4 Get past the froufrou packaging, complete with chintz, lace, chenille and adorable, snoozing pups, and inside you’ll find the precise opposite: an album (or two, depending on which version you choose) of deceptive simplicity that is the quintessence of quiet elegance, exquisite taste and impeccable musical instincts. Not since the mid-’60s era of <I>Simply Streisand</I> and <I>The Third Album</I>, when the roots of her career-igniting cabaret and nightclub days still showed in her recordings, have Streisand’s inimitable storytelling skills been more astutely exercised. Sure, the crystalline purity of that singularly magnificent voice has grown slightly cloudy (though the deterioration is remarkably minimal). But such slight imperfection only serves to heighten the silken wallop of her interpretative abilities. Where once she would soar, she now stoops to conquer, newly appreciating that less can be more, a lesson reinforced by one of its sharpest practitioners, Diana Krall, who served as co-producer (with Tommy LiPuma) and advisor. Adapting to Krall’s approach, Streisand recorded 13 standards with just piano, bass, guitar and drums. Naturally, when you’re Barbra Streisand you’re provided only the very best, including arranger Johnny Mandel, bassist John Clayton, guitarist Anthony Wilson, drummer Jeff Hamilton and a rotating who’s who of pianists, including Krall, Tamir Hendelman, Alan Broadbent and Bill Charlap. (Orchestral backing, conducted by Bill Ross, was added later.) The single-disc version of <I>Love Is the Answer</I> features all 13 tracks with orchestra. The deluxe edition includes a second disc with the quartet-only versions of 12 of the selections. Though both are stunning, opt for the latter. Gems this glittering are best nestled in minimally ornate settings. true 204 2009-11-04T22:54:13-05:00 false 25285 178 true 60 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

Get past the froufrou packaging, complete with chintz, lace, chenille and adorable, snoozing pups, and inside you’ll find the precise opposite: an album (or two, depending on which version you choose) of deceptive simplicity that is the quintessence of quiet elegance, exquisite taste and impeccable musical instincts. Not since the mid-’60s era of Simply Streisand and The Third Album , when the roots of her career-igniting cabaret and nightclub days still showed in her recordings, have Streisand’s inimitable storytelling skills been more astutely exercised. Sure, the crystalline purity of that singularly magnificent voice has grown slightly cloudy (though the deterioration is remarkably minimal). But such slight imperfection only serves to heighten the silken wallop of her interpretative abilities. Where once she would soar, she now stoops to conquer, newly appreciating that less can be more, a lesson reinforced by one of its sharpest practitioners, Diana Krall, who served as co-producer (with Tommy LiPuma) and advisor. Adapting to Krall’s approach, Streisand recorded 13 standards with just piano, bass, guitar and drums. Naturally, when you’re Barbra Streisand you’re provided only the very best, including arranger Johnny Mandel, bassist John Clayton, guitarist Anthony Wilson, drummer Jeff Hamilton and a rotating who’s who of pianists, including Krall, Tamir Hendelman, Alan Broadbent and Bill Charlap. (Orchestral backing, conducted by Bill Ross, was added later.) The single-disc version of Love Is the Answer features all 13 tracks with orchestra. The deluxe edition includes a second disc with the quartet-only versions of 12 of the selections. Though both are stunning, opt for the...

2009-11-10T16:00:59-05:00

4 It’s tough not to admire the pluck of the indie-jazz vocalist. He or she has chosen one of the thorniest of musical paths and is out there all alone, handling everything from bookings and album production to promotion and CD sales. Take Scot Albertson, now four albums into a slowly developing career and slugging as hard as one man can. Trouble is, as is often the case with indie projects, Albertson tries to paint on too broad a canvas. It’s as if, in assembling the 15 tunes for <I>With Every Note, a Step</I>, he’s determined to demonstrate everything he can do. The result is a sort of jazz/cabaret version of a Whitman sampler, with a few creamy ballads, a couple of darker numbers to chew on, a bit of whipped froth and even the occasional nutty addition. So we’re subject to such discordant pairings as Spike Jones’ silly “Pass the Biscuits, Mirandy” against Andrew Lloyd Webber’s grandiose “Music of the Night,” and the folk prayer “Hymn of the Highlands” beside a jaunty “Save the Bones for Henry Jones.” Albertson has a voice built for Broadway and the dexterity to go with it. Indeed, it seems a voice ideally shaped for the Rodgers & Hammerstein songbook (represented here only once, with a sweetly rendered “No Other Love”). If, on his next outing, he opted for such a narrower focus, it could result in a big step forward. true 204 2009-11-04T22:56:21-05:00 false 25286 178 true 60 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

It’s tough not to admire the pluck of the indie-jazz vocalist. He or she has chosen one of the thorniest of musical paths and is out there all alone, handling everything from bookings and album production to promotion and CD sales. Take Scot Albertson, now four albums into a slowly developing career and slugging as hard as one man can. Trouble is, as is often the case with indie projects, Albertson tries to paint on too broad a canvas. It’s as if, in assembling the 15 tunes for With Every Note, a Step , he’s determined to demonstrate everything he can do. The result is a sort of jazz/cabaret version of a Whitman sampler, with a few creamy ballads, a couple of darker numbers to chew on, a bit of whipped froth and even the occasional nutty addition. So we’re subject to such discordant pairings as Spike Jones’ silly “Pass the Biscuits, Mirandy” against Andrew Lloyd Webber’s grandiose “Music of the Night,” and the folk prayer “Hymn of the Highlands” beside a jaunty “Save the Bones for Henry Jones.” Albertson has a voice built for Broadway and the dexterity to go with it. Indeed, it seems a voice ideally shaped for the Rodgers & Hammerstein songbook (represented here only once, with a sweetly rendered “No Other Love”). If, on his next outing, he opted for such a narrower focus, it could result in a big step forward.

2009-11-06T12:16:31-05:00

4 That singer-pianist John Proulx bears a striking vocal similarity to the young Chet Baker was made undeniably apparent three years ago with the release of Proulx’s debut, Moon and Sand. Rather than deny or mask the resemblance, Proulx embraces it on this belated follow-up, paying tribute with a dozen standards from Baker’s mid-’50s repertoire plus one new, supposedly honorific composition (the upbeat “Before You Know It,” which suggests little knowledge of the moody, demonized Baker). But likeness doesn’t necessarily translate to like-mindedness. Proulx sings without shadows. Exploring sentiments gray or sunny, he exudes a fundamental sincerity, conveying precisely what the lyric intends. Baker was all about shadows. Seemingly cool detachment belied intense introspection as he bent the words to his will, carving undercurrents that could both enhance and obscure the song’s emotional intent. Consider the two songs Baker is most strongly associated with: Where Proulx’s “Let’s Get Lost” travels a breezy path of romantic escapism, Baker’s suggests a worldlier, more sexually charged motive; and while Proulx’s “My Funny Valentine” unfolds like the tender billet-doux it is, Baker’s is laced with haunted desperation that borders on sinister (its murky creepiness used to chilling effect by director Anthony Minghella in The Talented Mr. Ripley). Which isn’t to suggest that Proulx’s interpretations are in any way lacking. Indeed, his readings—particularly a calypso-esque “Look for the Silver Lining” and an “I Remember You” that rides a gentle bossa wave—are consistently clever and fresh. But they emulate Baker in name only. true 204 2009-11-04T22:58:06-05:00 false 25287 178 true 60 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

That singer-pianist John Proulx bears a striking vocal similarity to the young Chet Baker was made undeniably apparent three years ago with the release of Proulx’s debut, Moon and Sand. Rather than deny or mask the resemblance, Proulx embraces it on this belated follow-up, paying tribute with a dozen standards from Baker’s mid-’50s repertoire plus one new, supposedly honorific composition (the upbeat “Before You Know It,” which suggests little knowledge of the moody, demonized Baker). But likeness doesn’t necessarily translate to like-mindedness. Proulx sings without shadows. Exploring sentiments gray or sunny, he exudes a fundamental sincerity, conveying precisely what the lyric intends. Baker was all about shadows. Seemingly cool detachment belied intense introspection as he bent the words to his will, carving undercurrents that could both enhance and obscure the song’s emotional intent. Consider the two songs Baker is most strongly associated with: Where Proulx’s “Let’s Get Lost” travels a breezy path of romantic escapism, Baker’s suggests a worldlier, more sexually charged motive; and while Proulx’s “My Funny Valentine” unfolds like the tender billet-doux it is, Baker’s is laced with haunted desperation that borders on sinister (its murky creepiness used to chilling effect by director Anthony Minghella in The Talented Mr. Ripley). Which isn’t to suggest that Proulx’s interpretations are in any way lacking. Indeed, his readings—particularly a calypso-esque “Look for the Silver Lining” and an “I Remember You” that rides a gentle bossa wave—are consistently clever and fresh. But they emulate Baker in name only.

2009-11-06T12:16:13-05:00

4 There’ve been some changes made. Five years ago, when the lanky Idahoan made his recording debut with Introducing Spencer Day, his not-quite-jelled sound suggested peripatetic trips along the folk-rock matrix extending from Livingston Taylor to Boz Scaggs. A year later, the still-angelic-sounding Day eased into a cooler California vibe on his Movie of Your Life EP, delivering better-defined life studies like “Ernie’s Hollywood Party” and the title track. Now, just four years on, the young baritone’s voice has grown distinctly deeper and gruffer, his style looser, his songwriting sharper and stronger. On most of the 14 tracks, particularly “25” (which bears a striking thematic similarity to Jamie Cullum’s “Twentysomething”), the restless title track, the pent-up “Everybody Knows (The Family Skeleton)” and the sweetly reflective “Summer,” Day rivals Cullum in his ability to explore coming-of-age angst and the romantic idealism of youth. Equally fine, despite unnecessarily grand arrangements built around swelling waves of strings, are the driving “Till You Come to Me” and the Thoreau-esque “Better Way.” In short, Vagabond confirms the emergence of a major new talent. true 204 2009-10-12T22:45:57-04:00 false 25205 177 true 60 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

There’ve been some changes made. Five years ago, when the lanky Idahoan made his recording debut with Introducing Spencer Day, his not-quite-jelled sound suggested peripatetic trips along the folk-rock matrix extending from Livingston Taylor to Boz Scaggs. A year later, the still-angelic-sounding Day eased into a cooler California vibe on his Movie of Your Life EP, delivering better-defined life studies like “Ernie’s Hollywood Party” and the title track. Now, just four years on, the young baritone’s voice has grown distinctly deeper and gruffer, his style looser, his songwriting sharper and stronger. On most of the 14 tracks, particularly “25” (which bears a striking thematic similarity to Jamie Cullum’s “Twentysomething”), the restless title track, the pent-up “Everybody Knows (The Family Skeleton)” and the sweetly reflective “Summer,” Day rivals Cullum in his ability to explore coming-of-age angst and the romantic idealism of youth. Equally fine, despite unnecessarily grand arrangements built around swelling waves of strings, are the driving “Till You Come to Me” and the Thoreau-esque “Better Way.” In short, Vagabond confirms the emergence of a major new talent.

2009-10-20T12:18:31-04:00

4 silver-lined, but mostly light and imperturbably unencumbered. It sometimes drifts lazily (notably on a gentle, tender “There Are Such Things” and a soft-swinging “There’s a Small Hotel”), but is just as often propelled with gustier verve, as on Monk and Hendricks’ spirited “Monk’s Dream,” the pop-oriented “Heartbeat” and a thunderous, scat-lined “By the River St. Marie” worthy of Louis Prima. Occasionally, though, Vasandani allows style to overshadow substance. The unusual urgency of his “Once in a While” manages, for example, to obscure the wistful sense of loss at the song’s core. Likewise, his closing “Travelin’ Light” sounds more like a bouncy hymn to freedom than a bruised reflection on post-desertion heartbreak. true 204 2009-10-12T22:47:28-04:00 false 25206 177 true 60 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

silver-lined, but mostly light and imperturbably unencumbered. It sometimes drifts lazily (notably on a gentle, tender “There Are Such Things” and a soft-swinging “There’s a Small Hotel”), but is just as often propelled with gustier verve, as on Monk and Hendricks’ spirited “Monk’s Dream,” the pop-oriented “Heartbeat” and a thunderous, scat-lined “By the River St. Marie” worthy of Louis Prima. Occasionally, though, Vasandani allows style to overshadow substance. The unusual urgency of his “Once in a While” manages, for example, to obscure the wistful sense of loss at the song’s core. Likewise, his closing “Travelin’ Light” sounds more like a bouncy hymn to freedom than a bruised reflection on post-desertion heartbreak.

2009-10-20T12:17:20-04:00

4 Following the 2001 release of her fine <I>I Saw the Sky</I>, Melissa Walker seemed to go quiet. The career-halting silence was, in fact, reflective of a terrifying reality for Walker. An infection resulting from severe allergies ignited vocal-cord paralysis. But the feisty Canadian chanteuse refused to succumb to despair or self-pity, instead devoting her years of recovery to Jazz House Kids, the nonprofit organization she launched a decade ago to bring jazz to public school students. Fortunately, Walker is now back in action, sounding richer, fuller and an appealing shade or two darker than she did before. Surrounding herself with top-drawer talent—guitarists Keith Ganz and Adam Rogers, bassist Christian McBride, pianist Aaron Goldberg, drummer Clarence Penn and, most sublimely, Gregoire Maret conjuring magic on harmonica—Walker opens with the title track (made famous by Irma Thomas), followed by Peter Gabriel’s “Don’t Give Up.” The first eloquently speaks to the troubles that engulfed her; the second points to her unfailing optimism amid all the hardship. The balance of the album serves up a banquet of varied delights, including an exquisitely crafted pairing of “The Other Woman” and “Forget Me,” a superb exploration of the smoky mysteriousness and lurking thrills of “Invitation” and, most surprising, a breezy reading of “Mr. Bojangles” that strongly suggests Peggy Lee. true 204 2009-10-12T22:49:52-04:00 false 25207 177 true 60 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

Following the 2001 release of her fine I Saw the Sky , Melissa Walker seemed to go quiet. The career-halting silence was, in fact, reflective of a terrifying reality for Walker. An infection resulting from severe allergies ignited vocal-cord paralysis. But the feisty Canadian chanteuse refused to succumb to despair or self-pity, instead devoting her years of recovery to Jazz House Kids, the nonprofit organization she launched a decade ago to bring jazz to public school students. Fortunately, Walker is now back in action, sounding richer, fuller and an appealing shade or two darker than she did before. Surrounding herself with top-drawer talent—guitarists Keith Ganz and Adam Rogers, bassist Christian McBride, pianist Aaron Goldberg, drummer Clarence Penn and, most sublimely, Gregoire Maret conjuring magic on harmonica—Walker opens with the title track (made famous by Irma Thomas), followed by Peter Gabriel’s “Don’t Give Up.” The first eloquently speaks to the troubles that engulfed her; the second points to her unfailing optimism amid all the hardship. The balance of the album serves up a banquet of varied delights, including an exquisitely crafted pairing of “The Other Woman” and “Forget Me,” a superb exploration of the smoky mysteriousness and lurking thrills of “Invitation” and, most surprising, a breezy reading of “Mr. Bojangles” that strongly suggests Peggy Lee.

2009-10-20T12:17:49-04:00

4 As sumptuous as Johnny Hartman’s espresso-dark baritone was, his brand of balladeering remained forever steeped in conservatism. Indeed, when Hartman formed an unlikely but glorious union with John Coltrane in 1963, it was Coltrane who curbed his adventurousness, downshifting into Hartman’s traditionalist zone and proving himself an invaluable partner in plush quietude. So the idea of as bold and brazen a vocal explorer as Kurt Elling revisiting Hartman’s portion of the legendary collaboration (with the underappreciated Ernie Watts adroitly embracing the Coltrane role) seems akin to Allen Ginsberg devoting an evening to recitation of Emily Dickinson. Truth is, of course, that nothing, not even as classic a blueprint as <I>John Coltrane & Johnny Hartman</I>, is going to rein Elling in. Recording live at Lincoln Center, Elling does color outside the lines, though with significantly less audacity than usual. Indeed, much of the flourish comes from his longtime partner-in-imagination, pianist Laurence Hobgood. It was Hobgood who wrote all-new arrangements and augmented his trio (bassist Clark Sommers and drummer Ulysses Owens) with the ETHEL string quartet. But only Elling can be credited with the touches of masterful phrasing—especially on “Lush Life” and “My One and Only Love”—that transform Hartman’s black velvet canvas into an expanse of subdued vibrancy. And only Elling can be applauded for the graceful narrative poem he lays atop “It’s Easy to Remember,” detailing the snow-covered morning when Coltrane and Hartman became briefly one, then separated to pursue such sharply divergent paths. true 204 2009-10-03T12:31:40-04:00 false 25105 175 true 60 2009-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

Kurt Elling pays tribute to John Coltrane & Johnny Hartman.

2009-10-12T11:09:48-04:00

4 His voice, tough and tender as well-aged boot leather, is one of the most recognizable across the wide plateaus of American pop, country and jazz. Unaffected, unadorned and blessedly unpretentious, his is a gut-level musical honesty that knows few equals. Willie Nelson sings what he believes and believes what he sings. It’s that (deceptively) simple. The album’s title is obviously intended to describe both artist and repertoire as Nelson, for the first time since recording the momentous <I>Stardust</I> 30 years ago (and opening the door for an endless parade of lesser crossover artists to invade the Great American Songbook), fills the entire album with standards. A more laidback outing than <I>Two Men With the Blues</I>, last year’s sterling teaming with Wynton Marsalis, <I>American Classic</I> finds Nelson deservedly at the center of an exemplary assemblage of talent, beginning with producer Tommy LiPuma and arranger Johnny Mandel (for four of 12 selections), and including bassist Christian McBride, drummer Lewis Nash, pianist Joe Sample, guitarist Anthony Wilson and, on two tracks, harmonica player Mickey Raphael. Clearly respecting the headliner, they lay blankets of softest velvet beneath Nelson’s grizzled magnificence. Equally respectful are Diana Krall, on piano and companion vocals for a sultry “If I Had You,” and Norah Jones, on hand for some delightfully playful sparring on “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Still, Nelson best flies solo, whether merrily gliding through “Fly Me to the Moon” or descending to the gloomily reflective depths of “Angel Eyes,” bringing richer inscrutability to that incomparable exit line, “Excuse me while I disappear,” than any artist before him. true 204 2009-10-03T12:47:32-04:00 false 25107 175 true 60 2009-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

Country singer Nelson revisits classic American standards. Cameos by Diana Krall and Norah Jones.

2009-10-21T10:00:50-04:00

4 Though it didn’t receive anywhere near the hoopla surrounding last year’s celebration of Sheila Jordan’s 80th birthday, 2008 also marked Ernestine Anderson’s entrée into the octogenarian club. Like Jordan, Anderson is an indefatigable trooper, still going strong with her regular appearances at Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola in New York and far-too-infrequent albums for HighNote (the last was 2003’s Love Makes the Changes). Sure, some of that intense smokiness that helped shape Anderson into one of the great R&B shouters of the 1950s has diminished. But her slighter blaze proves just as enticing on this brief (eight tracks, totaling just 45 minutes) assemblage of breezy, midtempo swingers (“Make Someone Happy,” “Day by Day,” “This Can’t Be Love” and a shimmering “A Lovely Way to Spend an Evening”) and soft ballads (“Skylark,” “For All We Know,” Leon Russell’s tender title tune and a distinctively mellow “Candy.”) The beauty of Anderson’s dusky magic is its simplicity. No big gestures, no flashy flourishes—nothing but pure, and delightfully mature, showmanship set against superbly relaxed backing by pianist Lafayette Harris Jr., bassist Chip Jackson and drummer Willie Jones III, with the singularly perceptive tenor saxman Houston Person as the peripatetic moth circling Anderson’s flame. true 204 2009-04-20T14:22:03-04:00 false 24634 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

New CD from singer shows her still going strong.

19308 2009-09-16T13:11:54-04:00

4 Raquel Bitton and the bolero share similar heritages, mixing French and Spanish influences to create a fiery romanticism of soaring intensity. And Bitton, who suggests a spicier Edith Piaf (and, indeed, has earned substantial success investigating the Piaf songbook), seems an ideal choice for exploring, in French and Spanish, the work of the greatest Cuban, Mexican and Spanish bolero composers of the 20th century. Of these dozen classics, only one, Consuelo Velàzquez’s scorching “Besame Mucho,” will likely be familiar. But there is a spectrum of quixotic delights to be discovered here, ranging from the light shimmer of “Guitare d’amour” and swinging, horn-fueled bounce of “J’attendrai” to the august passion of “Aranjuez, mon amour” and soul-deep fervor of “Adoro.” Consider it a first-class ticket to alluringly piquant musical vistas. true 204 2009-04-20T14:22:39-04:00 false 24635 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

Raquel Bitton and the bolero share similar heritages, mixing French and Spanish influences to create a fiery romanticism of soaring intensity. And Bitton, who suggests a spicier Edith Piaf (and, indeed, has earned substantial success investigating the Piaf songbook), seems an ideal choice for exploring, in French and Spanish, the work of the greatest Cuban, Mexican and Spanish bolero composers of the 20th century. Of these dozen classics, only one, Consuelo Velàzquez’s scorching “Besame Mucho,” will likely be familiar. But there is a spectrum of quixotic delights to be discovered here, ranging from the light shimmer of “Guitare d’amour” and swinging, horn-fueled bounce of “J’attendrai” to the august passion of “Aranjuez, mon amour” and soul-deep fervor of “Adoro.” Consider it a first-class ticket to alluringly piquant musical vistas.

2009-05-04T14:52:49-04:00

4 There’s a film noir quality to Melody Gardot’s latest. Even on upbeat numbers like the gently flowing “If the Stars Were Mine” and simmering “Our Love Is Easy,” there’s the hint of smoky inscrutability, a sepia-toned sense of Gene Tierney or Gloria Grahame or Lauren Bacall lurking in dim-lit corners, contemplating a sin just committed or one about to unfold. It is an aura that seems utterly appropriate, since Gardot writes and sings precisely the way Bacall looked during her first flush of Bogart-heightened fame: sultry, mysterious, with a subtle touch of disdain built on a solid foundation of self-assurance. Listening to these densely layered tales of love lost, love found, unrequited love and love’s sinister illusions, it’s as if a mellowed Nina Simone had invaded the sweetly melancholic territory of Billie Holiday. Surely, too, the sage choice of Larry Klein as producer contributes to the album’s twilit allure, since Klein has worked the same shadowy magic with Madeleine Peyroux and his ex-wife, Joni Mitchell. Ironically, the only track that doesn’t sound as if it just escaped from a vintage Warner Bros. soundstage is the one that actually hails from that period, the album’s sole cover, a carefree reading of “Over the Rainbow” that rides atop a gentle samba beat. true 204 2009-04-20T14:23:13-04:00 false 24636 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

There’s a film noir quality to Melody Gardot’s latest. Even on upbeat numbers like the gently flowing “If the Stars Were Mine” and simmering “Our Love Is Easy,” there’s the hint of smoky inscrutability, a sepia-toned sense of Gene Tierney or Gloria Grahame or Lauren Bacall lurking in dim-lit corners, contemplating a sin just committed or one about to unfold. It is an aura that seems utterly appropriate, since Gardot writes and sings precisely the way Bacall looked during her first flush of Bogart-heightened fame: sultry, mysterious, with a subtle touch of disdain built on a solid foundation of self-assurance. Listening to these densely layered tales of love lost, love found, unrequited love and love’s sinister illusions, it’s as if a mellowed Nina Simone had invaded the sweetly melancholic territory of Billie Holiday. Surely, too, the sage choice of Larry Klein as producer contributes to the album’s twilit allure, since Klein has worked the same shadowy magic with Madeleine Peyroux and his ex-wife, Joni Mitchell. Ironically, the only track that doesn’t sound as if it just escaped from a vintage Warner Bros. soundstage is the one that actually hails from that period, the album’s sole cover, a carefree reading of “Over the Rainbow” that rides atop a gentle samba beat.

2009-05-04T14:51:06-04:00

4 Chances are that at some point or another throughout the past decade you’ve heard La Tanya Hall. Maybe it was behind Steve Tyrell or Aretha Franklin, or during her five years with Harry Belafonte or her subsequent four years as a member of Bobby McFerrin’s Voicestra ensemble, or as headliner of the national tour of Dreamgirls, or in any of a dozen or more top Manhattan nightspots, extending from Feinstein’s at the Regency to the Blue Note. Now, as her new album’s title coyly suggests, the silky, soulful Hall is at long last making her solo recording debut. Traversing a dozen classic tunes, Hall, who suggests the keen interpretative smarts of Maxine Sullivan underscored by the elegant sophistication of Nancy Wilson, proves marvelously dexterous, as enticing at plumbing the depths of “I Got It Bad (and That Ain’t Good)” as at climbing the heights of a scorching “(It’s Gonna Be) A Great Day.” Equal credit for the album’s abundant charm is due arranger/conductor Angelo DiPippo. Whether shaping “Summertime” as a sensuous samba or sculpting “You Don’t Know What Love Is” into a bluesy, brassy admonition, his instincts are splendidly imaginative while fully appreciative of Hall’s Broadway-meets-supper club vibe. true 204 2009-04-20T14:23:46-04:00 false 24637 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

Chances are that at some point or another throughout the past decade you’ve heard La Tanya Hall. Maybe it was behind Steve Tyrell or Aretha Franklin, or during her five years with Harry Belafonte or her subsequent four years as a member of Bobby McFerrin’s Voicestra ensemble, or as headliner of the national tour of Dreamgirls, or in any of a dozen or more top Manhattan nightspots, extending from Feinstein’s at the Regency to the Blue Note. Now, as her new album’s title coyly suggests, the silky, soulful Hall is at long last making her solo recording debut. Traversing a dozen classic tunes, Hall, who suggests the keen interpretative smarts of Maxine Sullivan underscored by the elegant sophistication of Nancy Wilson, proves marvelously dexterous, as enticing at plumbing the depths of “I Got It Bad (and That Ain’t Good)” as at climbing the heights of a scorching “(It’s Gonna Be) A Great Day.” Equal credit for the album’s abundant charm is due arranger/conductor Angelo DiPippo. Whether shaping “Summertime” as a sensuous samba or sculpting “You Don’t Know What Love Is” into a bluesy, brassy admonition, his instincts are splendidly imaginative while fully appreciative of Hall’s Broadway-meets-supper club vibe.

2009-05-04T14:51:29-04:00

4 Open up Kelly Harland’s Long Ago and Far Away and, hidden behind the CD itself, you’ll discover a photograph of a serene, sun-dappled path through an autumnal woods. It is a fitting metaphor for Harland’s long overdue follow-up to 2003’s Twelve Times Romance. Six years ago, her radiant vocal perspicacity was clouded by pianist Ted Brancato’s ill-fitting arrangements, with Harland often forced to try to climb above percussionist Michael Spiro, trumpeter Jay Thomas and Brancato himself. Now, for this far gentler exploration of 10 Jerome Kern gems, she has found herself a far more simpatico pianist in Bill Mays (demonstrating as thoughtful an appreciation for standards as Keith Jarrett), a far more suitable arranger in Reed Ruddy and more appropriately subdued accompaniment shaped solely by Mays and bassist Chuck Deardorf (Harland’s husband). Wandering into this dense Kern forest, Harland travels from the wide-open spaces of “I’m Old-Fashioned” (gorgeously accented by a cascade of fluttering leaves, courtesy of Mays) and “Look for the Silver Lining” to the misty crooks of the title track and a clever blending of “Can I Forget You” and “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.” But the two standout tracks feature a reverential Mays guiding Harland through a hushed, circuitous “All the Things You Are,” and a sublimely pastoral “The Folks Who Live on the Hill.” true 204 2009-04-20T14:24:18-04:00 false 24638 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

Open up Kelly Harland’s Long Ago and Far Away and, hidden behind the CD itself, you’ll discover a photograph of a serene, sun-dappled path through an autumnal woods. It is a fitting metaphor for Harland’s long overdue follow-up to 2003’s Twelve Times Romance. Six years ago, her radiant vocal perspicacity was clouded by pianist Ted Brancato’s ill-fitting arrangements, with Harland often forced to try to climb above percussionist Michael Spiro, trumpeter Jay Thomas and Brancato himself. Now, for this far gentler exploration of 10 Jerome Kern gems, she has found herself a far more simpatico pianist in Bill Mays (demonstrating as thoughtful an appreciation for standards as Keith Jarrett), a far more suitable arranger in Reed Ruddy and more appropriately subdued accompaniment shaped solely by Mays and bassist Chuck Deardorf (Harland’s husband). Wandering into this dense Kern forest, Harland travels from the wide-open spaces of “I’m Old-Fashioned” (gorgeously accented by a cascade of fluttering leaves, courtesy of Mays) and “Look for the Silver Lining” to the misty crooks of the title track and a clever blending of “Can I Forget You” and “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.” But the two standout tracks feature a reverential Mays guiding Harland through a hushed, circuitous “All the Things You Are,” and a sublimely pastoral “The Folks Who Live on the Hill.”

2009-05-04T14:52:25-04:00

4 That mega-producer David Foster is a genius at marketing pop singers is beyond question. His work, as applied to an assembly line of hit-makers that extends from Streisand and Cher to Groban and Bublé, is invariably slick and überprofessional, polished to a blinding sheen. He knows precisely what it takes to tap into the pop culture zeitgeist, and is consistently on the money when it comes to the pulse-taking of the music-buying masses. So, working his brand of star-making magic with teenaged powerhouse Renee Olstead for the second time (he also produced her eponymous debut in 2004), Foster can virtually guarantee her Groban- or Bublé-sized success—but at what cost? Left to her own devices, the Texas lass with the dynamite range and slightly countrified timbre has the makings of a top-flight pop-jazz artist along the lines of Jane Monheit or Paula Cole. But Foster tends to bury her in stifling blankets of excess, layering on waves of strings, banks of backup singers and often overwhelmingly grand arrangements. Marquee additions like Chris Botti (marking his third union with Olstead with “When I Fall in Love”) and the Clayton-Hamilton Orchestra (motoring through a version of “Thanks for the Boogie Ride” that proves as tame as Anita O’Day’s was hip) only add to the sense that Olstead is being packaged rather than produced. true 204 2009-04-20T14:24:52-04:00 false 24639 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

That mega-producer David Foster is a genius at marketing pop singers is beyond question. His work, as applied to an assembly line of hit-makers that extends from Streisand and Cher to Groban and Bublé, is invariably slick and überprofessional, polished to a blinding sheen. He knows precisely what it takes to tap into the pop culture zeitgeist, and is consistently on the money when it comes to the pulse-taking of the music-buying masses. So, working his brand of star-making magic with teenaged powerhouse Renee Olstead for the second time (he also produced her eponymous debut in 2004), Foster can virtually guarantee her Groban- or Bublé-sized success—but at what cost? Left to her own devices, the Texas lass with the dynamite range and slightly countrified timbre has the makings of a top-flight pop-jazz artist along the lines of Jane Monheit or Paula Cole. But Foster tends to bury her in stifling blankets of excess, layering on waves of strings, banks of backup singers and often overwhelmingly grand arrangements. Marquee additions like Chris Botti (marking his third union with Olstead with “When I Fall in Love”) and the Clayton-Hamilton Orchestra (motoring through a version of “Thanks for the Boogie Ride” that proves as tame as Anita O’Day’s was hip) only add to the sense that Olstead is being packaged rather than produced.

2009-05-04T14:51:46-04:00

4 Released nearly a year ago in her adopted homeland of Canada and already a chart-topping success in her native Russia, vocalist and pianist Olga Osipova’s debut collection of all-original material is finally getting some deserved stateside attention. Much as Madeleine Peyroux naturally evokes a hazy, retro vibe haunted by the ghost of Billie Holiday, Osipova spontaneously suggests the luxuriant smolder of Marlene Dietrich. But Osipova does the iconic screen siren one better. Again rivaling Peyroux, she proves herself an excellent songsmith, crafting a dozen consistently fine tunes that extend from the coy playfulness of “Don’t Forget About Love” and arch lustfulness of “Come and See Me Alone” to the bruised longing of “Unavailable,” murky wistfulness of “St. Petersburg” and gentle, romantic swirl of “Wieder und Wieder” (a hit for Osipova in Germany while she was completing a Masters degree in linguistics at the University of Oldenburg and performing with the a cappella group Point 7). Perhaps a porcelain-skinned newcomer who evokes images of dimly lit Berlin cabarets from a long-faded era may not have the makings of wide appeal. Then again, it hasn’t exactly kept Ute Lemper in obscurity. true 204 2009-04-20T14:25:51-04:00 false 24640 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

Released nearly a year ago in her adopted homeland of Canada and already a chart-topping success in her native Russia, vocalist and pianist Olga Osipova’s debut collection of all-original material is finally getting some deserved stateside attention. Much as Madeleine Peyroux naturally evokes a hazy, retro vibe haunted by the ghost of Billie Holiday, Osipova spontaneously suggests the luxuriant smolder of Marlene Dietrich. But Osipova does the iconic screen siren one better. Again rivaling Peyroux, she proves herself an excellent songsmith, crafting a dozen consistently fine tunes that extend from the coy playfulness of “Don’t Forget About Love” and arch lustfulness of “Come and See Me Alone” to the bruised longing of “Unavailable,” murky wistfulness of “St. Petersburg” and gentle, romantic swirl of “Wieder und Wieder” (a hit for Osipova in Germany while she was completing a Masters degree in linguistics at the University of Oldenburg and performing with the a cappella group Point 7). Perhaps a porcelain-skinned newcomer who evokes images of dimly lit Berlin cabarets from a long-faded era may not have the makings of wide appeal. Then again, it hasn’t exactly kept Ute Lemper in obscurity.

2009-05-04T14:50:41-04:00

4 Among neophyte female vocalists, it’s an all-too-common trap. They grow up learning from Ella, Sarah, Lena, Peggy and Rosie, taking such masters’ signature tunes to heart. So when their turn behind the mike arrives, they offer up those same iconic songs in homage. Neophyte pop-jazz stylist Jaimee Paul is the latest witting victim. In theory, it’s a rather sweet conceit. In practice, even as promising a newcomer as Paul can’t hope to replicate, or even emulate, Etta James’ near-orgasmic ecstasy throughout “At Last,” or the blend of assuredness and predatory heat that defines Peggy Lee’s “Fever,” or the embittered bite of Rosemary Clooney’s “Love, You Didn’t Do Right By Me,” or the morning-after satisfaction of Dinah Washington’s “What a Difference a Day Makes.” As Paul works her way through 13 laudatory tracks, it’s difficult not to be reminded of the young Aretha Franklin, back in the day when Columbia was trying to force her into a Nancy Wilson mold, before Franklin found her true voice at Atlantic. Paul is blessed with a glorious voice (indeed, there’s significant evidence of Franklin’s raw majesty), one that deserves to travel under its own powerful steam rather than on the coattails of legends. true 204 2009-04-20T14:26:30-04:00 false 24641 174 true 60 2009-05-01T00:00:00-04:00

Among neophyte female vocalists, it’s an all-too-common trap. They grow up learning from Ella, Sarah, Lena, Peggy and Rosie, taking such masters’ signature tunes to heart. So when their turn behind the mike arrives, they offer up those same iconic songs in homage. Neophyte pop-jazz stylist Jaimee Paul is the latest witting victim. In theory, it’s a rather sweet conceit. In practice, even as promising a newcomer as Paul can’t hope to replicate, or even emulate, Etta James’ near-orgasmic ecstasy throughout “At Last,” or the blend of assuredness and predatory heat that defines Peggy Lee’s “Fever,” or the embittered bite of Rosemary Clooney’s “Love, You Didn’t Do Right By Me,” or the morning-after satisfaction of Dinah Washington’s “What a Difference a Day Makes.” As Paul works her way through 13 laudatory tracks, it’s difficult not to be reminded of the young Aretha Franklin, back in the day when Columbia was trying to force her into a Nancy Wilson mold, before Franklin found her true voice at Atlantic. Paul is blessed with a glorious voice (indeed, there’s significant evidence of Franklin’s raw majesty), one that deserves to travel under its own powerful steam rather than on the coattails of legends.

2009-05-04T14:52:07-04:00