Few discussions lead to a full-blown argument quicker than the debate over who can rightly be called a jazz singer; it’s an even tougher task than defining jazz itself. For example, if you don’t sing the blues, are you a true jazz singer? How about vocalists who don’t scat or improvise, but are superb interpreters of popular standards? Confusion about the term ”scatting“ has reigned ever since Louis Armstrong supposedly dropped the arrangements to ”Heebie Jeebies“ in the studio and began wordlessly improvising, instantly creating a new idiom.
Lately, there has been an upsurge of interest in jazz vocals, partly due to the ”swing“ furor, and partly due to the relatively recent deaths of Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Sarah Vaughan, Carmen McRae, and Betty Carter. There’s no shortage of new jazz vocal discs in stores right now, from young artists Kermit Ruffins and Kevin Mahogany to returning veterans Andy Bey and Shirley Horn. In addition, recent months have seen the reissue of records by established icons Dinah Washington, Anita O’Day, McRae, and Armstrong. Taken together, this diverse bunch of records reveals the multiple approaches to jazz vocalizing.
New Orleans native Ruffins embodies the vintage brass tradition: He was a founding member of the Rebirth Brass Band in the early ’80s before going solo and forming the Barbecue Swingers. Once a street singer like Armstrong, Ruffins sings in a style similar to his idol, with identical rough-hewn edges and tone. That said, he’s hardly as transcendent in his delivery or as spectacular in his trumpet solos.
Still, Ruffins’ latest offering, The Barbecue Swingers Live (Basin Street), has several outstanding selections, among them his rollicking version of ”St. James Infirmary,“ complete with comedic flair and emphatic enunciation, and ”Chicken and Dumplings.“ He ventures into spoken narrative and hip-hop with mixed results on ”What Is New Orleans“ and ”Do Whatcha Wanna,“ but he’s uniformly enjoyable on ”Peep This Groove Out“ and ”Do the Fat Tuesday.“
Kevin Mahogany’s hometown is Kansas City, and his earliest releases echo the shouting style of K.C. legends Big Joe Turner and Jimmy Rushing. Nonetheless, his latest, My Romance (Warner Bros.), invokes another jazz vocal mode: the suggestive crooner, á la Billy Eckstine or Johnny Hartman. Mahogany’s husky sound and emotive manner are well suited for such romantic fare as ”Teach Me Tonight,“ ”Wild Honey,“ and ”I Apologize,“ and he has the rhythmic facility to reenergize chestnuts like ”Stairway to the Stars.“ He’s backed by exemplary instrumentalists, among them tenor saxophonists Michael Brecker and Kirk Whalum.
Andy Bey and Shirley Horn have long been admired by fans and musicians alike, but they’ve never gotten much attention outside the jazz world. Bey, who performs Dec. 3 at Caffè Milano, has a four-octave voice, booming at the bass/baritone end and dazzling in the falsetto; he made his mark in the ’50s, when he sang in a trio with his sisters Salome and Geraldine. He later recorded with Horace Silver and Gary Bartz before departing a music industry that he denounced as corrupt. Bey’s return in 1996 made headlines in the music world, both for the fiery LP Ballads, Blues & Bey (Evidence) and for the announcement he was gay and HIV-positive.
Horn’s career hasn’t been quite as explosive, although no less an authority than Miles Davis called her a ”genius“ in the early ’60s. A stunning pianist whose use of counterpoint and distinctive phrasing earned her raves, Horn became a familiar figure after Davis picked her to open for him at the Village Vanguard in 1960. At the peak of stardom, in the mid-’60s, Horn walked away from her career in jazz. Returning to her hometown of Washington, D.C., to raise her daughter, she made only limited engagements in local clubs. An acclaimed performance at the 1981 North Sea Jazz Festival restarted her career and led to her signing with Verve.
Both Bey’s and Horn’s new releases are triumphs, though for very different reasons. Shades of Bey (Evidence) spotlights Andy Bey as a bold vocal experimenter and improviser. He’s particularly demonstrative on ”Midnight Blue“ and ”Dark Shadows,“ in which he holds tones, soars over arrangements, explodes through tempos, and repeatedly displays his awesome ability. In short, he reaffirms his reputation as an uncrowned king—he can swing, understate, punctuate, or bellow, and he never overdoes it.
Horn is equally effective in a lighter, more restrained fashion on I Remember Miles (Verve), a tribute to her onetime mentor. The selections are familiar, but Horn doesn’t just breeze through the likes of ”Summertime,“ ”My Funny Valentine,“ or ”Blue in Green.“ Highlighting melodies and reshaping phrases, she makes these songs sound fresh with softly articulated piano support or moving lyric twists and stretches. Her musical helpers range from bluesy tenor saxophonist Buck Hill on ”Baby, Won’t You Please Come Home“ to trumpeter Roy Hargrove, who offers taut playing on ”I Fall in Love Too Easily“ and ”My Man’s Gone Now.“
Fans who prefer the work of past greats should enjoy the latest crop of jazz vocal reissues. Though Louis Armstrong was far past his prime when he appeared at the 1965 Palais des Sports festival, the audience was clearly enthralled by his performance. Witness their cheers on the two-disc live collection The Best of Louis Armstrong (Vanguard). The 26 tracks here don’t come close to the caliber of material from his historic ’20s and ’30s dates, but there are enough moments of genuine joy to remind you just how magical an Armstrong performance could be.
The Washington, O’Day, and McRae discs embrace yet another jazz vocal style: the band singer. Each woman is accompanied by a large orchestra on a menu of up-tempo swingers, heartfelt torch and ballad tunes, and the occasional novelty piece. Washington, the most eclectic of the trio, mainly performed surging standards on 1956’s The Swingin’ Miss ”D“ (Verve). Her gorgeous voice neatly played off the boisterous arrangements provided by Quincy Jones’ orchestra, particularly on the Ellington gems ”Perdido“ and ”Caravan.“ But she also displayed her R&B chops on Henry Glover’s ”Drown in My Own Tears.“
O’Day is a softer, straighter singer on All the Sad Young Men (Verve), a ’61 session featuring assistance from Gary McFarland and his orchestra. Because her forte was setting up the band, O’Day is most impressive on a song’s opening melodies and closing refrains, establishing the mood for soloists, then returning to wrap things up. Still, she shows on ”Boogie Blues“ and ”Up State“ that she could tell an effective story or venture into innuendo with aplomb.
Dream of Life (Warner Bros.) was recorded in 1989, late in Carmen McRae’s career, and won’t be as fondly remembered as the singer’s many remarkable dates from the ’50s and ’60s. Yet McRae retained the declarative delivery and magnificent timing that marked her finest earlier work, making ”A Song for You“ and ”For All We Know“ succeed through the force of her personality. ”In Walked Bud“ and ”If the Moon Turns Green“ display her ability to maneuver verbally, while the concluding ”You’re a Weaver of Dreams“ showcases her uncanny knack for knowing when to shift moods and rework lyric treatments.
In the end, there will never be solid agreement on what constitutes a jazz vocalist. But all the above releases offer varying examples of great singing—and perhaps that’s the label that matters most.
