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. 

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.

She's Still Here

One of our all-time favorite cabaret performers, Miss Julie Wilson, celebrates her 86th birthday today. Miss Wilson cancelled her last round of appearances at New York's Metropolitan Room due to ill health, but we are happy to report that, since then, we have seen her out and about in the audiences of other performers' shows, and she looked wonderful. We hope that it's just a matter of time before she gives us one more show to remember.

JULIE WILSON
October 21, 1924

Literary Drive

We Love a Cabaret

A Lady Must Live

It's the rare singer who, with the passing of time, is actually more interesting and compelling with diminished vocal range but heightened emotional resonance. Billie Holiday was one, and so, perhaps even more, is the incomparable Julie Wilson. Wilson has never been shy about proclaiming Holiday one of her greatest influences, evident in both the phrasing on Wilson's earliest recordings, and the gardenia which was Billie's trademark, also appropriated by Wilson. 

Wilson's latest show at The Metropolitan Room is, fittingly, a tribute to Billie Holiday; what's remarkable is that, although many of the numbers are so closely identified with Lady Day that other interpretations seem almost superfluous, Wilson's show is intensely personal -- so much so that, were it not for Wilson's frequent recollections of Holiday and how she influenced her career, one would forget that it was a tribute show. When you consider that the lineup of songs includes "T'ain't Nobody's Bizness if I Do," "Don't Explain," and "God Bless the Child," that's no small feat.

At nearly 85, La Wilson still cuts a striking figure -- she still has the reed-thin figure of a 1950's high fashion model; her jet black hair is still pulled back in a smooth chignon; and the gardenia, red lipstick, and feather boa are, of course, still firmly in place. There are a few dropped lyrics here and there, but the emotional punch that Wilson delivers still packs a wallop. The ballads, of course, were searing; a medley of "I Must Have That Man," "I Got it Bad and That Ain't Good," and "Body and Soul" had everyone in a puddle on the floor. Going another route, "You've Changed" and "Good Morning Heartache" were brilliant re-interpretations which switched the character from resigned and forlorn victim to a mad-as-hell woman scorned. 

But the up tunes were just as marvelous; who knew that "What a Little Moonlight Can Do" was such a lusty, carnal song? Not us, until La Wilson made each "Ooh, ooh, ooh" sexier than anyone else ever could. And the flirtatious lyrics of a sparkling, bubbling "Them There Eyes" and a sublime, sticky-as-molasses "Sugar" had Wilson playing the eyelash-batting coquette to a red-faced member of the audience just as convincingly as she did when she reigned as the St. Regis's resident siren chanteuse in the 1950's.


It's been 10 years since we last saw Julie Wilson perform, and frankly, we weren't entirely sure what to expect, even though she absolutely knocked us out with her Cy Coleman show in 1999. But 10 years is 10 years; except, apparently, in Julie Wilson's world. She slew us all over again, performing nearly 20 songs for almost 90 minutes, with nary a sign of fatigue, in a performance that ranged from excellent to superb to breathtakingly transcedent -- and then she remained in the lobby to meet and greet her audience. What a little moonlight can do, indeed; what a lady. 

Julie's back at The Metropolitan from March 11-14; you simply must go. 

Vinyl Vixens

Julie Is Her Name

Nine years ago, a certain young homosexual with precocious musical tastes, fell under the spell of our birthday legend, Miss Julie Wilson (October 21, 1925). This is the fan letter he wrote the day after witnessing her practice her particular brand of witchcraft; it ran on the front page of her website for several years, and is still archived on the site. More remarkably, at 83, Wilson The Divine still looks and sounds marvelous, and the words he wrote nine years ago still hold true.

"How wonderful to find a site dedicated to a new favorite performer of mine, Julie Wilson. I was fleetingly acquainted with Ms. Wilson's art via some of her 1950's recordings, At the St. Regis and My Old Flame. However, I had yet to have the pleasure of hearing her present-day repertoire when I saw, a few weeks ago, that she was performing at the Oak Room of the Algonquin in a program of Cy Coleman songs. Why, I thought, not? I had always been curious about Ms. Wilson's highly touted skills, and counted Cy Coleman amongst my favorite composers, so reservations were hastily made, and I entered the Oak Room with a great sense of anticipation. 

Anticipation soon gave way to goggle-eyed admiration as Ms. Wilson wove a vocal spell that I had never experienced before. Drawing out the syllables on sexy, syncopated numbers like "I've Got Your Number" in a hair-raisingly alluring fashion; or displaying the most naked emotion of "Would You Believe"; or demonstrating keen, razor-sharp comic timing on "Do Be a Darling," Ms. Wilson brought me to a jolting, jarring realization: I had grown accustomed to seeing merely professional singers go through the motions, sometimes quite pleasingly. Tonight, I was witnessing a legend.

Moreover, I was watching a legend at work, continuing to perfect a seemingly-already perfect craft. That Ms. Wilson sounds as good as she sounds, looks as stunning as she looks, and refuses to, as many performers of her experience do, rely on a tried-and-true repertoire of "greatest hits" year after year, performance after performance, makes me all the more respectful of this remarkable lady's talent and grace.

I am 23 years old, and have a broad spectrum of tastes in music. However, my love for the timeless melodies and lyrics of the Masters is unwavering, and has grown with time, education and exposure. Now, I also have a definitive interpreter to turn to. Thank you, Ms. Wilson, for giving such exceptional voice to some of the wisest truths and loveliest sentiments ever written. Respectfully, a fan..."

Julie continues to perform occasionally at The Metropolitan Room here in NYC, and you can often see her in the audience enjoying the performances of others -- always impeccably dressed in a stylish black pantsuit and a fabulous hat. Happy Birthday, Julie Wilson! You are truly one of a kind, and we're privileged to have you among us.