Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, January 1, 1993 TAG: 9212310071
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: HOLIDAY
SOURCE: TOM MOON KNIGHT-RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
NEW FEMALE JAZZ SINGERS FALL SHORT
It was only a matter of time before the conservatism that overtook instrumental jazz in the '80s spread to the singers.Ever since 1982, when Wynton Marsalis struck gold with his first record, major labels have latched onto young musicians who express reverence for the bebop canon. These artists have changed the way jazz is viewed, so much so that nostalgia is the dominant theme in jazz today: Reissues and repertory orchestras and musicians who sound like long-gone greats are the hot sellers.
This has been especially good for female jazz vocalists. Interest in the classics has led to the recognition of some overlooked geniuses such as singer-pianist Shirley Horn, whose careers were overshadowed by Sarah Vaughan and Ella Fitzgerald. And through recent major-label releases, rediscovered stalwarts Betty Carter, Abbey Lincoln and the long-absent Helen Merrill have experienced the acclaim that has been due them for years.
These veterans, particularly Horn and Carter, don't merely sing - they turn every phrase into a signature. Their interpretations have a defiant individualism more often associated with jazz instrumentalists.
While these mature vocalists are making their familiar styles modern, another, younger group of women is looking backward for guidance (or a free ride). They're the Marsalis-era neo-conservative chanteuses, singers who offer barely reworked versions of vocal chestnuts and call the effort a new development.
1992 produced quite a crop. Nnenna Freelon, who debuted on Columbia, was heralded by her handlers as "the next Sarah Vaughan" - even though her eponymous record was an overwrought studio orchestra mess. Vanessa Rubin's debut, "Soul Eyes" (RCA/Novus), won the singer praise for her agility and scatting sense, but took precious few risks. Patricia Barber made her bow with "A Distortion of Love" (Antilles), which attempted to integrate the standard song with arty instrumental playing that moved beyond bebop - but only partly succeeded.
Other solid jazz singers - Rachelle Ferrell and Carmen Lundy - tried to crack the commercial market with excessively produced pop-jazz records: Farrell works Anita Baker territory, while Lundy, one of New York's finest interpreters of song, goes the pop-fusion route.
The year's lone success story in this trend is Holland's Denise Jannah, whose U.S. debut, "Take It From the Top," has just been released by Timeless. On a standards-dominated program, she shows the influence of many singers but moves beyond them - to create an accomplished and highly personal sound.
In varying degrees, the "Next Sarah" syndrome has stunted the development of these artists. With the exception of Jannah, none was prepared to enter the marketplace. None has enough control of the classic style to refashion it into something individual.
While it's true that not all jazz records need to move the artform forward, they should at least deviate slightly from established patterns. It's impossible to tell when these women, all blessed with pleasant voices, are paying tribute to their influences and when they're simply banking on nostalgia, in hopes that the Dinah Washington fans will appreciate a faithful treatment of a familiar song.
The new singers are fighting a futile battle. The mind cherishes a well-sung song: Unlike an instrumental interpretation, which can be difficult to retain, a vocal performance can haunt for days, if not years. The recordings of Vaughan and Billie Holiday, dotted with idiosyncracies and anguished turns of phrase that could not have come from anyone else, stay with us. Every song is a compelling case, a piece of life history, an investment. Others are welcome to tackle this material, but their challenge is to offer more than a reminder of the original.
No matter how hard they try to meet this gold standard - through feats of athletic vocalism that Holiday, for one, would never have attempted - the new singers fall short, victims of unrealistic expectations and limited imaginations. You can hear them striving: When Freelon scats the last phrase of "Stella By Starlight," a favorite since the '40s, she's not moved by the studio-orchestra setting or the final rush of emotion that sums up the lyric. She's just following the script.
It's a common problem. Freelon, Rubin and Barber get the words right. They know how to suggest a coy come-on or a dejected glare. But their best phrases are oversung, directed at a vocal coach and not a lost love. There's no sound of experience ringing through the songs, no sense that the rue in "I Fall in Love Too Easily" is any different from the pain in "Soul Eyes." It's all generic, with very little of the storytelling that Vaughan and Washington viewed as part of their jobs. The inflections that made Holiday's "Willow Weep for Me" arresting are used in a jumble, as though a randomly inserted moan will convey the same emotion that Holiday's carefully considered placement achieved.
Jannah is the only singer of the current crop to meld Horn's musicianship, Washington's ache and Vaughn's smooth virtuosity into something wholly her own. She, too, tackles "Willow Weep for Me," and her reading is full of a personal sorrow that separates it from other latter-day versions.
Jannah's effortless scat chorus on "Pennies From Heaven" shows she's been influenced by Brazilian music as well as the jazz masters, and both the bebop anthem "Groovin' High" and the Rodgers & Hart standby "My Funny Valentine" find this contralto gently worming her personality into the songs. Aware that the material has been covered hundreds of times before, she doesn't go by the book, and she doesn't gun for radical change.
Instead, Jannah is interested in delicate insinuation, in bringing wisps of new light to old traditions, in restoring grace to the carelessly interpreted classics of jazz vocal music - one utterance at a time.