how difficult making an album is and agree to revisit the list [of producers] she had provided. Instead "he called me five days later and goes, 'Lisa, I'm done with the album.'"

they say musicians want to be actors and actors want to be musicians. this particular blackgrrl actor/musician/artist just wants to stay employed.

for your viewing pleasure, here's mr. howard's beautifully shot, overly-produced jazz (?) single sanctuary. enjoy.

round one begins...

way too busy getting ready for the jazzmobile jazz vocal competition to blog at length here, so i did it over there. at present, i'm practicing the piano and vocalizing and trying to figure out what i'm going to wear. i haven't lost that winter weight gain yet, so nothing in my closet fits the way it's supposed to and that's pretty aggravating but whatever. not that i was going to show up in a glitter glove or anything but i'm kind of giving up on any spectacular visual effects i may have had in mind. i just want to sing my soul and go home.

it's a sunny blue sky beautiful day. there's a cafe/coffee shop near the venue that reminds me of the mission district in san francisco. i'm probably going to check in early -- interestingly enough, we will perform in the order that we arrive -- and then go have some sort of makeshift high tea at that mission district spot until show time.

i'm very much interested in hearing what the other vocalists sound like and who the judges are. as luck would have it, the mistress of ceremonies for the evening -- alyson williams, an r&b and jazz crooner who holds the distinction of being the first woman signed to def jam in the 80s -- is someone that i actually know and have worked not too long ago. we did the wiz with george faison at the arena theater in houston texas a few years back. (she was evillene. i was addapearle. it was fun.)

mostly, this will be fun. for some strange reason, i keep forgetting how much fun it is to simply sing.

no, i'm not kidding...

i am one of 12 finalists in the jazzmobile jazz vocalist competition. read all about it here.

...and now, i give you the song "ken lee"...

why does everybody want to sing?
why does everybody think they can really sing when they really can't?
why can't anyone tell them how bad they sound?
why can't they hear how bad they sound?

with the worldwide onslaught of american idol, has bad singing become a cottage industry? is it really so mesmerizing, to listen to bad vocalists?

listening to this woman sing with such absolute conviction and be so far off the mark all the way across the board -- she even thought she was singing in english! -- was nothing short of astonishing. but then again, people lie to themselves all the time, about all kinds of things. this is just more blatant and obvious -- and funny! -- than the rest. i think it freaked me out because it made me wonder what i was unconsciously lying about to myself.

maybe bad singing is relative. for years, i couldn't stand bob dylan's voice. then one day i sat and listened to "tangled up in blue" and after i pushed "replay" for the fourth or fifth time, i knew the deal. i know some singers who feel the same way about billie holiday, and i've always loved her. but i think it's universally understood that as a vocalist, billie holiday is bringing way more to the table musically than ashanti or mya or beyonce or andre 3000 or a lot of others i could name. the question isn't whether or not any of them can sing. the question is, will anyone be sitting around listening to their music in 50 years?

chocolate rain, anyone?

the waiting is the hardest part

as i was leaving an audition last week for a regional production of AIDA with terrence, i saw an AEA women singers call on the board for The Color Purple and terrence goes, why aren't you in that show? and i thought to myself: if i had a nickel for everytime somebody said that to me in the past six months, i could buy a brownstone. so i signed the list -- #66 -- i made a mental note about it, stuck it in my calendar and forgot about it. of course, the audition blindsided me the morning that i was to go in, when it finally dawned on me that i would really do 16 bars of something for their musical director. but what?

as i was mulling this over, the phone rings. it's a commercial agent i freelance with, telling me about an audition for a verizon print ad. just show up anytime between 12pm and 6pm. as i jot down the information, i'm thinking this sounds easy. too easy.

and then my palm pilot reminded me that i had another audition that day with a big window of its own -- 2pm to 9pm -- for jazzmobile's vocal competition, at harlem school of the arts. That was supposed to be 16 bars, too but they wanted a jazz standard.

sounds like a simple, straightforward "sing 16 bars and leave" kind of day, doesn't it. nothing could have been farther from the truth.

i figured i had plenty of time to get through the other two auditions because the window of opportunity was so wide open, so i show up at The Color Purple audition site first. it was packed. there were beautiful well-dressed black women everywhere -- chatting, laughing and carrying on. i didn't know that i was supposed to be there 30 minutes before call time, to get my number so by the time i showed up, they had already handed it to someone else. "i didn't know that," i sputtered to the equity monitor, who cackled, "oh, you've never done this before?" well, actually, i had -- but i was non-union then. i know all about packing a lunch and bringing a book and sitting all day and not being seen. i ended up with #81. there were quite a few memorable moments that happened all at once: the collective groan that went up when the monitor announced that they wouldn't be seeing any non-equity performers that day; the second collective groan that went up right behind it when he came back out to say that they didn't want to hear any music from the show; and of course, all of the people i saw that i hadn't run into in years, like helen g. who got married and has three kids, and denise du maine who can dance her face off. but i digress.

after sitting around for more than two hours, i realized that i wouldn't make my second audition with verizon, so i went to the monitor, explained what was going on and asked him if i could go in with the next group. he told me that i should go to the other audition and when i came back, he would make sure that i would be seen. so i jumped in a cab and off i went to 26th and 10th. when the elevator doors swung open, all i could see was a sea of well-dressed people of every ilk and variety. no children. lots of old people. quite a few babies. i jumped in line, filled out a form and signed in as #523. they were taking people in 4 at a time and it still took an hour to be seen. and all i could think was, am i going to make it back to The Color Purple before the audition closes?

so i jump in a cab and go back to the audition site at 37th & 8th. sure enough, there are three people ahead of me, waiting to go in. i made it by the skin of my teeth. when i walked in and put my book on the piano, i had an idea. instead of flipping it open to whatever song i was to sing and handing it to the pianist (who was remarkably young and fresh-faced), i asked the musical director and the casting agent if they'd heard a blues song all day. both of their faces brightened as they said no, they hadn't. so i sang stormy monday. and strangely, they let me get through the whole song. no 16 bars "thank you, we've heard enough" there. hm.

so i jumped on the A which got me to 145th and St. Nicholas in a flash. i walk 4 blocks down to harlem school of the arts and go inside to an absolute herd of people, all of them dressed up, milling about, clutching sheet music. they said they'd only take the first 100 people that day. i was -- you guessed it! -- #100. i killed time by going upstairs and surprising kelvyn bell in his office. brilliant guitarist. i worked with him a lot when i first came to nyc. when i checked on him a few years ago, he was teaching there. now he's the director of the program. crazy. we did a severe amount of catching up and then he bounced around 7pm or so. i actually waited until 9pm but i didn't get seen so i came back the next day.

when i met my friend for dinner that night and told him what i'd been doing all day, he said, "i could never do what you do. i could never wait like that." tom petty is right. the waiting is the hardest part.

that's not what usually happens at auditions, though.

i went back to the harlem school for the arts the next day at 3pm and -- surprise! -- i was #2. things were looking up. but not really. i'd recieved some horrible news that morning and i couldn't shake it. a friend who had found a new lease on life had died in a motorcycle accident some months shy of his 40th birthday. i think i carried him into my audition. i sang "On The Sunnyside of the Street" -- a nice bouncy upbeat little tune -- but i raged my way through it, with an intensity to each phrase that gave all of it another meaning that seemed to permeate the very walls of the room.

imagine it: three older black people sitting at a table filled with paperwork. i could look at them and tell that they thought i was a kid that knew nothing, certainly nothing about jazz. and well, why shouldn't they think that? most kids don't. there is the lady who walked me into the room, sitting on the couch by the door -- the organizer. there is some non-descript black girl standing around in the back, assisting someone no doubt. there is the pianist larry ham, whom i already knew and had worked way too many crummy gigs with. when i saw him, i thought, wow. do i know everybody in this town or what. larry is the kind of all-purpose pianist that you call out tunes and keys to, and he plays them flawlessly. he didn't even look at my lead sheet. i tilted my head towards him and i said, you got this, right? and he nodded. i mean, really. when you've played it 19 jillion times, it ain't rocket science. that's when one of the older black folks said good-naturedly, "count it off, now." and i realized, i'm never going to be one of those people that walks into a room and everyone assumes that i'm a bad-ass. i'm always going to have to prove it. the thing is, i don't mind -- because i can. but there are moments when this kind of thing is internally exhausting some other part of me. and this is one of them. but there was something more.

it was such a happy song and i was so morose. that contrast initially must have thrown them. but then i sang it with a fervor that left them wondering. and then i left.

my friend is over my audition process. he understands that talent doesn't mean employment or opportunity. plenty of talented people go begging. plenty of untalented people work all the time. whenever i go into an audition and do a great job, all i can really think is, well -- if i don't get it, it won't be because i wasn't good enough. and i leave it at that.

this time, something else happened. late last night, i got a call from the lady organizer. they chose me. i'm a finalist.