What was it like to sing with ... BENNY GOODMAN

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.

"What was it like to sing with ..." Oscar Peterson

With Coleman Hawkins.

Newport, 1962

   This is the first of a series of vignettes called

"What was it like to sing with ..."

which occurred during my 60+ years of performing

with some of the most famous musicians and singers 

of all time.  

  

That moment when everything blends,
you and your audience are in sync ...

* * * * * * * * * * * 

What was it like to sing with Oscar Peterson ...

Very often in the 1960's, I was hired as an Opening Act in those Clubs  that presented "a singer/a comic" format.  That concept was standard at the hungry i in San Francisco, Mr. Kelly's in Chicago, The Blue Angel and The Village Vanguard in New York.  And so I found myself opening for Jackie Mason and The Smothers Brothers in Chicago, for Phyllis Diller, Woody Allen and Lenny Bruce in New York, for Richard Pryor and Bill Cosby in San Francisco.  Those were all interesting, challenging, often hilarious experiences, even thrilling in one instance.

I met Oscar Peterson when legendary club owner Max Gordon invited me to sing a twenty-five to thirty minute set opener for a two-week engagement at The Village Vanguard in 1961.  I had just received very favorable press at Newport a few weeks before, so people seemed curious about me. Imagine it: After my set, I would sit down among the other Oscar Peterson fans in the packed room, and collect a pay check for all that fun.  It was on one of these nights Oscar told me this very funny story about Art Tatum.

At a gig one night, Tatum was being relentlessly hounded by a man who begged and pleaded to be allowed to sing just one song with the great man. Tatum kept refusing, the pest kept insisting.  Mr. Tatum  finally relented, and up to the stage leapt the eager vocalist. Asking the man what song he wanted to sing (let's say he said: "I've Got You Under My Skin", in E-flat), Tatum proceeded to play the most intricate, florid, complicated introduction as only he could create, resulting in a totally befuddled singer who didn't have any idea what his starting note was or even when or how he was supposed to come in.  A lot of awkward attempts to get into the song ensued, but Tatum took pity on him and settled things down for a very brief one, and only one, chorus.  Mr. Tatum's devastating revenge.

Not too long afterward, while I was working at Mr. Kelly's opening for comic Jackie Mason, serendipitiously Oscar, Ray Brown and Ed Thigpen were headlining at The London House, a quick cab ride away.  Taking full advantage of the format, I would fling myself into a taxi minutes after my last set, and head to TLH to hear the trio's late night show.

I arrived, seated myself at Oscar's table and ordered a drink.  Oscar said:

"Oh, too bad.  You just missed it.  Carmen came in."

"Oh, I am sorry I missed that."

"Yeah.  And she sat in with us."

"OH! Now I'm really upset I wasn't here."

"Do you want to sing"

"Oh, no, I don't think so Oscar.  Thank you, but not after Carmen sang."

I thought I was in the clear, but after playing the first tune, Oscar began a sweet introduction asking me to come up on stage.  Well, I was nervous, but I couldn't decline the gracious invitation.  Tiny stage, so I was standing in front of Ray and more or less leaning on Oscar's substantial back.  He asked me what I wanted to sing and the key.  I called "Love You Madly" in B-flat.  He had a very impish smile on his face as he began the most intricate, florid, complicated introduction, as closely akin to a full "Tatum" as only he could execute, all the while grinning at me. Of course, I remembered the story and got the joke.  But I had no trouble at all finding my starting note.

What was it like to sing with Oscar Peterson?  It was exciting, intense, thrilling of course, and certainly a bit scary.  But it was much more.  Almost as if Oscar said: "I'm confident you know how to keep your head above water.  Now, for just a few minutes, let's have a swim at the deep end of the pool, shall we?"

-Sloane

Bed, Book and Kindle

I don't know about you, but a name or place or fragment of music is often the first thing that occurs to me as I slowly wake in the morning. I know, at that moment, I am the one and only person on the entire planet thinking this thought. This morning I flashed on Eva Tanguay.

Eva Tanguay (8/1/1878-1/11/1947) was a famous singer of the 1900's, remembered for her brassy, self-confident songs that symbolized the emancipated woman, such as "It's All Been Done Before, But Not The Way I Do It", "I Want Someone To Go Wild With Me", "Go As Far As You Like", and (perhaps my favorite)"That's Why They Call Me Tobasco". Her most famous song was "I Don't Care" which she pronounced "caye-uh".

These are just two of her many publicity pictures. How the women of that era could endure the agony of that corset is and always will be a mystery. 

Lady Gaga must have researched Eva ... What is that material? They look like dead Christmas tree branches.

Don't try to sit down, Eva my girl.

You can hear Eva in her 1922 recording of

"I Don't Care" 

(Click this link and then click the arrow pointing to the right)

Eva Tanguay Sings

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Several books now lying under my somewhat fragile, lady-like bed stand weigh in at over five hundred pages each, hence their position under the table.  I always read before turning off the light, but the "Musician of Conscience, A New Biography of Arturo Toscanni" by Harvey Sachs carries 864 pages; "DaVinci"  by Walter Isaacson is 524; and "The Mirror and The Light" by Hilary Mantel at a mere 757 are all pretty intimidating.  And so the idea of buying a kindle strikes me as very sensible.  How much do they weigh?

Since I am old enough to be deemed highly vulnerable to Covid-19, I plan to remain in quarantine until the "All Clear" is heard around the world.  At which time (heaven forbid it takes that long) any one of the books will be gazillion-dollar movie epics, and each will be available in Paperback. Very Large Paper Backs.  I bought them to keep me cozily occupied through the anticipated harsh New England 2018 and 2019 winters. Those years were meterological wimps, so I have yet to crack any one of the three, but they are impressive on the coffee table.  (Currently reading, in PB,  the fascinating "Love In the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a solid recommendation from a trusted friend.)    

* * * * * * * * * * 

Deliberating the purchase of a kindle, and along with the Eva flash this morning, my brain focused on the movie "Bell, Book and Candle" which starred Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak in perhaps the most wooden acting performance of her career.  I happen to think they were all sequoia-esque, actually, but in the movie, Novak's character owns a beautiful Seal Point Siamese cat named Pyewacket.  I had cats all my life, but my first official New York cat was a Seal Point.  His name was "Macska", which is Hungarian for "cat". What a sophisticated New Yorker I was!

Everyone please stay safe.  

-Sloane

Follow me on FaceBook or carolsloane.com  

Yesterday, I returned from a very special seventy-two hours in Chicago singing two shows on Friday night in a beautiful, intimate space called Winter's Jazz Club, renowned for its appeal to audiences who are prepared to listen.  And listen they did, allowing me the chance to explore the lyrics as freely as I wished.

None of it would have been possible without the persistence of Chicago native Paul Mikos, a dedicated and loyal fan of The Great American Songbook, who also happens to like my singing.  He is a regular patron of Winter's JC, and thought the room would be an ideal setting for me if he could organize an engagement.  Well, organize he did, with grace and kindness.  We have been friends for many years, and now we are bound together by a new set of parameters.  

Winter's Jazz Club is guided in its "We want you to listen" policy by Scott Stegman, a true gentleman who has established WJC as a unique place, clearly focused on the Artist and his or her presentation.  He has been rewarded in his effort, and Winter's Jazz Club is a cherished landmark in Chicago.  Bravo, Scott, and thank you for giving me an extraordinary memories.

I admit I approached Friday night with some trepidation because I would be singing with musicians who didn't know me or my style, and in fact, would meet them for the first time on Thursday afternoon, minutes after my plane landed at O'Hare.  I knew instantly we would form a sympathetic trio, and I am ever grateful of how sensitive they were to me. They were most certainly listening to me!  Thank you Jeremy Kahn, and Patrick Mulcahey.  Isn't it nice we are such good pals so quickly? 

* * * * * * * * 

My next engagement is at Birdland in New York City, September 20 and 21.  Show on Friday starts at 5:30 PM, on Saturday, I'm on at 9:45 PM.  

I happily announce that legendary musicians have agreed to share the Birdland stage with me: Mike Renzi will play piano; Jay Leonhart will play bass, and fellow Rhode Islander Scott Hamilton will add tasty tenor sax flourishes.  Wow, huh?  Yes, I am eager for this one.  It will all be recorded, both as video for "Sloane, The Documentary" and an eventual CD.  

Life is good.  

The Latest News And The Loss of a Passionate Jazz Scholar

   Here's where you'll find me in the near future:

   June 14 - BILL CHARLAP - REGATTA BAR BOSTON *
                      Peter Washington, Bass
                      Kenny Washington, Drums

   June 21 -  ONE NIGHT ONLY 
                    Winter's Jazz Club, Chicago
                   465 McClurg Court
                   312.344.1270
                    
   Sept. 20-21 - Birdland, New York
            Mike Renzi, Jay Leonhart
            ****Special Guest Scott Hamilton***
            A live recording for new cd

   Oct. 11 - The Clayton Center
                  Clayton, NC - Time TBA
                  "A Jazz Duet Recital" -
                        Carol Sloane and Mike Renzi

*  No, I'm not singing with Bill.  Just want to make sure you mark his date as a "MUST".  I will be in the audience, so I say that counts as one of the places where you'll find me in the coming months.

                                   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE PASSIONATE JAZZ FAN

Gary Shivers and I, seeking funds during a drive at WUNC in Chapel Hill, in the early 1980's

      On February 2nd this year, a jazz scholar you never heard of quietly passed away without fanfare.  Those of us who loved and admired him were not shocked because he'd been ill for such a long time.  We all cried genuine tears of sadness, tears blended with a sense of relief as well because we knew he was no longer suffering.  Here are some of my fondest memories:

I remember the night I met Gary Shivers at a club called The Frog & Nightgown when it was located in the Cameron Village Subway in Raleigh.  He was new to the Triangle having just become General Manager at the NPR affiliate WUNC-FM, broadcasting from cramped studios on the UNC campus. In addition to his administrative responsibilities, he inaugurated a Saturday morning program called “Gary Shivers On Jazz”, from 11 AM to 2 PM.  

At The Frog that night, he told me, with a broad smile: “I have all your albums”.  I was quite impressed because there were only two at the time, gathering dust in all sorts of unknown places, but obviously not at his house.  His compliment was genuine and sweet, and predictably we became best friends, sharing our love of jazz, good food, pretend vintage wine and classic black & white movies.  

After he left North Carolina to return to his birth place, we enjoyed marathon phone conversations between my home in a Boston suburb and his digs in Kansas City. These precious link-ups continued until the last one, about two weeks before he died.  Over the course of time he had shifted his focus to classical composers, having lovingly archived his enormous vinyl and cd jazz collection in a sort of cryonic state, maintaining his passionate focus on music, but now from Bird to Bach.

I can tell you with vivid memory that at precisely 11 AM every Saturday morning, I could hardly wait to hear what the opening GSOJ sounds would be: Five minutes of Sonny Rollins?  Phil Woods? Thelonious Monk? Bob Brookmeyer? And then his soothing, gently authoritative voice identified the artist, telling us why it was important that we spend the next hours enjoying and learning as he explained with undisguised glee when the recording was made, who all the sidemen were, who wrote the arrangements, how the musicians interacted, and whether it was raining that day … well, you get the idea. It gave him enormous pleasure to share his extensive knowledge with his loyal Saturday morning audience.

After three full hours of inspirational, fascinating, extraordinary improvisations, made easier to comprehend because of his concise explanations, one came away enlightened and refreshed, always wanting more. 

“Gary Shivers on Jazz” awakened neophytes, satisfied die-hards, and nourished thousands of starving jazz fans in the Triangle. May I say, without Gary Shivers, the lines of devoted jazz fans outside the doors of The Frog & Nightgown in Raleigh, or Stephen’s, After All in Chapel Hill would have been significantly diminished.

Gary Shivers died in Kansas City, MO on February 2, 2019.  R.I.P.

-Carol Sloane

Boston, March 31, 2019
                           
                                    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

When I drove into my parking space yesterday, I spotted the pair of morning doves who call to each other every morning outside my bedroom window.  They were engaged in gentle fore-play, preening each other, and eventually kissing.  I was fascinated to see the stuff of television nature programs, and didn't have anything better to do anyway.  Eventually, this activity signaled she was ready to mate, and he accomplished the act with lightening speed, quickly returning to his position beside her.  She seemed decidedly unimpressed with his performance, and hurriedly flew away, presumably to shop for baby clothes. He, on the other hand, hung around for few minutes, visibly congratulating himself.

"Gertrude.  You know you're the only one for me."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Here's a sweet memory: It's near the end of 1967.  I am at my hairdressers at Revlon in Mid-town Manhattan when word sweeps through that Barbra Streisand has just arrived, and it's "Everyone on alert and at the ready".  My man, Mr. Edward, becomes slightly crazed, and begs me to arrange a meeting for him.  I haven't seen Barbra since our initial meeting in 1962, when she came to hear me sing at The Village Vanguard.  She did not identify herself, wore jeans and a t-shirt, with no sign of a purse.  I had no idea she was stopping the show every night playing Miss Marmelstein in the Broadway hit "I Can Get It For You Wholesale".  

I do remember she asked "How do you do that"?, referring to those few improvisational elements which were becoming part of my developing style.  We talked about that, and I told her how jazz singing was my life's dedication, happily trailing along behind my favorite legendary jazz singers Carmen McRae, Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan and Billie Holiday.  Ours was an amicable chat, and away she went. 

Because I didn't want to disturb her while she was being beautified, I decided to send a note into her private room at Revlon.  She flipped the note to write her sweet response on the reverse, and it was delivered to me in the midst of my own beautification:

Love the part about how she envies me a trip to LA!

I WAS UNAVOIDABLY DETAINED ...

Carol Sloane
October 30, 2018

I am resuming my writing exercises which were interrupted by a series of prolonged, annoying events, producing an unavoidable and decidedly unwelcome breach in the proceedings.  After hours of conversations with the tech-articulate, I believe equilibrium has been restored. Yet again. 

* * * * * * 
Table of Contents

The Rant
Duke University Residency
Snow Creams
Steve Cosentino
The Boston Red Sox
Birdland Appearance

I have been publishing this Blog (sporadically, I admit) since 2007, scrupulously avoiding political comment of any stripe.  However, the current occupant of the White House has forced my hand. 

Possibly you feel as I do: dismayed, appalled, disgusted, dangled precipitously at the end of an extremely frayed tether.  

I think what exasperate me most are not the outrageous assertions, blatant lies, narcissism, fiery rhetoric igniting the parched tinder of prejudice, or even that lousy looking hair. Uh-uh.

What truly frightens me is the vociferous outpouring of hatred and intolerance which he encourages, even deliberately inflames, sentiments which frustrate, sadden and embarrass me as an American.

I wish I possessed the magic formula to transform the Democratic Party into a vibrant majority in Congress, but I don't sense, let alone hear, a distinctly clear voice of leadership and sanity around which we, The Perpetually Jangled*, might whole-heartedly rally.  (Thank you President Obama for emerging from the shadows recently, providing a measure of hope. Please stick around, will you?)  

I sometimes get the impression the Democrats are rudderless, reluctantly prepared to continue up-hill battles with less than a majority in Congress until 2020 because there will be no alternative.  I believe a gain of even a few seats in both Houses will be beneficial,  but I also believe we will all be forced to face another two years of Trump-induced misery and trepidation. Please God I'm proven wrong. 

All I know is that I long for a restoration of civility, intelligence and clear reasoning which should be the guiding principles of the next POTUS, whoever she may be.  

This will not become a reality any time soon, so please cast a vote on Nov. 6th against this despicable man and all he stands for by electing educated, sensible, mature, candidates to fill those important Congressional seats.  

(That "educated, sensible, mature candidates" riff rather emphatically eliminates every Republican running, if you ask me. I just don't trust any one of them.  Not afraid to say it either).

* * * * * *
Snow Cream anyone?

On my most recent out-of-town trip, I spent a thoroughly stimulating week in Durham, NC participating in a Visiting Artist Residency program at Duke University's beautiful campus.  I conducted several Master Classes, presented a mini lecture/Q&A on "The Art of Jazz Singing", and joined the fine young members of the Duke Jazz Ensemble in a concert conducted by Professor John Brown. 

I loved every minute of the week: The vocal students were gifted, open to gentle criticism, and just plain fun to be with. Prof. Brown (who very closely resembles Oscar Peterson in the 1960's) couldn't have been more accommodating and kind.  My old friend Stephen Barefoot was my exceptionally gracious host at his beautiful home with its huge garden filled with flowers and bird feeders. All of my activities on campus were video-taped for "Sloane, The Documentary". Visit this site for updates.

Yeah. Okay.  But what about those Snow Creams?

Oh yes.  Sorry.  

A fascinating writer named Georgann Eubanks gave me a copy of her lovely book "The Month of Their Ripening" (pictured above) which describes, among other delights, foods related to their availability at peak freshness throughout the year in North Carolina. January, the first chapter, deals charmingly with the ingredients and preparations for Snow Cream, a confection hitherto unknown to me but cherished by Carolinians. I will live to taste the treat.  It's a wonderful book.

* * * * * *  

In 2017, I was introduced to an artist whose talent was so immediately evident, I became instantly devoted.  His name is Steven Cosentino, and you can see his work here. City scapes, sea shores, portraits and still life - all of his art is filled with the pulse of life, vibrant, whimsical, profound and moving.  I am pleased to introduce you to him today.

* * * * * * 

End Notes

Need I say how proud I am
to boast of my life-long
allegiance to the
Boston Red Sox
Congratulations, Gentlemen!

* * * * * * 

BIRDLAND

315 West 44th

New York
212.581.3080

November 21-24

7 PM

Carol Sloane

Mike Renzi

Jay Leonhart

 * * * * * * 

You are welcome to comment about any or all portions of this Post.  Write me at slocolmixx@gmail.com 
Or leave a comment below ...

*-Carol Sloane 

The PJ's CEO

August 3-5, 2018

I was treated to the exuberance

of the young and gifted who

were in residence at

The Eugene O'Neill Center

(see below for details) 

I look a little like E.T., I know,
but I wasn't the star of the show.
These singers were so much fun to hear!
Thanks once again to John McDaniel
and the entire staff.
You made me feel so young!

The Launchpad of American Theater, the O’Neill is the country’s preeminent organization dedicated to the development of new works and new voices for the stage.

​

Founded in 1964 by George C. White and named in honor of Eugene O’Neill, four-time Pulitzer Prize-winner and America’s only playwright to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, the O'Neill has launched some of the most important voices and works in American theater and has revolutionized the way new work is developed.

From its campus in Waterford, Connecticut, the O’Neill has been home to more than 1,000 new works for the stage and thousands more emerging artists. Writers, directors, puppeteers, singers, students, and audiences alike take their first steps in exploring, revising, and understanding their work and the potential of the theater they help create. All focus remains on the writer and script: Performers work with simply rendered sets and costumes, script in hand, revealing for the first time the magic of a new play or musical, puppetry piece, or cabaret act.

​

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sloane (Center) & Friends
(L-R) Carol Fredette, Marilyn Maye, Sandy Stewart,
Daryl Sherman, Helen Merrill
Birdland, July 15, 2018

I was so pleased to sing for the audience at Birdland, and to see old and treasured friends at the end of the performance.

 I'm back for more November 21 to 24

With the wonderful Mike Renzi an Jay Leonhart

Come and share the music and the cranberry sauce with me!


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Someone in Argentina loves me!

"Jazz Is Also A Woman ..
Nothing More Sensual"

Fabricado por Marcelo E. Albala
Bajo Licencia Alldisc Brasil


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

HOW EXCITING IS THIS!

SLOANE, THE DOCUMENTARY

Is currently in production 
with a projected 2019 release date

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

In 1959 I lived in New York, and a good friend was a booking agent who often invited me to accompany him to various clubs and other venues to check on some of the artists he represented.  On this occasion, we were seated in a small studio which contained a piano and no other instruments.  I recognized legendary jazz producer John Hammond in the control room.  A young woman arrived and sat at the small Steinway.  I was very struck by her amazing facial resemblance to the majestic gospel singer Mahalia Jackson.  The young girl sang a handful of standards with formidable strength, although in her interpretations of Gershwin and Berlin, she was unable to conceal her own gospel roots. Yes, she was of course Aretha Franklin, with John Hammond in the sound booth clearly assessing where and how to steer her recording career at Columbia.  Her first recording for the label was released in 1960 with the Ray Bryant Trio.  

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

I have been dreadfully remiss, I know, but computer problems, which seemed almost insurmountable, caused me considerable stress.  For a time, even my very skilled tech man was bewildered too. But, time and tenacity prevailed, and I believe all systems are restored, along with my sanity. Remember how crazed Gloria Swanson looked as she made her way down those stairs?  That was me, ready for my close-up, tossing the PC out the window.  Probably wouldn't have caused a lot of damage since I live on the ground floor but, you know ... I was crazed.

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And finally tonight: 

Mr. Wonderful wanders in and out of my orbit at will, and I have accepted his "can't we be friends" request because he has made it clear there can never be an alternative.  He's a very special man, and I am reconciled to the relationship dictated by his rules and restrictions.  

It's nice to have another pal, of course ... but then again, he is a Yankee fan.

-Sloane

SloaneView Resuscitated!

** DRUM ROLL PLEASE **

Mike Renzi and I (with Jay Leonhart on bass)

BIRDLAND

 Sunday, July 15 - 6 PM Show

212-581-3080

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The surprise is I hadn't realized how long it's been since I posted, but the last entry is dated nearly a year ago, July 17, 2017.  I haven't been ill or idle or experiencing (much) writer's block. The plain fact is that in a forced switch to a newer, presumably more efficient AOL e-mail technology, the loss of my entire mailing list was a nightmare come true. We tried everything, and even my miraculous tech assistant was unable to retrieve the valuable subscribers. After much gnashing of teeth and fists directed sky-ward, I quietly found The List last night. They don't call me "Ole Tenacious Sloane" for nothing!  I slept the sleep of the redeemed.

I completed various writing assignments during that agonizing search period, including liner notes for my good friend Daryl Sherman who has a new release on the Audiophile label, a terrific set of songs on a CD called "Lost In A Crowded Place". Needless to say, it was a pleasure to contribute to this endeavor, and I hope you will sample the work as well.  (Love the hat, Daryl).

 These are my closing remarks in the booklet:

"Daryl is the quintessential seeker, finding immense pleasure probing the oeuvre of America’s most beloved and respected composers. One would think there is little left to discover, but Daryl’s tenacity and perseverance once again find the archival equivalent of 18K gold. A quick glance at the titles will inspire our shared delight in the joy of hearing melodies and lyrics which have been hiding in the shadows. And we needn’t make any effort at all. Daryl has done all the heavy lifting for us, and quite skillfully too. All we need do is sit back and savor the fruits of her research as the generous gifts they are. Let us safely assume Daryl will continue to locate many more gems on her endless quests into the countless unopened or forgotten treasure chests of American popular song. We can but live in eager anticipation."  

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I was also asked to write a review of a new book about Mark Murphy.  Here is the cover and the review:

Mark Murphy once said: “You can divide your life into two parts: Before Jazz and After Jazz.  You had a life before Jazz, but once you heard Jazz, you knew your life would never be the same again.”   It is the truth.

That statement and much more concerning  Mark’s philosophy about jazz and his indelible, significant interpretations during live performances and on recordings, is revealed in the new, meticulously researched volume called “This Is Hip – The Life Of Mark Murphy” by British jazz singer and journalist Peter Jones.  (www.equinoxpub.com)

Mr. Jones is a most devoted fan, but he doesn’t shy away from discussing some of Mark’s more ferocious vocal characteristics which caused more than a few (myself included) to relinquish our fan club membership.  Evidence of Mark’s nascent, vibrant talent and his eventual aggressive vocal gymnastics are to be found in the extensive discography, meticulously referenced in this new valuable testament to one man’s vocal vision. 

I feel certain I must have heard Mark’s 1964 album called “Mark Time” released on the British label Fontana.  I know I saw him on late-night television shows of that period, probably those hosted by Steve Allen, a sand lot pianist at best, with a fervent appreciation for jazz, who was especially fond of good pop singers.  He happily nurtured many strong voices of the period such as Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme, so I’m sure he would very much have enjoyed presenting the young, promising jazz singer Mark Murphy as a guest on more than one occasion. 

I remember being impressed with Mark’s richly textured voice - a jazz voice, a swinging voice, an intelligent voice - which mesmerized me.  And I remained faithful until …

Until, over the years, Mark’s inventions and explorations took on qualities similar to the screech of an owl in extreme distress.  However, I remained fascinated by his audacious improvisational skills more often than not, even though I began to feel profoundly uncomfortable and bewildered.    My respect for Mark’s strenuous determination to reshape firmly established melodies suggested vocal anarchy to me, disconcerting and as dangerous as attempting a full-scale, no-safety-net-in-sight assault on El Capitan.  More plainly stated, my aversion to scat singing intensified, unless ...

Unless, of course, it took the form of the delightful high-wire arabesques performed by Ella Fitzgerald or Sarah Vaughan, both of whom transformed themselves into saxophones or trumpets when scat singing, and always with consistent, fastidious grace and musicianship.  Ella’s singing in particular expressed the joyous elements of jazz improvisation.   Her ability to sing “in the pocket” is to me the essence of vocal swing which, by the way, is also the defining component of jazz singing:  One whose "placement" is on the beat, able to improvise the lyric with a musician's fluency within a written measure*.   But, I digress.  

Mark Murphy’s more adventurous work inspired me to examine the works of  musicians whose perspectives were also free-wheeling, controversial and thought-provoking, including Archie Shepp, early Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane, giant sax players who established new concepts based on the lyrical platforms solidly erected by Johnny Hodges, Lester Young or Coleman Hawkins.   

Without Mark Murphy, though it may seem strange to say, I’d have quickly turned a skeptical eye on Salvador Dali or the fantastical works of  Hieronymous Bosh.   However, I always admired Mark for his daring, the feeling that he found himself in an impenetrable jungle through which he could confidently forge a new path.  Mark was an artist willing to challenge himself at every turn, whether or not we were able to accept that the roller-coaster ride he asked us to share would be fun!  It was not in his nature to compromise.

I very much identify with these words he once spoke: “… the gold is when you reach maturity … you begin to sing your life.  You’re not just performing.  You’re putting your life into your songs.”   I believe Mark’s life was brimming with vivid color, genuine compassion, delicious humor and gentle spirituality.
 

“This Is Hip – The Life Of Mark Murphy” tells us that Mark Murphy clearly resonated with Mr. Jones from the start, and his beautifully researched book expresses his perpetual devotion to and fascination with the man in all his uniqueness.  He objectively addresses the portion of Mark’s life which exemplified his inquisitive nature and daring-do approach.  Many of us didn’t get it some of the time, but Peter Jones did.  It’s a lovely book, affectionately dedicated to an authentic, much admired jazz innovator.

-Carol Sloane
* Exquisite examples of singers with perfect "placement" are the late Maxine Sullivan, and the marvelous Catherine Russell, very active today and delightfully swinging always.

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My book recommendation for July:
"The Complete Patrick Melrose Novels"
by Edward St. Aubyn
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A singer of enormous ability passed away
June 17th following
a brief performance on Cape Cod
Beloved and admired by New England jazz fans and beyond,
SloaneView marks with sadness the loss of
Rebecca Parris.
R.I.P.
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Thanks for reading. If you wish to update your email address, or just want to be left alone, please give me the pertinent information at Comments.
-Sloane