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.