Mark Your Calendars

This blast goes out to my fellow singers, as well as any vocal jazz aficionados. There are some cool shows coming up at Bake’s Place that you might want to think about coming out for. Of course, vocal jazz is a mainstay at Bake’s, but I am particularly excited about these performances and think that each of them might be of interest to vocalists. A heads up seemed to be in order.

Portland vocalist Marilyn Keller will be rolling into town for a two nights: April 23 & 24. I first saw Marilyn in January, when she was Greta’s guest for Fridays in the Living Room. Marilyn has a bright presence that won me over immediately. I love her tone; it was clear and light with an ever so slight hint of a blues inflection. Her range of expression is phenomenal; she has the power pipes to thrill, chill and blow the roof off the joint, yet she also sings with a delicacy and vulnerability that really moved me. I’m still thinking about her achingly beautiful treatment of Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now.” The musical camaraderie between Marilyn and Greta was a joy to behold. Together, they blasted off like bottle rockets: trading lines, scatting and swinging like mad. Marilyn will be Greta’s guest again on Friday, April 23 and on Saturday, April 24, Marilyn will be performing solo with her own band.

On May 14 & 15, vocalist-pianist Patti Wicks returns to Bake’s. Man, if ever there was an embodiment of jazz, Ms. Wicks is it. She’s got unbelievable piano chops and a deep, smoky voice that I would kill to have. She sings and plays with a lovely ease and fluidity. Her phrasing is conversational, and you couldn’t ask for a more playful stylist. She has a tendency to launch into her own improvised lyrics and the lady is damn funny. Patti is a native New Yorker and she came up through the ranks playing in clubs around the Big Apple, as well as up and down the east coast. Although she lives in Florida now, the New Yorker in her still seems very present. I think the coolest thing about Patti is that she doesn't possess one iota of pretense. She’s as authentic as they come, and the music she makes reflects it. Patti Wicks is a true gem.

I am very much looking forward to seeing and hearing Lorraine Feather, who will be at Bake’s on June 12^th. Lorraine is known, first and foremost, as a lyricist. With a keen eye for observation and a razor-sharp wit, Lorraine crafts lyrics that get right to the heart of the human experience and all its idiosyncrasies. She’s covered the gamut: “marriage, death, B-vitamins, long-held yearnings, grammar school and Scrabble.” Lorraine is the daughter of critic and songwriter Leonard Feather, and her musical resume is a big one. She’s recorded ten albums and has performed extensively both as a solo artist and with her vocal trio Full Swing. She’s also written lyrics for numerous children's television shows and films and has been nominated for seven Emmy awards. I’ve never seen Lorraine before and am excited for the chance to check her out.

We don’t hear nearly enough from the male vocalists on the scene, and it is a rare thing indeed when several are gathered on the same stage for the same performance. On June 13^th, Bake’s will bring back the wildly popular Tribute to the Rat Pack show. This is a fun-loving homage to those much-loved Vegas crooners and features Seattle swingers Clipper Anderson, Hans Brehmer, Reggie Goings, Butch Harrison, Jake Bergevin and even Craig Baker himself. The first Rat Pack Tribute show was back in November. It was a spirited evening of old-school Vegas swing, back and forth banter and lots of laughs. The place was packed, and I suspect this show will sell out quickly. It’s really a fun night. If you're interested, I’d suggest you make your reservations sooner than later.

Finally, the vocal jazz trio Trish, Hans and Phil returns to Bake’s on June 25^th. Trish Hatley, Hans Brehmer and Phil Demaree have been performing together for over a decade. They perform pop tunes as well as jazz standards. The thread that runs through is their own unique styling, accented by their superb three-part harmonies. I’ve only heard this group on recordings, but they have a great reputation for their wonderful musicianship, as well as their fun-loving showmanship. I’m excited for the opportunity to see and hear them in person.

Obviously, all of these shows will be very different. But again, I’m writing about them because I think they each have the potential, in one way or another, to inspire and enthuse other singers. It’s always good to see how different people approach the music, and I delight in the many ways there are “to be” in this great adventure of vocal jazz. It heartens me and makes me feel all the more excited and happy about my own efforts. Maybe that’s true for you too. I hope to see you at Bake’s!

Sandy Cressman & Homage to Brazil

Sandy Cressman is a San Francisco jazz vocalist, who has devoted the majority of her career to the study and performance of Brazilian music. This Saturday, Sandy will be appearing at Bake's Place along with the Jovino Santos Neto Trio, and together they will perform her Homage to Brazil- a “musical journey through the world of Brazilian jazz.” Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of interviewing Sandy about her career and about Brazilian music. She was warm and engaging and clearly very passionate about what she does. The following are excerpts from our conversation:

It is clear from your bio that you’ve had a natural affinity for Brazilian music almost your entire life. What about it resonates with you?

In knew the first time I heard it, there was something about the passionate nature of the music that was appealing. Performing it myself really suited my own personal expression. Early on in junior high, I heard a girl sing Sergio Mendes’s hit “Mas Que Nada” and it totally floored me. I didn’t know how to go out and seek the music at that time. But by the time I was into college and into jazz, I heard it again…..Tania Maria, Flora Purim….and was really excited. One time I was at a Pat Metheny concert, and the music that was playing on the break was so beautiful that I walked to the soundboard to find out who it was. It was Ivan Lins. I went out and bought as much as his music as I could.

Later, I was on touring Japan with a Japanese group. The guitarist for that group gave me recordings of Djavan to listen to. I was overwhelmed. When I got back from Japan, I bought all the Brazilian music I could find. At one point, the pianist Marco Silva sat in as a sub for Pastiche. He brought me cassettes of Brazilian music and fed my addiction further. In 1995, Marco asked me to come and sing Brazilian music with him. It was a little café duo gig. Each week we would bring in new tunes to try out. That was really the start for me.

Why do you think the popularity of Brazilian music is so enduring?

I think the rhythm is infectious. There’s a feeling of passion that’s very Brazilian yet not restricted to Brazil. A lot of people feel that passion. It makes you feel really good. It really takes you somewhere.

Tell me about putting together the music for “Homage to Brazil.”

Well, my first record was “Homenegem Brasileira”. I have known Jovino for fourteen years. We met at California-Brazil summer camp. He’s one of the rare pianists that can play the broad repertoire of Brazilian music that I like to sing with authenticity and freshness. The last time we played at Bake’s, it was Jobim’s 80th birthday. At that time, we decided to do a tribute to Jobim. This time, we decided to mix up composers. We came up with some songs that our quartet can explore and have fun with. Basic arrangements but not everything is planned.

Tell me a little bit about playing with Jovino.

Jovino is just a stellar musician. He knows his craft, knows Brazilian music and knows jazz. He has a certain openness to the unexpected and he’s non-judgmental, which makes it such a comfortable experience to play music together. I’m a guest on his soil. He respects the work that I’ve done to do it as well as I do. It feels like I’m being collaborated with and respected.

How do you think your approach to the music differs from other vocalists and musicians?

I’m not Brazilian but I try to be true to the spirit of the music. The musicians I use, the way I sing and phrase it. I typically sing to a non-Brazilian audience and I am able to give them a background on the tunes and why I like them. They get a history and exposure to things they might not have heard before.

To someone who is new to Brazilian music and wants some ideas as to what recordings to check out, what suggestions would you make?

Joao Guilberto. Also, I have a Brazilian music discography on the teaching page on my website.

What is playing on your i-Pod right now?

Chico Pinheiro. Really cool, modern Brazilian music.

For more information about Sandy, please visit http://www.cressmanmusic.com/.

The Human Jukebox

The gig was going well. It was a trio gig with RH on piano, Jon Hamar on bass and of course, yours truly singing. We were in the restaurant of an old hotel in Port Townsend. It’s a nice funky room, the piano is decent enough and the ferry ride and road trip up had been fun. The first set was fine: We were swinging, the room was full and people seemed to really be listening.

A few songs before the first break, a guy wandered up to the bandstand. He looked like an old and weathered Tom Mesereau. He had a thick puff of white hair and was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt. He asked somewhat gruffly if I could do Skylark. I told him no, that it wasn’t in my repertoire. He was clearly displeased and wandered back to his seat, grumbling loudly from the table something about Skylark being a Hoagy Carmichael classic that I really should know. OK, fine. I could live with that. But then, as we were getting ready to start up after the break, he approached the bandstand again. This time he directed his question to RH, as I was dealing with yet another weirdo old man. (More on him later.) This time Mr. White Poof wanted to know if I could sing How Deep is the Ocean. This time, RH had to break the bad news that no, How Deep is the Ocean wasn’t in my repertoire either, but that they could play it instrumentally. Poof immediately turned his sights on me and right there in front of the bandstand, he began. He started holding up fingers, “For one, you don’t know Skylark. For two, you don’t know How Deep is the Ocean…” I knew where he was heading with his diatribe- That I was somehow deficit as a jazz singer if I didn’t know those tunes- and I cut him off before he could whip out finger number three. I explained that I had a pretty big book of tunes and that I was doing the best that I could to cultivate my repertoire. Poof snarled something back as he returned to his table. I'd had about enough of White Poof but all the same, RH and Jon opened the set with an instrumental version of How Deep Is The Ocean. We aim to please, sometimes even if the person we're playing for is a glory hole.

OK, at the risk of having my jazz singer's license revoked or in incurring ridicule from my fellow vocalists, I have to make a confession: Neither of the tunes he requested have actually ever really spoken to me. This is probably why I haven’t ever learned them. Skylark is somewhere on my musical “to-do” list but pretty far down on the list. Truth be told, I probably could have stumbled through both of these tunes, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. On Skylark there are some harmonic areas that are fuzzy to me. I could have pretty easily scatted through How Deep is the Ocean but couldn’t, for the life of me have pulled out all the lyrics. So what was the point? Singing something badly just to make some cranky old fart happy? Surely, he would not have cared for my delivery of either of these tunes. Then what? More grumbling?

There were two other requests that night, and I accommodated both of them. One woman wanted me to sing The Very Thought of You. I did, and she was happy. I spoke to her during our second break. She’d never heard the Shirley Horn version of that song. I told her that the minute she got home, she absolutely had to download it from i-Tunes. If she likes The Very Thought of You, she should have the quintessential recording of it. I hope she did. Anyway, I was happy to accept her request, and she was gracious and appreciative.

The other request of the evening was (sigh) Fever and it came from Weirdo Old Man Number Two. Now Number Two was very sweet, albeit slightly befuddled. He came up the bandstand during our last break and raved about how great we all were but also gave one critique: That the bass was “so overpowering” that it was making it hard to hear the vocals. We were all a little surprised by this. Jon is a tasteful player, and I could easily hear myself all night. All the same, we smiled, nodded and thanked him for his input. When I sang Fever in the last set, Number Two enthusiastically waved a big “thumbs up” to me from his table in the back of the room. No sooner had we finished the tune than he was front and center on the bandstand, waving his arms around and basically reiterating his praise from earlier, this time without the remarks about the bass. Number Two seemed to have no concept that he was interrupting the set by standing in front of us and going on so. But I’m not even sure if Number Two was 100% sure of where he was in the first place. He was sweet and harmless but a little confused. His wife, however, left a generous tip on our music stands as they were walking out.

The whole idea of taking requests is a tough proposition for me. I don’t know of any other musical genre where there is an expectation that the performers will know and can play any tune an audience member asks for. I used to have a regular gig in the lounge of a hotel downtown, and we frequently received requests. As always, I performed the ones I could, which I think was pretty often. But I also had to deny many others. The whole concept of requests puts the singer in an odd position. Of course, I want to please people and accommodate them if I’m able. On the other hand, there’s something very awkward about not knowing some tunes and ultimately disappointing people or in some cases, like as it was with the old fart at the gig the other night, having your validity as a jazz vocalist challenged, based merely on what songs you do or don’t know. And in some cases, the intent of the person making the request is questionable. There was one guy that used to come into the hotel gig and make request after request. There was an edge to this guy, and it always felt like he was testing me or trying to trip me up by asking for a tune I didn’t know. It felt mean. One night, he asked me to sing “Strange Fruit”. I know the tune but refused to sing it for him. I explained that it wasn’t my song to sing. Ultimately, I am not a circus dog doing tricks for tips nor am I a human jukebox with an endless repertoire of tunes ready for the asking. I only know of one singer around here with such a vast repertoire -my teacher Greta Matassa. She possesses an almost encyclopedic knowledge of most jazz tunes ever written. (For more on Greta, read my previous post.) There is no doubt about it: Watching Greta field requests is a very exciting and amazing thing, and I myself get a huge thrill out of it. But I can’t do that, and the question is; should I have to?

On the drive back to Seattle, RH and I talked about the situation with Mr. White Poof and about the issue of requests in general. RH said that back in the old days, a piano player wasn’t judged on his/her improvisational chops but instead on how many tunes they knew and could play off the top of their heads. He speculated that Mr. White Poof may have come from a generation of listeners that still had that sensibility. He also speculated that sometimes making song requests is an odd bit about control: About controlling what music would be in the room and what the people in the band would sing and play. We also joked about people that make requests but leave before we have a chance to actually play them and about the sloppy, drunken couples that are so into making out that they’re unaware when we’re actually playing their song. We talked about it for quite a while but didn’t reach any particular insights on the matter.

One thing that’s for certain is that I as long as I’m singing jazz, I will continue to get requests, and I believe that how I respond will continue to be on a case by case basis. In the situation with Mr. White Poof, we’d performed three full sets of great songs and plenty of standards. However, he could only focus on the two tunes that I didn’t know. There would be no pleasing him. Number Two, on the other hand, was a goofball but also a sweetheart. Fever isn’t my favorite tune to sing, but I did it. I guess for me, it all boils down to the attitude of the person making the request. It's fundamental stuff here. If someone approaches me with a sense of entitlement or seems to simply be challenging me, then I may or may not take their request. It will depend on how I’m feeling and the variables of that particular day; if my morning run went well, my teenager behaved and my checkbook balanced, etc. If, however, the requester approaches with even the slightest measure of kindness, then the sky’s the limit. I’ll deliver the goods sweetly or swingin’, depending on the song. And you never know- I might even be convinced to take a shot at Skylark or How Deep is The Ocean.

Amazing as Always, Again

Greta Matassa is not only my teacher and mentor but even more, she’s a dear friend. So it was great to be in the house at Bake’s last Friday for the release party for her new CD, I Wanna Be Loved. I was not surprised to see a packed house, when I arrived. The room was energized and there was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air. I chatted it up with Greta before the show, and she was upbeat and calm. Simply put, singing to an enthusiastic room is what Greta does best, and the intimacy of Bake’s provided the perfect environment for her. I knew it was going to be a great night.

I Wanna Be Loved is Greta’s first release on the Resonance label, and was produced by George Klabin, who Greta had previously collaborated with on the Rising Jazz Stars Concert series in Los Angeles. The CD’s debut charted nationally at #19 for airplay on jazz radio stations. This is impressive but no surprise. In my mind, it’s about time that everyone else gets in on Greta. We in the Northwest have been keeping her to ourselves for too long.

On the bandstand with Greta was her great band featuring Darin Clendenin on piano, Clipper Anderson on bass and Mark Ivester on drums. Greta opened the set with the first cut on the CD Broadway. The band came out swinging, and away we went. It should be noted that several of the arrangements on the CD, where masterfully crafted by the esteemed pianist Tamir Hendleman, who also played on several of the songs. Hendelman’s arrangements are dynamic, adventuresome and always seem to really groove, at least to my ears. I was particularly taken by the unison piano and bass lines that came up in several of the songs. The CD is (and thusly the evening was) a tasty assortment of many moods, grooves and stories, of which Greta effortlessly and brilliantly moves through. Many of the selections are contemporary ones (As Greta explained, “post 1965”) and thusly mark some new territory for Greta, as she has previously largely been focused on older music. No matter. One of my favorite songs of the evening was Chan’s Song, which was written by Herbie Hancock with lyrics by Stevie Wonder. This was a lush, musical sweep in 7/4, which Greta glided through with grace and ease. It made me want to be the keeper of someone’s “scared love”. You’ll See was another great moment. Greta's delicate and breathy delivery held a poignancy that conveyed a bittersweet optimism. Greta’s longtime pianist and musical cohort Darin Clendenin did this particular arrangement. Oh, what a lovely job he did. I was also bowled over by Would You Believe?, a Cy Coleman tune. I've heard Greta sing this particular song on several occasions, and it gets me every time. I'm becoming increasingly enamored of Cy Coleman compositions, and Greta's treatment of Would You Believe? only adds fuel to the fire. Hey Greta, can I get a chart?

Of course, there were many, many more great moments on Friday night. One fun romp was Nothing Like You, a Bob Dorough tune performed at lightning speed, alternating between 6/8 and 4/4. It was a thrilling ride, and in Greta’s words, “That one was kind of a workout. No place to breathe!” As always, Greta was in good form, and her banter with the audience was both comfortable and amusing. It was also informative, as she shared stories about the songs, explained why they were chosen for the CD, what the histories were, etc. In addition to doing songs from the CD, Greta opened up both sets for requests, something that her fans always love. The crowd went particularly ballistic for her balls-out bluesy God Bless the Child. In short, the woman sang her ass off. Although I always feel a little sheepish honing in on audience request time, I requested Goody, Goody. I’d seen Greta perform it at Bumbershoot a few years before, and it was one of my favorite musical moments that summer. I had a hankering to hear it again, and with a chuckle, “the G” as I like to call her, obliged. In a heartbeat, we had Greta singing her finest Ella and scatting like mad. Although the entire night was wonderful, it was in that precise moment that I was reminded of how hearing Greta sing is one of the greatest joys in my life. I felt happy to be there and happy to be celebrating my friend’s success.

It would be remiss of me if I failed to mention just how wonderfully this rhythm section played. Some of the arrangements were challenging to say the least, and the band delivered seamlessly. Each member of the band had his own shining moment, and I was blown away again and again all evening. Per usual, I was particularly taken by the breathtakingly beautiful sound that Clipper Anderson seems to magically and consistently produce. There is no bass player quite like him anywhere. I might add that both Darin and Clipper played on the new CD and that in addition to You'll See, Darin did the arrangements for a couple of other songs on the disc.

Throughout the evolution of her musicianship, Greta left no stone unturned. She listened extensively to thousands of recordings, fine-tuned her focus on every single nuance and technique and assimilated the craft through extremely hard work and diligence. It has paid off nicely, and this new CD is yet another pinnacle in an impressive career. I hope and expect it will blast her into a larger listening arena. In her efforts to develop herself as the best vocalist that she could be, Greta turned to the masters of the jazz genre. Today, it can easily be said that she is now among them.

Thank You, Carmen

It was a rough summer. In fact, truth be told, it’s been a damn rough year and a half. I’m trying to get through a divorce and all the financial chaos that comes with it, I’m licking my wounds after a badly broken heart, I’ve been looking (unsuccessfully) for a straight job for 18 months and I’m seriously low on bread. To top off the sad tale: I’m stumbling around trying to figure out how to parent this mystifying creature that is my teenager son, (not to mention his 11 year-old brother) and my much beloved dog and running companion is dying from cancer. In the big world of human hardship, I know that none of this is unique. In fact as far as human misery goes, my pain is relatively benign. I’m not in some Third World country, clutching my starving children to my breast and waving flies away from their faces, while political rebels burn down my village. All the same, my particular scene feels pretty dark and lonely. A lot is happening at once, and I’m only one woman. Thusly, when the landscape is bleak, and it’s everything she can do to drag her heart through another day, a woman will latch on to whatever comfort she can, no matter how seemingly small. Here is where Ms. Carmen McRae walked in.

It was never a matter of not liking Carmen McRae for me. That was never the situation at all. Carmen was always OK to me, and I even had one or two of her CD’s in my collection. It was just that other singers, like Anita O’Day and Sarah Vaughan for example, resonated with me more. There was something accessible that drew me to them and held me there. I think a lot of it had to do with scat. Carmen just wasn’t much on my radar until this summer. My birthday, which was in June, was a particularly low day for me. Birthdays lend themselves to reflection, and everything I looked at hurt, especially the fact that my baby wasn’t with me anymore. Man blues on your birthday particularly suck. Anyway, I was hanging out with my teacher and good friend, who I might mention is the baddest of the bad- ass jazz vocalists around. She and I sat on her couch and she made me a couple of CD’s with all kinds of hip music on them, including several Carmen McRae tunes. I went home, loaded the tunes into my i-Pod and put on my headphones for the next 3 or 4 months. The music she gave me that day……more specifically the Carmen McRae songs she gave me that day……became the soundtrack for my broken heart and long, lonesome summer. I was particularly drawn to the Live at Ratso’s recordings from 1976. Precisely because these were live recordings, I was able to fully realize the core essence of Carmen McRae and to really understand her gift for laying it all out and making an authentic connection with the people she was singing to. The intimacy between Carmen and her audience was palpable to me. 20 something years after these recordings, I listened, mesmerized and comforted. Some of the tunes- Would You Believe, A Letter for Anna Lee, Tain’t Nobody’s Business and Lost up in Loving You gave me the sense that my pain wasn’t unique and that the heavy boulders I’ve been carrying have been carried by eons of women before me. It felt like an old broad who had seen it all was reaching through time to speak to me. It might have well have been Ratso’s in 2008. The sense of connection was that profound. Even though Carmen is long gone, she hangs out with me every day like a knowing sister or a laid back guardian angel.

Summer has rolled into autumn now. The trees are turning. Their leaves are popping in bold and vibrant colors. The wheel has made another revolution through time. Pain takes many shapes and forms, and its intensity ebbs and flows. There is no linear path to healing really. Circumstances change or don’t. Life continues either way. But singing offers refuge and release. If I can embody the rhythm, swing hard and lean into the scat, then I am truly happy. But I’ve found more. It’s about crawling inside of the music and singing with heart, honesty and courage. I don’t mean belting out a tune with a sentimental, self-help kind of approach that makes people uncomfortable. Instead, it’s more like pulling up a seat, exhaling and sharing the experience as I see it. Some things about the human heart and condition are timeless and because of that, there is something immensely healing in the simple act of testimony. It's not about being good or bad but about being true. It’s about telling the story, just like Carmen did.

Why I Sing

The synergy's the thing. That's the pop. That's the fireworks. The synergy is that uncut dope that keeps me crawling back to jazz again and again. When a song is really blasting off, there is a common energy between the players that is highly magical and euphoric to the bone. In this moment, the connection is so true that anything can happen and a raging freedom ensues. There is trust and flow. The musicians collectively give themselves to the music and the moment. It is improvisation in the truest sense of the word. Of course, not every tune is a musical orgasm. In fact, I've suffered through my share of stinky dogs and train wrecks. But the possibility of synergy is always, always present. That's enough to keep me here, singing jazz every single day.

I came to jazz kind of late. By that, I mean I didn't come up through the ranks of a high school jazz program, followed by a reputable music school. I had worked as an actor before taking time off to have my children and stay home with them. Shortly after my father died, I was invited to sing in a blues band. (The bass player for this particular band had seen me sing karaoke at a Halloween party the year before.) It had been awhile since I'd done any performing and really liked the idea of singing as opposed to acting. So it began. I ended up singing in a couple of blues bands, neither of which were very good. We mostly did parties and a few occasional club dates. When blues band # 2 crashed and burned, I still had the yen to sing. I turned around and went looking for jazz. I had always listened to jazz but just hadn't sung it before. I shot an email off to a woman who is probably one of the best living jazz vocalists today, and she agreed to take me on as a student. The first jazz tune I ever sang was "Mean to Me". I sang along with an Aebersold recording in her living room. I still remember that we talked about swing and clapped together on the 2 and the 4. When I left her house that afternoon, my life had changed forever. The seed was not only planted, but shoving up through the dirt. The planets aligned. The hegira was set.

Switching from blues to jazz has not been an easy trip. It's been a whole lot of work. It's like making a ballerina out of a rodeo clown. I will forever be a student of jazz and am always looking for ways to improve my musicianship and to become a better singer. The learning never stops. That first year, I pretty much just took lessons, learned new tunes and sang along to Aebersold recordings. After that, I began to branch out: Showing up for vocal jams, taking workshops and even doing a gig now and then. At some point along the way, I set an intention: To become as good a jazz singer as possible, to commit to learning and to sing out professionally. With my eye always on that intention, my journey has evolved. I'm slowly getting better and I do sing professionally. Along the way, there have been many firsts (like singing in front of a large audience at a festival) and there have been many challenges (most created in my own mind) to overcome. For example, I used to be afraid to ask certain musicians to gig with me because I didn't feel like I was "good enough" or had somehow not earned "the right" to play with the best available. If I did ask them, new situations with new players were always wrought with worry and anxiety. I got over that and fast. As soon as I could just let myself be at the place I was and not judge myself so damn much, I was able to open myself to learning from all the amazing musicians I was playing with. Every gig was a classroom. That's still the case for me today. I'm still at it. I love singing with new people. I consider every tune an adventure and an opportunity to let go and be happy. I put myself in as many musical situations as possible. I accept the good with the bad. Some nights you sing your ass off. Other nights, you leave even yourself yawning or scratching your head. ("Geez, how did I fuck that up?") For me, it's one big, wonderful, messy trip full of potential and joy and well, synergy. That's why I sing. Frankly, I can't not sing. Jazz will never let go. I don't want it to.