The Cat's Out Of The Bag

It's probably impossible not to like Cat Gorman.

Exuding likability, the Ohio-based songstress is an attractive lady with an attractive voice, performing an attractively presented show (her New York debut) at Don't Tell Mama, entitled "Stars, Songs, and Stories." Gorman is benefitted considerably by her crackerjack quartet, led by Barry Levitt, and including Jack Cavari on guitar, Tom Hubbard on bass, and Daniel Glass on drums.

The latter two gentlemen are frequent players at the marvelous Marilyn Maye's New York gigs, and that legendary lady's influence permeates Gorman's entire show: La Maye is the director, and her inimitable stamp is evident throughout, especially in the cleverly conceived medleys (a Maye trademark) and the sunny, positive theme -- no moody, gloomy cabaret act, this.

Cat Gorman with (L-R) Barry Levitt, Daniel Glass, Jack Cavari, and Tom Hubbard

That positivity served Gorman's soprano well, in a well-paced program which opened with one of our favorite compositions, "So Many Stars" by Sergio Mendes and the Bergmans, and highlighted by a My Fair Lady medley and a particularly lovely combination of "My White Knight" and "Till There Was You" from The Music Man (which also featured strikingly good guitar work by Mr. Cavari).

Another superbly crafted medley was one which combined "talk" songs: Bobby Troup's "Girl Talk," Meredith Wilson's "Pick a Little, Talk a Little," Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Happy Talk" -- geddit??? Of all of the medleys, this is the one which most bore the unmistakable mark of Maye -- it suits her style to a tee, and although Gorman is a completely different kind of performer, she nicely captured the requisite lightness and sense of fun. On the flip side of that coin, the only real misstep of the evening was a medley of Jerry Herman's "Before the Parade Passes By" and "Ribbons Down My Back" from Hello, Dolly. This beautiful arrangement has long been an emotional highlight of Marilyn Maye's own shows, but Gorman seemed to lack the gravitas to make it completely work.

A particularly pleasant and unexpected surprise, however, was the most contemporary number in the act, "Santa Fe" from the recent musical, Newsies. Truth be told, we disliked the show and most of the music when we saw it on Broadway, but Gorman imbued the song with such genuine longing and emotion, it was truly moving.

Reaching back into the vintage Broadway bag, Gorman closed her Gotham debut on a figurative and literal high note with another thoughtfully considered medley, this time from Frank Loesser's Guys and Dolls, including an excellent "I'll Know" and ending with a soaring "I've Never Been in Love Before."

Above all, Marilyn Maye's smooth direction ensured that the show was extraordinarily well paced, and its set list remarkably well considered, with a subtle but significant thematic story arc of achieving one's dreams. It will be interesting to watch Cat Gorman as she fulfills hers, and continues to shape her sound and style as a cabaret artist. She certainly could ask for no better mentor.

We liked her, we really liked her.

We Know, We Know...

...we're terribly behind schedule, darlings. 

But...well...we've been busy.

Happy 2015, Darlings!

We will be back with our regularly scheduled programming soon, darlings; it's just been a whirlwind of activity and holiday cheer of late. Of course, as has been tradition for the past few years, we rang in 2015 with the ever-wondrous Marilyn Maye (pictured with us above, and our dear friend and fellow uber-fan, Drew, on the left) at The Metropolitan Room.

La Maye continues the party, starting tonight, with another seven shows this week and next; we'll be at every performance except Sunday's, so do drop by to join the spellbound acolytes and say hello if you do! Happy 2015, and may the new year bring all of you nothing but health, happiness, and fabulosity!



Tickets for Marilyn Maye at The Metropolitan Room HERE.

Is That All There Is?

Once again, darlings, we've been plunged into a whirlwind of activity, most of it centered around that will-o-the-wisp so many of us unceasingly chase: live performance; more specifically, cabaret and musical theater. These are maddening and elusive mistresses to be in thrall of; it's a crap shoot every time one takes a chance, and when a performer or production misses, boy, there's nothing more excruciating or frustrating than to be witnessing such failure first hand. But when something or someone hits the bull's eye, nothing could be more thrilling than to be in that audience, live, in the moment, rejoicing at experiencing something that can never be exactly duplicated ever again.

Marilyn Maye and Bucky Pizzarelli at The Iridium: the looks on their faces say it all.

A prime example of the latter type of experience was the four-show run celebrated chanteuse Marilyn Maye had with the legendary jazz guitarist Bucky Pizzarelli at The Iridium jazz club on November 5 and 6. To say that it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience each and every performance would be an understatement. Devoted SSUWAT readers know that we have applauded Marilyn Maye's remarkable talents from these virtual pages frequently, loudly, and enthusiastically; when we say that the added challenge and joy of sharing the stage with another performer at the absolute pinnacle of his field took her to a whole different level of performance, we do so without a trace of hyperbole. These concerts were happenings.

Storming the stage with a medley of the 1950's pop classic "Let There Be Love" and "It's Love" from Wonderful Town, Maye never let up for a second, tearing through her signature medleys like a lioness devouring a particularly delicious prey. Her crack trio of drummer Ray Marcheca, bassist Tom Hubbard, and pianist/director Tedd Firth seemed to spur Maye on to even jazzier flights of fancy. Once the dapper and ebullient Mr. Pizzarelli joined her onstage, the mood turned even friskier, as these two pros playfully played off of one another -- with all due respect to Mrs. Pizzarelli, and Maye's oft-quoted line that she's survived "three husbands and one meaningful love affair" only to find her most meaningful relationship with her adoring audiences -- we couldn't help but picture these two amazing artists riding off cinematically into the sunset together. They romped like colts in a field through such sunny, upbeat tunes as "'Deed I Do" and "Just in Time" before slowing things down for a beautiful, voice-and-guitar rendition of Johnny Mercer's "Skylark." Mr. Pizzarelli's solos -- "This Nearly Was Mine" from South Pacific and the sadly underperformed Burke/Van Heusen classic, "Darn That Dream" -- were stunningly beautiful, as he made his guitar sound as eloquent as any singer actually performing the lyrics. This remarkable engagement was the sort that one dreams about, and rarely does the reality live up to the fantasy. Thankfully, as long as we have performers like Marilyn Maye and Bucky Pizzarelli still "doing their thing," we have at least a few sure bets.

Miss Peggy Lee

The odds were considerably less favorable when we headed downtown on November 10 to see "Downtown Sings Peggy Lee: A Book Launch Celebration" at Joe's Pub. The event was to celebrate the publication of James Gavin's much-talked about new biography, Is That All There Is?: The Strange Life of Peggy Lee. And, as befits the title of the tome (which is quite excellent, by the way, and one which we recommend), the evening was...strange. The curious roster (accompanied by The New Standards, who provided some pleasingly cool-to-hot playing) consisted of cabaret stalwarts like Baby Jane Dexter and Carol Fredette; quirky neo-jazz/cabaret chanteuses like Barb Jungr and Nellie McKay; cult artists Tammy Faye and Justin Vivian Bond; comparatively newer, more mainstream talent like Jane Monheit and Spencer Day; and, most thrillingly, authentic jazz royalty in the form of Andy Bey and, as a surprise, unannounced guest, Helen Merrill. Merrill was undoubtedly the highlight of the evening, although her throaty, emotive "Wild is the Wind" still kept the meter firmly pointed towards the "strange" reading: Peggy Lee had never performed that particular song!

It was all wildly uneven, with Fredette's simple, classy piping of Jerome Kern's "Remind Me," Jungr's supremely sexy but sophisticated "Some Cats Know," and even Dexter's primal roar interpretation of "I'm a Woman" coming from a seemingly different planet than Tammy Faye's absurd, borderline-offensive burlesque of "Big Spender," one of Lee's later signature tunes. Making her entrance in Peggy Lee-cum-flasher drag -- long, white pageboy wig; round sunglasses; and a trench coat, which was quickly doffed, stripper-style -- Tammy Faye then proceeded to sing in a tuneless and charmless voice, give unsolicited lap dances to embarrassed ringsiders, and in what had to constitute the nadir of this or any evening, straddle and hump a stairway railing while announcing, "My vagina hurts!" Surely, Miss Peggy Lee -- described by Gavin is his book as seductive but intensely "proper" -- would have been aghast.

If Tammy Faye was vulgar, then Justin Vivian Bond was merely unprofessional. The transgendered performer's long-established "demented diva" persona could have lent a certain zany, camp humor to Bond's selection -- "Black Coffee," one of the great torch numbers of all time, and a certified Peggy Lee classic -- but instead, Bond's obvious incapacitation (due to what, we hesitate to speculate) was painful to behold. False stops and starts, muffed lyrics, disorientation and seeming obliviousness; if Bond's intent was to satirize an infamous incident where Peggy Lee herself had disastrously performed under the influence at the White House, it was performance "art" in the most egregiously bad taste imaginable. If Bond was merely under the influence as well, it was pathetic.

The cast of Show Boat at the New York Philharmonic.

Some SSUWAT devotees are surely familiar with the famous critic's quip regarding Tallulah Bankhead's legendary failure, Antony and Cleopatra: "Tallulah Bankhead barged down the Nile last night -- and sank." We had a similar reaction to the much-ballyhooed New York Philharmonic production of Show Boat: it felt more as if we were aboard the Titanic. Miscasting, bad acting, ludicrous staging, and the costuming, oh! the costuming! Unlike the Philharmonic's "semi-staged" productions of Carousel and Sweeney Todd over the past year, which were presented with some sets and full costuming, Show Boat was inexplicably done as neither concert version nor staged, but some frustrating purgatory in between. Skeletal sets consisting mostly of a few rickety tables and chairs were clumsily carried on and off stage by the ensemble, some of whom were "sort of" in period, with the majority in tuxes and modern cocktail dresses.

So you had Vanessa Williams in evening gowns which, if you narrowed your eyes, might pass for period, but just as easily might have been sitting in her closet since she did Kiss of the Spider Woman on Broadway several years back, particularly the inappropriately vampy, sexy black stunner she wore to sing what should have been the second act showstopper, "Bill." In what is intended as the lowest emotional and physical ebb in her character's life, Williams instead looked as if she were waiting for some chorus boys to twirl her around in a 1940's-style nightclub number.

Vanessa Williams as Julie in Show Boat.

Similarly, "Ol' Man River" should never be sung by an actor and chorus in tuxedos -- and staged exactly thus, as sung adequately but dispassionately by Norm Lewis, this river was more a stream, devoid of any dramatic context or power. Lewis is unquestionably talented and has a beautiful voice, but his tone and range were all wrong (a deep bass in the ensemble who had a brief snippet of a solo would have been the better choice!), and he seemed to be sleep walking through it. Magnolia, the fresh faced ingenue at the core of the story (and what a terrific story it is...yet mercilessly and unnecessarily bowdlerized to make room for subpar songs which had originally been cut), was portrayed by Lauren Worsham; her ne'er-do-well swain, Gaylord, by Julian Ovenden, most recently of Downton Abbey fame. As glorious as their duets were musically, they were dramatically undercut by the incongruous sight of Ovenden looking dapper and dandy in his period-correct suit, while Worsham was "costumed" in a flouncy, short dress and high heels. She was a walking article from Seventeen magazine on how to "get the look for less"; and unfortunately, she played Magnolia as not only seventeen-ish, but 21st century seventeen-ish, to boot. It was all wrong. Ovenden, however, played his part beautifully and sang like an angel.

Lauren Worsham as Magnolia and Julian Ovenden as Gaylord in Show Boat.

More anachronisms: Magnolia and Gaylord's young daughter, Kim, is away at a convent school, where she makes her entrance, led by a "nun" with cleavage, while Kim is wearing sequins and tulle! How the director (who was also the conductor -- perhaps a case of spreading oneself far too thin?) couldn't see that such "choices" were madness is beyond our comprehension -- but then, this is the same director who felt comfortable allowing Jane Alexander to play Parthy, Magnolia's starchy, permanently exasperated mother, while wearing a glittering blue evening gown which made her look not like a work-hardened show boat denizen, but rather, Dame Helen Mirren on the red carpet. Nothing in this production made much sense, frankly, and it was a thoroughly dispiriting experience. With music as glorious as the score by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein, and Hammerstein's rock solid book, it takes concerted effort to screw up Show Boat. In that case, a bouquet of dead roses to the brain trust behind this production: we congratulate you.

The cast of Encore!'s The Band Wagon.

Similarly, it takes a certain amount of nerve to attempt to reinvent one of the most beloved movie musicals of all time with a comparatively drastically new book, especially when the source material was written by the formidable Comden and Green. Oh, on the surface, the bare bones of The Band Wagon as it was presented at Encores! is more or less the same as it was in the classic 1953 MGM film, starring the incomparable Fred Astaire. But look closer, and in Douglas Carter Beane's revision of the nearly peerless Comden and Green screenplay, he seems hell-bent on this newfangled determination to insert darkness and conflict wherever possible, presumably to appeal to more cynical, modern tastes. The fact that Beane is doing so in a show-about-a-show which fails miserably precisely because of these needless "modernizations" of the classic musical format is an irony seemingly lost on him -- but, unfortunately, not the audience. Not one of the changes made to inject drama or conflict to the story actually propels the plot along one iota; in fact, they detract from it.

In the film, it's a rather simple story of two temperamental artists -- Tony, a former stage hoofer turned has-been film star, and Gaby, a rising prima ballerina -- who meet nasty, and then fall gradually in love while working on a show together, thus bridging the gap between their two worlds. That's it. Yes, the comic Broadway songwriting couple and the egomaniacal Orson Welles doppelgänger are brilliant supporting characters, but the bare bones of the plot couldn't be simpler than the age-old boy meets girl. In this The Band Wagon 2014, the romance between Tony and Gaby takes a back seat to a completely contrived backstory romance between Tony and the female half of the writing team behind his comeback musical, Lil (and subsequent rivalry between Tony and Lester, Lil's husband and partner). It adds nothing to the basic story, yet adds tons of unnecessary stage time and dialogue, not to mention layers of angst to what should be a lighthearted romp.

And that's where The Band Wagon fails most miserably. Where it should fizz, it fizzles. The pace is leaden, with nearly everyone, from leading man Brian Stokes Mitchell to the ensemble, seemingly just going through the paces. As Lil, Tracey Ullman displays a few flashes of inspiration, although they come in fits and starts. Only Tony Sheldon, as the delightfully egomaniacal Jeffrey Cordova, the theatrical wunderkind who puts the first ill-fated show-within-a-show together, throws himself completely into his role and easily walks away with the entire production. When he made his exits, one could almost hear the entire audience sigh with regret. Tellingly, Sheldon's interpretation of the role is a wicked imitation of Jack Buchanan's peerless performance in the film; and the character is the only one which Beane saw fit to more or less keep intact with Comden and Green's original vision. He's the only one that works.

One of Broadway's few true leading men, Mitchell seems like a natural choice to play Tony Hunter, the former star fallen on lean times; but the role was conceived for Astaire, one of the most elegant and eloquent dancers to ever grace the stage or screen. Mitchell, by contrast, is blessed with one of the great theater voices, but his dancing is merely competent, not transporting. And with all of the seemingly arbitrary revisions Beane made to the book, the one he inexplicably didn't make was to turn Tony Hunter into a singer instead of a dancer. So instead we have Mitchell seeming determined yet grim, and slightly awkward, as he hoofs, taps, and soft shoes. More distressingly, Mitchell plays Hunter with an abrasive edge which alienates the audience before the end of the first act; it's particularly grating when nearly all of the other male characters are also abrasive in varying degrees, from Sheldon's flamboyant control freak to Michael McKean's soused, jealous composer to Michael Barresse's smug villain. Amidst all these neuroses, Tony needs to be played as even-keeled and charming. Mitchell plays him as slightly out of control and volatile. His Tony Hunter is not someone you feel like rooting for.

You may have noticed that we have yet to mention the role of Gaby, who was portrayed by the incredible dancer Cyd Charisse in the film. On stage, the part is essayed by Laura Osnes, a seemingly very nice girl who, unlike Charisse, has a beautiful voice; but, also unlike Charisse, not a whit of glamour or personality. She's so colorless, it's perhaps no wonder that her part has been relegated nearly to that of a featured player, rather than co-star (Osnes is fifth billed, beneath Stokes, Ullman, McKean, and Sheldon).

Yes, live performances can be thrilling. They can also be deadly dull, or maddening. Is that all there is to a deal with the devil? Is that...all there is?

Conventional Wisdom

It's been a mad, mad, mad, mad world here, darlings, so it's taken us this long to regroup, catch our breath, and catch you up to speed. We've been running to and fro and hither and yon about town, taking in everything from the good (Broadway's splendid revivals of You Can't Take it with You and On the Town), the bad (off-Broadway's revival of Sticks and Bones) and the ugly (a final dress rehearsal of A Delicate Balance...all we can say is, Close, but no cigar). We even had time to walk a red carpet or two:

TJB in the paparazzi's glare

Thus, we are regrettably belated in relaying to you some of the highlights of the most exciting event we've been a part of thus far this season: the Mabel Mercer Foundation's 25th Annual Cabaret Convention. We were fortunate enough to see three out of four of the programs presented, and the diversity of the artists and material suggests that the cabaret format -- perhaps unfairly perceived as being rather narrow and limited -- not only is much broader than many think, but also has a lot of youthful vigor being injected into it.

Liam Forde

This influx of young talent onto the cabaret scene was best illustrated by the opening night's theme, "I Love a Piano," a celebration of the wonderful singer-pianists who tickle the ivories while simultaneously tugging on the heartstrings. The bill, hosted by 29-year-old jazz violinist Aaron Weinstein --yes, we were scratching our heads, too -- was top-heavy with handsome young men (veteran pianist/chanteuse Daryl Sherman, one of the few female performers, joked about being surrounded by so many hot guys). The standout among these lads was the likably manic Liam Forde, who closed the show with a razzle-dazzle version of Johnny Mercer and Richard Whiting's "Have You Got Any Castles, Baby?" and was joined by equally young and enthusiastic friends for a rousing tribute to Kay Thompson. Two hot, young Broadway composers, Steven Lutvak (A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder) and Jason Robert Brown (The Bridges of Madison County) were decided crowd pleasers, the former slaying with the wonderful comedy number "The Dinner Party" (aka, "We Were Bagel Makers to the Czar") and the latter giving a delightful preview of the opening number of his upcoming show, Honeymoon in Vegas, which shook the room with retro-Rat Pack swagger.

Charles Cochran

That being said, the true standouts of the lengthy evening were the legends and the classicists. The Grande Dame of the Cabaret Piano, ever-elegant Barbara Carroll, strode out onto the stage as if she owned it, played a beautiful arrangement of Bernstein's "Lonely Town," and then switched moods and tempos effortlessly as she accompanied herself and sang a deliciously husky, near-parlando "Who Cares?" by the Gershwins. Charles Cochran, a fixture on the scene since the 1960's, gave one of the evening's finest and most sensitive performances, imbuing "You Stepped Out of a Dream" (introduced by Tony Martin in the 1941 film, Ziegfeld Girl) and Vernon Duke's flawless "Autumn in New York" with a worldly -- but never world-weary -- elegance which transported us to a dimly lit, chic little boîte, perhaps downtown, perhaps on West 52nd St., where we would listen to such sophisticated tunes over "cocktails for two." One of the last rooms in town which can compare to those bygone days is Bemelman's Bar at the Carlyle; their current pianist, Loston Harris, treated us to beautifully smooth renditions of "How About You?" and "I'm Old Fashioned" in a fine example of the kind of elegant singing and playing he purveys within those plush walls. 

Eric Yves Garcia (Photo: Russ Weatherford)

That same elegant atmosphere was beautifully conjured by Alex Leonard, a young man heretofore unknown to us, who performed a wonderfully evocative self-penned number appropriately titled "Intimate Nights," inspired by the terrific book of the same name by James Gavin. The dapper, mustachioed (as per the New York Times) Eric Yves Garcia is another standard-bearer in both senses of the word, carrying the torch for the Great American Songbook and all of the class and elegance its presentation deserves. Garcia opened his set with a fantastic, swinging rendition of "Lose That Long Face" from A Star is Born (1954), and is perhaps the only male performer we can think of who is able to perform a Judy Garland number without seeming, at best, arch. It was an inspired and entertaining choice. And, like Mr. Leonard, proving that the Great American Songwriting tradition has not completely died out, Garcia proceeded to introduce a brand new entry into the "saloon song" genre called "For Losers Only," written by Billy Carlucci and Ray Errol Fox. It was a masterful performance of a remarkable song -- remarkable in that it never sounded like a contrived pastiche of the material which obviously inspired it (Sinatra's "Only the Lonely," Tormé's "Welcome to the Club," Denis' "Angel Eyes," et al.); masterful in the depth of feeling in Garcia's extraordinarily mature delivery of the lyric. Our vote for the best vocal performance of the night.

The Queen of Cabaret: Julie Wilson, as she appeared in the 1950's at the Maisonette at the St. Regis and the Persian Room at the Plaza

The second night of the convention was a very special occasion: the 90th birthday of the undisputed Queen of Cabaret, the indestructible Miss Julie Wilson. As she watched from her seat of honor, La Wilson was feted by an eclectic parade of performers, ranging from veterans like Christine Andreas and Ann Hampton Callaway (who demonstrated her lightning-quick wit and sharp mind by making up lyrics on the spot for a tribute song to Julie, based on recommended words shouted out from the audience) to current Broadway talent like Chicago's Amra-Faye Wright and T. Oliver Reid of the criminally-shuttered After Midnight. A new crop of cabaret artists was well-represented, of course, most compellingly by sultry, siren-ish Shana Farr, performing a sizzling version of Porter's "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" in a come-hither fashion of which Julie most surely approved; and Corinna Sowers Adler, who did a bang-up job on Victor Herbert's delightfully demented "Art is Calling for Me (The Prima Donna Song)." Speaking of delightfully demented, the endearingly unhinged Wayne Hosford was rip-roaringly funny as he tore through a completely insane medley comprised of snippets of 40-plus tunes with women's names in the title, including, of course, Julie's. 

Marilyn Maye, accompanied by Billy Stritch

Carol Woods, a protégée and friend of the late, great Margaret Whiting, closed the celebration with the bawdy "Don't Ask a Lady" and the oft-performed, but always effective "Here's to Life," demonstrating the communicative and interpretive skills she learned from her mentor. And on a program designed to celebrate a legend, the marvelous Marilyn Maye, as has become custom, demonstrated her own legendary status as she took to the stage and took no prisoners. La Maye's rendition of "I'm Still Here," also strongly connected with Julie Wilson, earlier brought down the house and earned a standing ovation at Carnegie Hall on the occasion of Stephen Sondheim's 80's birthday; she repeated the same trick on Julie's 90th, earning the only standing ovation of the night. And yet, throughout, Maye still managed to keep the focus squarely on the evening's honoree: grandeur and graciousness, all in one magnificent package.

Jennifer Sheehan

If the opening night of the convention was a boys' club, then the third night, "Something Sort of Grandish" -- showcasing the music, together and separately, of composer Burton Lane and lyricist Yip Harburg -- was definitely ladies' night. Beginning with the ebullient Gabrielle Stravelli, who opened the show with a full-throated, and never-imitative "I Could Go On Singing" (the title song to Judy Garland's final film) before segueing to a beguilingly sexy "Old Devil Moon" from Finian's Rainbow, the evening was chock-full of glorious vocals from the distaff side, both veteran and fledgling. On the latter side of the ledger, Jennifer Sheehan combined girl-next-door youthfulness with Rita Hayworth-esque glamour; her voice was exquisite on both "Here's to Your Illusions" (a near-forgotten gem introduced by Barbara Cook in 1951's Flahooley) and the classic "Look to the Rainbow." It was no wonder that she was presented with the evening's Donald J. Smith Award, and surely no one was more deserving.

Iris Williams OBE

Continuing to wave the banner for the female voice divine, Christine Andreas made an unannounced appearance and gave possibly the best, most personal performance we've ever heard emerge from her throat: "What Did I Have That I Don't Have" from On a Clear Day. It was a complete surprise to see and hear her so unvarnished and raw. On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, but no less effective, the unflappably regal Karen Akers and Iris Williams (OBE, if you please) wove hypnotic spells with their performances. Akers cleverly interpolated "It's Time for a Love Song" with a wry, knowing "Fun to Be Fooled," while Williams serenely transported us from a nippy autumn in New York to "April in Paris." And, lest you think that the men were completely underrepresented, the always delightful, always wonderful Billy Stritch opened the Second Act with a slam-bang "Hurry! It's Lovely Up Here," and then was joined by his partner in song and crime, Jim Caruso, who performed his signature, slowed-down take on "If I Only Had a Brain" from The Wizard of Oz. Also ably representing the Y chromosome was the eternally boyish Jeff Harnar (co-host of the evening, along with Andrea Marcovicci), who tore up one of our favorite barnstorming Sixties musical showstoppers, "Come Back to Me." But it was a lady on the stage who appropriately brought the show to its exultant close: Natalie Douglas, who performed a meltingly beautiful "Happiness is Just a Thing Called Joe," rang the rafters with "Satan's Li'l Lamb," and then led the entire cast and audience in a singalong of, appropriately enough, "Over the Rainbow."

Eric Yves Garcia, Debbi Bush Whiting, and TJB

So there you have it, darlings, our personal highlights of three nights filled with fabulous song, beautiful people (see above), and lots of fun and laughter. Thank you, Mabel Mercer Foundation, for 25 years of promotion, preservation, and perseverance, all in the name of that most quintessentially New York of art forms, cabaret. 

That Whiting Girl

Last night, we had the good fortune to attend an absolutely fantastic tribute show to Margaret Whiting at Carnegie Hall's Weill Recital Hall. It was such a wonderful, lengthy program, with so many excellent performances, that we shall keep it to bullet points about each performer -- and, again, we must stress that the entire program was simply superb. We were stunned by how beautifully it was cast and programmed; not one clinker in the bunch, which, as some of you may know, is definitely not the norm for most benefit/tribute shows. Margaret's daughter (and the evening's co-host) Debbi Whiting, the brilliant musical director Tex Arnold, and whomever else was instrumental in really putting the nuts and bolts of this show together must be praised to the skies for their efforts.

Hubert "Tex" Arnold: The musical director of this glorious occasion, and a longtime accompanist to Margaret Whiting, Mr. Arnold provided the perfect tone and setting for this event. His is a truly elegant, musical style which can only enhance the performers for whom he is playing.

Carole J. Bufford: We caught a glimpse of Ms. Bufford's act a few years back at The Metropolitan Room, and it was clear then that she had a lot going for her: a big, lustrous voice; expressive stage technique; and an elegant, glamorous persona. All of these qualities have culminated in full flower, and she was a commanding, stylish presence. Her full-bodied renditions of "It Might as Well Be Spring" and "Any Place I Hang My Hat is Home" were heartily appreciated by the audience, as were Ms. Bufford's eye-catching four costume changes, all stunning.

Jim Caruso and Billy Stritch: These two gentlemen are such masters of their crafts, and watching them perform together is sheer joy. Duetting on a medley of two of Margaret's later hits, which began with a lovely "Far Away Places" and wound up with a hot, swingin' rendition of "The Gypsy in My Soul," Jim and Billy took their respective turns in the spotlight (Billy singing and playing on the piano, Jim ever the effortlessly stylish and dapper showman), but really dazzled the audience with their harmonies. We only wish they had performed one or two more songs. (Oh, and memo to Billy: we loved your Maggie Isn't Margaret Anymore line -- and next time, we think you should end the medley with a rousing "Winchester Cathedral" or "There's a Kind of Hush" singalong.)

Elegant Jim Caruso and ebullient Billy Stritch: the perfect pair.

Eric Comstock: A throwback to the nonchalant elegance of a Fred Astaire, Mr. Comstock's sprightly piano-and-vocal performance of "You Couldn't Be Cuter" led to one of the cutest moments of the evening: as he played and sang, we noticed the quite elderly lady sitting a row ahead of us suddenly come alive, bouncing her head to the music and singing along word for word. It, and Mr. Comstock's performance, was utterly delightful.

Mary Foster Conklin: Besides duetting with Wayne Hosford on a fun rendition of Margaret's first #1 country hit with Jimmy Wakley ("Slipping Around"), Ms. Conklin -- of whom we were previously unaware, and who bears a striking resemblance to Bebe Neuwirth -- also performed a dramatic version of "Ballad of the Sad Young Men," that (in)famous Fran Landesman dirge which some contemporary critics call the musical equivalent of "The Boys in the Band." But some, the fine folk at SSUWAT included, consider it one of the finest songs of all time, and, frankly, it's nearly as truthful and timely today as it was in the pre-Stonewall era it was written in. (Margaret, incidentally, must have been one of THE first vocalists to record it, back in 1960, for her Past Midnight! album. Aside from one other recording by Anita O'Day a year later, most singers were either unaware of the song, or leery of its content, and it didn't begin receiving wider recognition until much later, post-Stonewall, namely by Roberta Flack and Shirley Bassey.) It was a treat to hear it performed live, and believe us, darlings, looking around the audience, quite a few "sad young men [who are] growing old" were wiping away tears after Ms. Conklin finished.

Natalie Douglas: We have been privileged to have watched and followed this amazing talent almost from the very beginning of our time in New York City, twenty years ago. We first heard Natalie when she was a hard working singing waitress at The Duplex in the Village and Brandy's on the Upper East Side. Even then, to our callow ears, we knew that she was destined for much bigger and better things, and her truckload of awards and rave reviews bear witness to our good taste! We recall, in those early years, Natalie would, with good humor and finesse, firmly refuse to honor requests to sing, say, "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," which customers would ask for based solely on the fact that she is a.) black, and b.) a larger woman. Beyond the vaguely insulting assumption that she should be singing that song, Natalie's voice is less gospel grit than crystal clear beauty, yet with dazzling reserves of power. She proved that by closing the first half of last evening with a stunning, soaring "Can't Help Lovin' That Man," recorded by Margaret for her classic Sings the Jerome Kern Song Book album, and of course, introduced by the legendary soprano Helen Morgan in Show Boat.

The prodigiously gifted Natalie Douglas

Baby Jane Dexter: Full disclosure, and with all due respect: this cabaret legend has always left us cold. We found her performances overwrought and her persona not larger than life, but simply overbearing. It's all a matter of personal taste -- Ms. Dexter has enough fans, awards, and raving critics to not give a flying fig about what we think! But last night, Baby Jane absolutely floored us with a beautiful, deeply felt interpretation of Peter Allen and Carole Bayer Sager's "I'd Rather Leave While I'm in Love." Like Margaret did, Dexter manages to cut through the inherent 1970's pop schlock of the material, and find surprising nuances and hidden, penetrating truths in lyrics which, in other hands, could merely come across as cheap sentiment. It was a lovely, lovely performance. Dexter, whose vocal range and physical mobility have both been severely limited in recent years by ill health, seemed to have to rely more on interpretive skill than primal roaring (which is how we can only describe how we felt about earlier performances we'd seen), and the effect was spellbindingly effective.

Barbara Fasano: One of Margaret Whiting's signature hits is the lovely "Moonlight in Vermont," which we never noticed, until Ms. Fasano pointed it out in her introduction, doesn't contain one single rhyming lyric! Yet it's so perfectly constructed, it sounds as if it does, and Ms. Fasano's elegant, precise phrasing made the most of those beautiful lyrics. She was also joined by Eric Comstack for a wonderful, jaunty duet of "Ain't We Got Fun?"

Lauren Fox: One of the hallmarks of Margaret Whiting's career was versatility; and her inroads into the world of country music were not only commercially successful, but also wholly credible: unlike many pop stars who attempted to conquer that field, Whiting both gained the respect of the tough-to-crack Nashville old guard, and introduced her more mainstream audience to the likes of Hank Williams. Tall, cool, and serene, Ms. Fox performed a wistful rendition of Williams' "I Can't Help It (if I'm Still in Love with You)" with an affecting fragility.

John Fricke and K.T. Sullivan: Many Judy Garland fans know of Mr. Fricke as one of the Garland historians par excellence. What we sure as hell didn't know was that he can also sing! Fricke and co-hostess Sullivan did a charming duet version of a show-stopping medley Margaret would perform in her club act, comprised of the hit songs that her father, Richard Whiting, had written. Beginning with "Till We Meet Again," winding up with a rousing "Beyond the Blue Horizon," and packing in "Breezin' Along with the Breeze," "On the Good Ship Lollipop," and "Too Marvelous for Words" in between, the enthusiastic, boyishly wide-eyed Fricke seemed almost awe struck at sharing the Carnegie stage with the celebrated cabaret vet Sullivan (whose madcap, 1930's persona was in delightfully full throttle all evening), yet held his own admirably. Fun, fun, fun.

Eric Yves Garcia: This ridiculously beautiful man could probably just stand still on a stage without singing or playing a note, and people would still pay admission to see him. But he's talented, too, gosh darn it, which really means that life is terribly, terribly unfair. Garcia sang a wistful ballad from Rupert Holmes' musical, The Mystery of Edwin Drood (Mr. Holmes was in the audience, and introduced Garcia after a very sweet anecdote about how Margaret "discovered" him), "The People You Don't Get to Love," with an oh-so-slight world-weary rasp in his voice which suggested a young man beginning his trek down the path of the Sinatra of In the Wee Small Hours, No One Cares, Sings for Only the Lonely, etc. Picking up the tempo and the mood, Garcia then took to the keys to accompany himself on a sprightly, delightful "You'd Better Love Me" from the musical High Spirits. Did we mention that he's beautiful?

But beautiful: Eric Yves Garcia

Terese Genecco and Shaynee Rainbolt: Unlike many of her contemporaries, Margaret Whiting somehow escaped the fate of being inextricably tied to an inexplicably popular novelty song: there was pop fluff in her catalog, to be sure, but she didn't have to gamely give her public a concert version of "C'mon-a My House," "How Much is That Doggie in the Window," or "The Rock and Roll Waltz" against her will and better judgement. So it was that the one "comedy" number in the last night's repertoire was of the high order of Frank Loesser's "Baby, it's Cold Outside," which Margaret made into a standard with the aid of Johnny Mercer, moonlighting from his day job as lyricist extraordinaire. Terese Genecco and Shaynee Rainbolt performed it to comic perfection, giving it a winking, thoroughly modern twist.

Heather MacRae: We're ashamed to admit that we had no idea that the daughter of Gordon and Sheila MacRae was still an active performer. Thus, we had no idea what to expect, especially since the warm, motherly-looking person who took to the stage was in such contrast to the be-gowned, be-jeweled women who had preceded her. Then Heather opened her mouth, and out poured a heartbreakingly beautiful "My Favorite Year," which left much of the audience (and our hostesses) awash in tears. We need to find out more about this lady, and when and if she's performing again. She was that good.

Marilyn Maye: Really, what more can we say, that we haven't already said about the one and only Miss Maye? The Great Lady came, she saw, she paid tribute to Margaret, she conquered Carnegie -- again. The last time she played there, it was to honor Stephen Sondheim on his 80th birthday, and she drew a standing ovation for her "I'm Still Here." And last night, MMM (marvelous Marilyn Maye) earned yet another standing ovation -- the only one for a single performer -- for her three-song set of Johnny Mercer songs, "Drinking Again," "One for My Baby (and One More for the Road)" and "Blues in the Night." The level of professionalism, charisma, and complete mastery of the stage and her craft which La Maye displays simply leaves nearly everyone else in the dust. Introducing Maye to the stage, daughter Debbi Whiting mentioned that Margaret's last public outing was to see Marilyn perform at The Metropolitan Room. We were there that night; prior to the show, we had dinner next door to the Metropolitan, and Margaret and her party were seated next to us. She looked glamorous and beautiful, but obviously very, very frail. We were also seated next to her party at the Metropolitan; and when Marilyn introduced Margaret to the audience, the place exploded. And when Marilyn had us all join in a singalong of "Hello, Maggie" to the tune of "Hello, Dolly," Margaret just lit up and beamed. It was one of our most unforgettable experiences.

The one and only: Marilyn Maye

Tanya Moberly: One of the finest songs in the latter-day cabaret canon is Francesa Blumenthal's devastating "The Lies of Handsome Men," of which Margaret quipped, "Honey, that's my life." Ms. Moberly began the song with a wryly comic, self-deprecating air, which had turned to eviscerating regret by the song's end. It was a wrenching, touching performance.

Marissa Mulder: A gorgeous redhead poured into a slinky gown, Ms. Mulder was the essence of 1940's glamour when she opened the program with an unfettered, beautifully shaped performance of "My Ideal," Margaret's first hit at Capitol when she was but a teenager. In spite of her sophisticated looks, Ms. Mulder still perfectly captured the youthful longing -- perhaps still lingering in all of us, regardless of age -- in those lyrics, which had been penned by Leo Robin to a melody by Margaret's father, Richard.

Karen Oberlin: Looking resplendent in a glittering gold gown, Ms. Oberlin came out, sang simply, and simply stunned. Nothing more was needed. Jerome Kern's "Remind Me" is one of our all time favorite songs, and this interpretation was just perfect. No frills, no excess, no unnecessary drama: just a pitch perfect, wonderfully phrased, beautifully executed performance of a masterful example of the Great American Songbook -- which, really, is the essence of Margaret Whiting.

Stacy Sullivan: Proving that talent and taste are genetic, K.T. Sullivan's sister, Stacy, gave us an excellent medley of Harold Arlen's "That Old Black Magic" ingeniously interspersed with Rodgers and Hart's "Lover." Her sexy, sultry, swinging, cool-hot performance called to mind the best of Margaret's former Capitol label mate, Miss Peggy Lee -- which shouldn't be a surprise, as Ms. Sullivan's tribute to Lee has received multiple awards and accolades.

Carol Woods: This Broadway vet (currently treading the boards as Matron "Mama" Morton in the long-running revival of Chicago) brought flair and sass to the devil-may-care lyrics of John Meyer's "I'd Like to Hate Myself in the Morning" -- a gin-soaked anthem originally written for, and performed to a fare-the-well, by Judy Garland in the last years of her life. It also was a wonderful summation of the glamorous, larger-than-life Margaret of the 1970's and 1980's, painting Manhattan all shades of vermillion into the night. Ms. Woods capped the evening with a magnificent "Come Rain or Come Shine" by those maestros, Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer.

Saadi Zain: Besides the brilliant accompaniment and direction of Tex Arnold, special mention should go to Mr. Zain on bass, who made Carnegie Hall's stately, refined Weill Recital Hall swing.

The heartbeat of the evening: Debbi Whiting, Hubert "Tex" Arnold, and Saadi Zahn

Debbi Whiting: Beyond being Margaret Whiting's daughter, we had no clue what to expect from Debbi co-hosting this evening. Frankly, we thought that K.T. Sullivan would do most of the heavy lifting from both a hostessing and performing standpoint. Au contraire! Debbi was witty, funny, and a most engaging hostess, plus she performed a very, very fun tribute to Margaret's time with the legendary 4 Girls 4. Gamely slapping a huge black bow on her head, Debbi was "Rose Marie"; Heather MacRae was "Rosemary Clooney"; Lauren Fox was "Helen O'Connell"; and Carole Bufford was "Margaret Whiting." Debbi and K.T. really kept the proceedings going at a brisk pace, and peppered the entire evening with humor and high spirits. The one unabashedly tearjerking moment, though, was when Debbi spoke movingly of her mother's final days, and how it brought Margaret such happiness when she learned that her recording of "Time After Time" had been used in the hit film, Julie & Julia. After that, Debbi recounted, her mother would watch the film over and over again on DVD, always asking to see "the pancake lady" one more time. The final time they watched the film together, and her glorious voice once again came through the speakers, Margaret turned to her daughter and said, "Somebody really likes me!"

They still do. They LOVE Margaret Whiting, and the feeling was palpable all evening. It was evident, not only in the joy these performers obviously took in being there and paying tribute to a lovely woman and a tremendous singer, but also in the extreme care which was obviously taken to mount a respectful, but also hugely entertaining, evening of song. It was just brilliant, and we are so grateful that we were able to attend.

Behind the scenes photos and a selection of performance videos at the official Margaret Whiting page!

Kind Of Similar

9:30pm on Easter Night, at 54 Below. There's an elephant in the room, and her name is Barbra.

Although Roslyn Kind only made one, brief, passing mention of "my sister" during her entire 90 minute performance (and not by name), the virtual presence of Barbra Streisand still loomed large over the proceedings. Nearly everything about Ms. Kind's physical appearance seemed deliberately calculated to suggest her older sister: the meticulously-straightened honey blonde hair; the flawlessly manicured talons; the expertly extended Cleopatra eye makeup; the black pantsuit which recalled a more conservative, age appropriate version of Streisand's famous see-through Scassi pajamas; and the regal schnozz, often turned in profile. It's all the more unnerving when one realizes that this uncanny doppelganger bears very little resemblance to the Roslyn Kind who had been a fledgling RCA recording artist and nightclub singer in the 1960's and 1970's. When did this complete metamorphosis take place?

Even more disconcerting than the physical similarities were Ms. Kind's vocal mannerisms and performance tics, which also practically screamed, "I'm the greatest star!" It was like watching an extraordinarily talented Streisand impersonator. Kind's early RCA recordings reveal a slight vocal similarity, although Kind was a little more nasal and perhaps not as warmly burnished in tone as her sister. But now, whether by design, or with age, or perhaps both, Kind's deepened register has rendered her voice an almost exact replica of Streisand's. And Kind's phrasing and cadence have become eerily like that of her sibling, both in singing and speech.

There are differences, of course. For one thing, Kind is obviously a much more accessible artist than Streisand, willing to make direct contact with her audience. She's nice, and utterly likable. Down to earth. Homier. She takes her frequent sips of hot tea from a paper delicatessen cup, not Limoges. Frankly, one senses that the chief attraction for Kind's devoted cult of fans (many of whom peppered the performance with "Brava"'s and "Welcome home"'s) is that she is the warm, friendly, approachable flip-side-Streisand that they wish her imposing, forbidding sister could be. Making her entrance through the audience to the deliciously daffy "It's a Beautiful Day" (a tuneful late Sixties period piece from her debut album), Ms. Kind passed out daisies to delighted audience members. Ms. Streisand, had she even considered such a move, would no doubt have assigned the task to the ushers.

And while Streisand is (or at least, was) well-known for her kooky, quirky sense of humor, you can hardly imagine the almost frighteningly regal Streisand of today getting saucy, as Ms. Kind did, on "I Can Cook, Too" (from Comden and Green's On the Town); or camping it up on the special material "If He Was Straight (And I Were Young)," cleverly juxtaposed with "The Boy Next Door" from Meet Me in St. Louis (1944).

Interestingly, for all of her seemingly-conscious mimicking of her sister's physical and vocal traits, Ms. Kind studiously avoided performing any material which could be connected with Streisand, with the possible exception of that snippet of "The Boy Next Door," which Big Sis Babs had recorded on her 1967 Simply Streisand album; and Sergio Mendes' "So Many Stars," which Streisand included on her recent album of Alan and Marilyn Bergman lyrics, but is not particularly closely associated with her. Of course, Streisand has recorded so extensively, that this narrows the field somewhat for Ms. Kind. On the plus side, necessity being the mother of invention, Ms. Kind has unearthed some hidden treasures which are rarely heard; on the negative side of the ledger, some should have remained buried.

Which is not to say that there were any truly bad choices in Ms. Kind's repertoire, because there weren't; only some hackneyed ones. Her "signature" song, and first encore, for instance, was "Can You Read My Mind," the pretty-but-sappy love theme from Superman (1978), replete with outer space and flying metaphors shoehorned into the lyrics. We're fairly certain that even Maureen McGovern, who had the original hit with the soundtrack version, has dropped it from her act by now.

However, in another, quite welcome parallel to Streisand, Ms. Kind, like her sister, can make even the most awkward or trite lyric sound exponentially weightier by the innate gravitas in her delivery. And, unlike Streisand, whose approach to these lesser lyrics is sometimes akin to swatting a fly with an Oldsmobile, Kind's approach is somewhat more delicate. She performed a remarkably beautiful rendition of the little-known Burt Bacharach/Hal David tune, "I Just Have to Breathe," a lighter-than-air souffle of a song which could have collapsed under a more heavy handed interpretation.

Other highlights of the evening included a gossamer ballad penned by the wonderful Ann Hampton Callaway titled "Perfect"; a soaring "Kiss Her Now" from Jerry Herman's Dear World, combined rather brilliantly with his "It Only Takes a Moment" from Hello, Dolly (another Streisand drive-by, although her character doesn't sing it in the score); and Kind's final number of the night, "Come What May," which was one of Patti LaBelle's signature tunes in the 1970's. That she delivered it so beautifully, eradicating, at least for the moment, any memory of LaBelle's formidable performance, is praiseworthy. Even if it did still remind you of someone else.

Her Shining Hour

"Mimi Hines Is A Happening!"

So proclaimed the title of her 1967 Decca album; and, last night at 54 Below, the little lady with the big voice proved it so once more, knocking a sophisticated, jaded audience out of their collective seats.

How sophisticated and jaded, you may query? How's this for starters: Lucie Arnaz. Joyce Breach. Jim Caruso. Fran Drescher. Donna Mckechnie. Jerry Mitchell. Liliane Montevecchi. Faith Prince. LeRoy Reams. Billy Stritch. Julie Wilson.

All of them rapt, attentive, spellbound one moment; then screaming, banging the tables, clamoring for more, the next. Strutting on stage to the strains of "Nothing Can Stop Me Now!", Ms. Hines -- making a rare appearance, in celebration of her 80th birthday -- demonstrated just that for the next hour plus. Looking fabulous with mile-long false eyelashes and a swath of blue eyeshadow, Mimi the magnificent belted out "Chicago," crooned "Till There Was You," and had us all in the palm of her hand.

The one-time Funny Girl (she took over for Streisand on Broadway when Barbra took the show to London) paid homage to that career highlight by singing "I'm the Greatest Star," making it clear in the process that she's no Streisand clone. She's 100% Mimi Hines, and she makes the material her own. Hines also sang the lovely ballad, "Who Are You Now," which was cut from the film version of the musical, and a treat to hear.

Mimi Hines has always been a brassy, belting broad; she still possesses a rapid-fire show biz wit and delivery when recounting some of her backstage tales, but time and experience have mellowed her singing voice. She still has reserves of power, to be sure, but remarkably, who she reminded us most of throughout the evening, was the inimitable saloon singer, Sylvia Syms. Big ballads that, in other hands (and, perhaps, Hines', too, once upon a time) would be overwrought and overdramatic -- "Who Can I Turn To?" and "Yesterday I Heard the Rain" -- were heartbreaking, devastating in their intimacy. Any lowered keys and skillfully sidestepped high notes were more than compensated for by powerful connection with the lyrics.

To that end, in a completely unexpected, stunning feat of acting, this quintessential "mensch" (as Jule Styne called her in the liner notes to that 1967 album) transformed herself completely into Madame Armfeldt for a stunning rendition of "Liaisons" from A Little Night Music. It was a revelation, not only for the total surprise of hearing and seeing Hines become that character, but for the sheer brilliance of her interpretation.

For us, though, the highlight of the evening was the seldom-revived "I'll Only Miss Him When I Think of Him" from Skyscraper; Hines recorded it for her debut album in 1966. Full disclosure: Hines' recorded rendition has never curried favor with us, in spite of the song being one of our all-time favorites. But last night, Mimi Hines sang it as its never been sung before, with such longing and tenderness, that we immediately realized that she wasn't singing about an unfortunate love affair; she was experiencing the pain and ache that only true loss can bring. And, sure enough, as the last notes drifted to the heavens, Hines whispered, "I miss ya, Phil." (The late Phil Ford was her long-time spouse and musical partner.) It was an almost painfully personal moment, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Cannily, Hines segued almost immediately into an upbeat arrangement of "It Only Takes a Moment" from Hello, Dolly!, with Ford still clearly on her mind.

Although the rapturous audience -- who visibly moved Hines with their unabashed appreciation and adoration -- would have gladly let her stay all night and sing 'em all, every good thing must come to an end. Fittingly, Hines closed her set with a beautiful, touching version of Johnny Mercer's "My Shining Hour." And when she wrapped up with his lyric: "This will be my shining hour/Till I'm with you again," truer words could never be spoken. Or sung.

Mimi Hines is a happening.

It's Today!

 

 

MARILYN MAYE

April 10, 1928

Darling Liliane

She stalks the stage like a tigress, long, lean, lithe. Whippet thin and yet all woman -- not a hint of a waif-like urchin, or the trace of the athletic tomboy. Markedly French, deliciously feminine, intoxicatingly glamorous: we could only be describing Liliane Montevecchi, the feather boa-ed diva of MGM pictures; the Folies Bergère; the original Broadway production of Nine, which won her a Tony; and, now, a new one woman act entitled Hello, Darlings, which opened last night at 54 Below.

Taking the stage in all black, the left leg of her flowing pants slit and ruffled up the thigh to expose a leg to make Dietrich and Charisse sigh in envy, La Montevecchi held us all enthralled with her throaty, expressive voice and exquisite presence. The song program held few true surprises ("La Vie En Rose"? Check. "Les Feuilles Morte [Autumn Leaves]"? Check. "Ne Me Quitte Pas"? Check.), but what counted was the presentation. It was a master class in owning a stage, and commanding an audience. It was absolutely compelling. This sophisticated, New York audience banged tables, shouted anguished declarations of love, screamed and "Brava!"-ed. 

Liliane Montevecchi in the 1950's: the legs look even better today.

We are also happy to report that we can now add "made our nightclub debut" to our resume -- we were summoned with one of La Montevecchi's elegant, flawlessly lacquered fingers to the stage. Truth be told, we didn't have to do much -- in fact, "You just sort of stand there... Don't move!" as "our" number instructed. Yes, darlings, last night, we were Liliane Montevecchi's human prop for "A New Fangled Tango." When we first stepped into the spotlight, we looked out at the audience. "Don't look at them!" La Montevecchi said sharply, in a tone worthy of Gloria Swanson. "Only look at me!" Of course, we did as we were told. And it wasn't difficult to do, with those enormous, coal-black eyes of hers rooting us firmly in place.

When the song ended, we stood still for a moment as the crowd applauded. In what we imagined displayed crack comic timing, we stage whispered out of the corner of our mouth, "May I move now?" Exiting the nightclub some time later, we stopped by the table of Marilyn Maye, who just wrapped up her own triumphant, two-weeks-long-and-then-some-by-popular-demand run at 54 Below (read about it here). "Honey, a star is born!" she joked. It was only after we stepped outside and began our walk home that we suddenly went weak in the knees, and everything seemed a little blurry. My God, we realized. We had just been on stage with Liliane Montevecchi, in front of Marilyn Maye. And Tommy Tune. And Arlene Dahl. And heaven knows who else. (Ms. Montevecchi isn't big on celebrity introductions from the stage.) Oh, all we had to do was stand still and be a stooge, but what a great audience to be a stooge for! 

Arlene Dahl

Tommy Tune

Marvelous Marilyn Maye

It was a thrilling evening of stories, songs, and leg lifting (yes, she can still raise one above her head without hesitation) and Liliane Montevecchi is only performing one more show at 54 Below, tonight. See you on the stage!

Buy tickets here.

Her Personal Property

When the indefatigable Marilyn Maye sings that New York is "My Personal Property" (from Sweet Charity) in her current show at 54 Below, it's impossible not to agree with the statement. From the time this soon-to-be 85 years young phenomenon made her return to Manhattan night life in 2006, after a lengthy absence, she has inspired the kind of cultish devotion among savvy Gothamites which rivals that of any venerated diva you can think of, from Garland to Bassey. And, most certainly, if the rapt, adoring 54 Below audience could wrap up the Planetarium, the Aquarium and the Central Park Zoo, and present them at La Maye's bejeweled feet, they would.

Here at Stirred, Straight Up, we've sung the praises of Marilyn Maye so often, it's difficult to come up with fresh ways of stating, "Marilyn Maye has never been better." Quite simply, there is no one singing in the same realm as she who can be considered equal or greater. She is the total performer. She can create devastating intimacy ("Something Cool," that brilliant saloon-cum-art song); or she can be the original good time gal (a storming medley of "Get Happy," "I Want to Be Happy" and "Sometimes I'm Happy"). She's sophisticated (a six song Cole Porter medley), bawdy (a rip-roaring "Blues in the Night"); elegant ("My Ship"). She swings Dave Brubeck's "Take Five" like mad (it's apparently impossible for anyone else to sing, besides the late, great Carmen McRae) and is a luscious ballad singer, voluptuously caressing the lyrics of "Lazy Afternoon," pairing it with her show-stopping interpretation of Blossom Dearie's "Bye Bye, Country Boy." The latter is underperformed, as well, perhaps because no one could possibly make it work other than Marilyn Maye.

Another miracle: nearly 50 years (!) later, and live performances of material Marilyn recorded for RCA in the 1960's sound just as good, if not better, than what's preserved on vinyl. "Golden Rainbow," the title song to the ill-fated Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme musical, is one of the high points of Marilyn's recorded output; and it remains one of the highlights of her current show.

While Marilyn Maye could most probably stand on her head and sing the phone book to kazoo accompaniment and make it work, she also has the terrific fortune of having the tightest jazz trio in New York playing for her. Jim Eklof has been her drummer for over fifty years, and the two have the kind of rapport and near-telepathic musical communication borne of that kind of relationship. On bass, Tom Hubbard's seemingly deadpan demeanor belies impeccable timing, swing and versatility. And the absolutely brilliant Tedd Firth on piano is simply one of the most remarkable musicians around today. That these four work and blend so seamlessly is testament to the breadth and scope of their collective talents. (By contrast, the rag-tag assemblage of musicians "supporting" jazz singer Rebecca Kilgore at The Metropolitan Room last week was a glaring example of how badly the wrong combination can derail even a singer as very good as Kilgore.)

A particularly pleasing aspect to this program is the venue itself, which lends itself exceedingly well to the proceedings. The 54 Below stage is just large enough to allow Marilyn to freely move about (and execute her famous, flawless high kicks during her exhilarating finale, "It's Today" from Mame), whereas previous residencies at The Metropolitan Room and the now-shuttered Feinstein's gave her stages which were near postage stamp size. (As Marilyn notes, it is decidedly a nightclub, not a cabaret.) The communal tables, free standing tables and booths are all comfortable and provide excellent sight lines; and the staff is remarkably friendly and attentive. The only blights are the lack of a proper lobby for customers to wait in (as curtain time runs nearer, the line stretches up an uncomfortable staircase and spills onto the street), and a spotty lighting technician with perhaps too heavy a hand and not musical enough timing.

Neither of which should deter you from seeing marvelous Marilyn Maye, as she finishes her second week with shows from March 12-16. Go. Listen. Be a-Maye-zed. After all, New York, New York is a helluva town, she's a helluva woman, and we merely inhabit what is undoubtedly secured as her personal property.

Buy your tickets here.

Get Happy

du·ra·ble: adj. able to exist for a long time without significant deterioration; also: Marilyn Maye.

Perhaps it's unflattering, at first glance, to use an adjective more commonly applied to equipment (tires, say) when describing a woman of great talent, beauty and charm. But how else can you describe a phenomenal performer who, near the middle of her eighth decade, still can hit and sustain notes that would give most singers half her age, or younger, stomach cramps? Instead of steel-belted radials, Marilyn Maye has steel-belted vocal cords. We're secretly convinced that, tucked away in a box in her attic, Dorian Gray-style, there is Marilyn Maye's alternate, shriveled larynx.

Marilyn Maye spreading happiness on her opening night at Feinstein's at Loew's Regency, April 24, 2012

But what's on public display at Feinstein's at Loew's Regency, through May 5, is an astonishing display of artistry and, yes, durability. When Maye takes the stage to a frantic arrangement of "Make Your Own Kind of Music" -- yes, that "Make Your Own Kind of Music"! -- she somehow turns a bubblegum teenybopper tune into a jazz barnstormer (ingeniously coupled with Vincent Youman's "Without a Song" -- as Charles Busch once remarked to Maye, "You sure love a good medley!") that sizzles and pops with her rafter-shaking vocals, Billy Stritch's dextrous piano accompaniment, Tom Hubbard's nimble bass, and most especially, Jim Eckloff's firecracker drumming. Incidentally, Maye first recorded "Make Your Own Kind of Music" for her modestly-titled 1970 RCA album, Girl Singer, in a more-or-less straightforward arrangement that closely mirrored the Mama Cass hit. It would have been fairly easy and less taxing for Maye to simply trot out her old charts and do the song "straight." It's a credit to her always-forward thinking mind and ethos that she can take material she's been doing for years, and still find new ways to interpret and arrange it.

Billed as "The Happiest Sound in Town" (after the title track to another RCA album -- one with the succinct, now-famous liner blurb by Johnny Carson: "Let's call her Super Singer!"), Maye's current repertoire is understandably heavy on the "up" tunes. From the beginning of her recording career, Maye's warmth, good humor and powerful pipes made her the natural choice to debut such flag-waving fare as "Cabaret" (the first ever recording of that song, released before the show's Broadway opening, and certainly long before the movie version; "And she knows it, too," Marilyn will quip wryly) and "Step to the Rear" (from How Now, Dow Jones, and then later turned into a lucrative jingle for Lincoln-Mercury). At Feinstein's, Maye includes some fan favorites from those glory days of Broadway and film themes, such as "You're Gonna Hear from Me" from the Natalie Wood/Robert Redford film, Inside Daisy Clover (1965); and "Golden Rainbow," from Steve and Eydie's Broadway vehicle of the same name. The only unfortunate casualty of all of this hale and hearty happiness are the blues and ballads that Maye can make such a meal of. Anyone who has heard Maye vamp her way through "Just for a Thrill" or "Blues in the Night," or turn "Something Cool" and "Guess Who I Saw Today" into harrowing, one-woman mini-dramas, can't help but wish that she could have included more of that type of material in the current show.

So when Maye's creamy tones envelop one of the few ballads in the program, Burton Lane and Alan Jay Lerner's magnificently romantic "Too Late Now" (her 1966 recording of which is ensconced at the Smithsonian in their collection of definitive recordings of the Great American Songbook), it's like milk and honey bathing your ears. And when she flips the coin on that relationship, with the quintessential late 1950's cabaret downer, "Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most," Maye practically gives a master class in the art of torch singing.

Marilyn Maye, circa late 1960's

But at this stage in the game, one can't blame Marilyn Maye for being, well, happy. She looks and sounds magnificent, with little sign of slowing down, let alone stopping. And when the marvelous Marilyn Maye executes her awe-inspiring high kicks during her signature finale, Jerry Herman's "It's Today" from Mame, it's difficult to argue with the notion that you are, indeed, part of the happiest sound in town.