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.

Perception

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve posted anything here. In fact, since starting this blog a year ago, I’ve been woefully negligent. Other writing duties took precedence, and life circumstances distracted me. Although I write all the time, I never managed to give this blog much attention. But I’d like to try again now. I love singing jazz and I find that I am perpetually curious about the emotional, spiritual and very human experience of being a jazz vocalist. I am interested in what makes us tick. I am fascinated by our process and by the challenges we face in our own individual developments. I’ve sat with many fellow singers at vocal jams and gigs, swapping war stories, sharing struggles and delving into the bigger questions of jazz and why it owns us so completely. There are all kinds of things to think about on this groovy path we’ve chosen. Lord knows, there’s plenty to laugh at. In ramping up this blog again, I must begin with a disclaimer: I don’t know nothing ‘bout nothing. I’m just a fellow traveler, stumbling along, swinging and singing as best she can and trying to figure it out like everyone else. I don’t have any answers but I do have lots of questions and an observation or two. With that, I soldier on. If you care to join me, well that would be divine. I would be honored.

The thing that is on my mind today is perceptions. The other night when I was out and about, I ran into another singer. We chatted it up a bit, and she commented that I was one of the hardest-working vocalists around, that I seem to be gigging “a ton” and that I must be doing pretty well on the fiscal side of singing jazz. Ha! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. God, if only it were true. As a matter of fact, this has been my slowest summer in years, and my gig calendar is looking like a sad, skinny dog these days: Droopy-eyed. Ribs sticking out. In need of a pat on the head and a nice bowl of kibble. But still, somehow she had this perception that I was slugging along much better than I indeed am. I must confess that I’ve had the same erroneous perception of other singers.

A huge part of my freelance writing gig involves publicity-related writing for the music, and more specifically, jazz business. I read and write a lot of artist bios, press advances, web copy and what have you. The purpose of a press kit is to provide information about an artist and also to paint them in as favorable and glowing light as humanly possible. Before working in this arena, I probably didn’t question many of the things that I read about other artists. I assumed that everything I was reading was probably true and like a bobble head, nodded and took it in without second thought. Sometimes I would read about the accomplishments and accolades of another vocalist, and my own sense of accomplishment would rapidly diminish. I am, after all, a middle-aged vocalist, coming into the game somewhat later than most. Could I or would I ever measure up to whatever singer I was reading about at the time? If I wasn’t careful, after reading said bio, I would begin to droop. However, I see things differently now.

I have read countless bios of singers prior to hearing them perform. Many are well written, wonderfully written and often include quotes from known and unknown persons. After reading them, I have a certain expectation of how a singer will sound or what his or her particular musical notoriety is. (The wrenching ballad….the kick-ass scat….the precise whatever….You get the picture.) I come to their performance with a certain level of expectation and have, on many occasions, been not only disappointed in what I heard but flabbergasted by the disconnection between what was written about the vocalist and how the vocalist actually sounded. One recent example involved a singer whose publicity information was full of chatter about what a keen sensibility this person has for bebop. On and on and on it went. When I saw this particular person perform, I heard not a bop line one. There was not even one note of scat. I was left to scratch my head. I have witnessed this phenomenon many times. Just to be clear, I've often read press about vocalists and have been blow away by their performances. In these instances, everything written about them was indeed true. I don't want to give the misconception that all artist bios are deceptive because that's not the case at all. But it does happen.

I must confess that in turn, I have also been guilty of manipulating words to present an image of a performer that wasn’t exactly accurate. In short, I’ve dressed up a few dogs. This has always involved performers that I’ve yet not heard, so I’m slightly off the hook. However, in most of these cases, there were enough indicators there that I knew what I was writing was window dressing and perhaps not exactly an accurate representation of the artist. Often you can tell if an artist bio is bunk by the specific choice of words. (i.e.: It was “suggested” that she sing at the Monterey Jazz Festival, not she “sang” at the Monterey Jazz Festival.) You can also tell a lot about an artist by what is omitted from the bio. It’s a tricky game. This is the art of publicity. It’s what we do. And I might add that this isn’t limited to music writing. It happens in multiple disciplines throughout the arts. This isn’t to say that I am always comfortable with it. And to put in a plug for my own credibility and ethics, if I have indeed heard a singer and/or musician perform, then anything I write about them is 100% honest and accurate. I’m not in the business of reviewing, and if I don’t have favorable things to say, then I don’t write anything. At the end of the day, I would rather support my fellow musicians and serve as an active cheerleader for the art form.

Anyway, this whole discussion isn’t so much about the ethics of publicity writing as much as it is a cautionary tale about how perceptions can trip us up. It doesn’t even have to be an artist bio or a description on a web site. Sometimes, we might notice another singer’s name on the Earshot calendar or in the local entertainment listing. We see that he or she might be playing someplace here or there and we might be quick to make assumptions about this person’s success as an artist, based solely on where they are performing. (Just as this singer I mentioned earlier had made the assumption about my making a lot of money.) Perhaps they have a new CD out, and we assume that all is good and glorious in their careers. Further, many of us vocalists are tender things and might make the mistake of believing that in the absence of that shiny new CD or a booking at the latest happening jazz joint, then our own singing gig is somehow not as relevant or evolved. In short, when we’re not careful about perceptions, we can make erroneous assumptions about other artists and erroneous assumptions about ourselves.

In November, I am recording my first CD. It’s been a long, long time coming. My musical sidekick RH has worked up some truly amazing and delightful arrangements, and I couldn’t be more excited. However, the other day I was looking at a book about the top 500 jazz vocalists in the U.S. With each page I turned, I was in shock and awe of the vocalists I was reading about and their endless accomplishments. When it comes to jazz singers, there are some true super novas out there. (In fact, some of them live among us right here in the Northwest.) It wasn’t too long before I crashed a little. I felt like a tiny insignificant speck in the universe of vocal jazz. I started to think about my age and my relative lack of chops. I started to have doubt. I began to question the worth of proceeding with an expensive recording, when I’m so abysmally outside of the pack. All of this because of one afternoon with a book!

I am an avid runner and have been running for a decade now. (Actually, I’m a bit of a late bloomer in this endeavor as well, I suppose.) Before I ran my first race, a wise and more experienced runner made the sage observation that when it comes to competitive running, it’s cool because while I will probably never be the winner or even among the top finishers (There were probably a few thousand entrants in that particular event.), I will never be at end of the line either. I remember that every time I run a race, and it seems like something that could apply here as well. Ultimately, we’re all where we are on our own musical paths and as RH says, we need not apologize for where we are in our development. It also seems important to keep in mind that nobody ever exactly arrives at that one illusory point that we define as “success”. All of us are continuing to grow, continuing to learn and continuing on our way as artists and as human beings. And in the moment of a tune….in that precise moment when the song is blasting off to we know not where, it doesn’t seem to matter how good I am or what measure of success I possess. What really and truly matters is that I love the music and that I am having fun.

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.