Some background ...
This is Hele Pinheiro, the original
"Girl from Ipanema."
She was seventeen when she looked straight ahead as
she walked to the sea, not giving her admirers
half a chance. She has enjoyed celebrity status in Brazil
ever since the song she inspired became a world-wide
phenomenon in 1964.
Written by Joao Gilberto and Vinicius de Moraes (English lyric by Norman Gimbel), the recording featured Gilberto's wife Astrud and the distinctive sound of the tenor sax of Stan Getz. The recording was
"top-of-the charts" for weeks.
Astrud was shy and gentle as reflected in her whisper-sweet sound. But she suffered significant performance anxiety. We shared a dressing room once during the height of the song's popularity, one Saturday night in Nashville, Tennessee when she experienced a major panic attack. It slowly subsided.
A Saturday night in Nashville, Tennessee means an SRO house at The Grand Ole Opry, NOT at the place where we were performing. Our venue still contained olfactory remnants of competitions where Blue Ribbons were awarded to cows, pigs, sheep and Mrs. Bailey's Peach Pie, a recipe she steadfastly refused to reveal. I know because I tried every form of coercion. (It's Crisco, by the way).
In that cavernous and smelly arena, we performed in front of a handful of bored folks who probably wandered in, mistakenly thinking Stan Getz was Buck Owens. All this is my way of explaining how pleasant it was to perform for a capacity house in Manhattan a few days later.
Astrud's crippling stage fright was ER intense , and I've always speculated I was part of the tour as a kind of back-up for her, although I was never officially informed that was the case. Just as well since I hadn't committed the Ipenema" lyrics to memory. Astrud proved tougher than she looked, never missing her entrance though she did seem a little unsteady as she advanced to center stage. Brava!
Astrud Gilberto
(Here's the BG Part)
At the same period of 1964, a swank night club called Basin Street East, then located in The Shelton Towers Hotel (now The New York Marriott East) at Lexington and 49th in New York City was consistently drawing crowds. The following impressive list of the headliners was typical of the "Top-of-the-Tree" artists usually presented there: The Oscar Peterson Trio, Carmen McRae with her trio, and the Duke Ellington Orchestra. I was in the audience for that amazing grouping. I remember the atmosphere was incandescent.
The only time I performed there was when the bill featured Astrud Gilberto and Stan Getz, riding the huge popularity crest of "The Girl From Ipanema", and Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass Big Band.
My phone rang early one morning. "Astrud has called in sick. Will you sub for her tonight?"
I possess a well-worn theatrical trunk-sized set of my own wibbly-wobblies
that made Astrud's anxieties seem harmless goose bumps by comparison. I had no written arrangements, but I could cobble together a list of some Standard Tunes and my keys. To my clear recollection, Stan Getz was AWOL. He probably bailed out when he was told Astrud would be a "no show". Okay: But what was going to happen when the announcement came that Astrud would not appear? Would there be a collective groan of disappointment, followed by a chorus of "WHOOOO???" The answer: "Yes" and "Yes", but mainly "Yes."
Of course, the crowd was grumbling and unsettled, but the band hired to play for Astrud were all top-quality jazz musicians, and friends too. They were "inside-out-familiar with every tune on my list, so we"faked" ten songs that turned out to be quite good fun for us, with energetic enthusiasm from the audience for which I was ever so grateful.
When my set finished, and during the break before the Alpert band came on, my agent told me Benny Goodman was in the house, and wanted to meet me. Benny always looked as if he was having some sort of eye trouble, squinting behind his glasses. And he didn't enunciate very well. He actually spoke softly. The room was filled with patrons talking and waiters scurrying to fill drink orders before Part II of the program began. There was enough babble that I couldn't hear Benny clearly.
When we left the table, my agent said: "
"Well. Do you want the job?" "What job?" "The job he just offered you." "He offered me a job? You sure he doesn't think he just hired Astrud Gilberto?"
I was convinced Benny had made a mistake. Then again, maybe he liked my singing, and thought of how much money he could save if he hired a relative unknown rather than pay what Astrud's agents would have demanded. His parsimonious personality was world famous. But the terms were okay, and I agreed to go on tour for a week in Mexico City. I thought it might actually be fun.
I grew up during the "Big Band Swing Era" of the late 1930's and the WWII 1940's, so the radio sounds filling the rooms of our house were usually the bands of Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, Harry James, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, but foremost, Benny Goodman. My parents were devoted to the big band sounds. They even rolled up the rug to dance in the living-room.
On opening night, in a very swanky Mexico City SRO night club, the Marquee announcing "Esta Noche! El Rey del Swing"!!, I was standing in the wings waiting for Benny to complete my introduction. He seemed to be taking a long time with it, so I peeked around the curtain and saw the pianist John Bunch, shouting at Benny in a loud stage whisper: "CAROL SLOANE! CAROL SLOANE!" A-HA! I was right. He's confused, and he DOES think I'm Astrud! Or somebody else.
The next day, with a special Invitation from the American Ambassador to attend the Bull Fights, Benny and I pretended it was a great honor. The band was not required to be there, but I was curious, and Benny clearly had no choice. His refusal would have been a front-page scandal for the Ambassador and other dignitaries. Three young, untested matadors, six bulls, each man to kill two of the fierce, very angry beasts.
In a bid to familiarize myself with the rules, I read a copy of Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises" on the flight down. He emphasized the importance of seeing the most skilled, experienced matadors at one's first "corrida" to fully understand the courage and intensity of focus required for a graceful "completion". Benny failed to grasp the nuances of a bull fight. He sat beside me, and slowly registered various stages of mal de mer without the de mer. Benny had no visible means of escape. And to add to his misery, each bull was dedicated to him. It was agonizing for him.
I'd been warned that Benny would often play his clarinet behind a singer, probably on every song. All I could think was: "How can that be a bad thing? He IS Benny Goodman, and I think it would be great." He did sit on a stool behind me sometimes, noodling along and taking solos. All terrific stuff, I might add.
What was it like to sing with Benny Goodman? Pretty great actually, truth be told, to be sharing the stage with a legend whose music had provided so much pleasure for me, my family and millions of fans all over the world. I felt special to have been asked to be a part of the tour.
-Sloane
P.S.
I was the only woman on the tour, and the band treated me with great respect. I was also the only woman on the tour who carried an extra-large bottle of Kaopectate in her luggage.
