You’ve been lied to about Curtis Stigers.
I know, because I’m one of many reporters who have long been fueling a popular misconception about him. Twice in the past three years, in these very pages, I’ve reviewed albums by the chiseled Idahoan singer/saxophonist. Both times I told of his early-’90s pop-rock stardom and how he decided to jump off the gravy train to pursue a comparatively impecunious life in jazz. True enough, but more than a little misleading. Growing up in Boise, Stigers never harbored fantasies of becoming a stadium-filling rocker. Nor did he have his sights set on becoming the next Mark Murphy (though, fortunately for us, he seems well on his way to doing just that). His youthful musical influences were far too eclectic to suggest a specific career path.