A quick glance at the cover of this light-hearted 1959 Verve release depicts Blossom Dearie with her trademark pageboy haircut and horn-rim glasses, looking more like a typical 50's housewife than a sophisticated jazz swinger. And if, based on Ms. Dearie's appearance, you were to think that this sweet lil' thing couldn't possibly match the almighty blues-soaked majesty of Ella, Billie, Dinah, or Anita, you'd be right. But comparing Blossom Dearie to the First Lady of Song or any of the others mentioned above would be missing the point. Ms. Dearie's death earlier this year reawakened the jazz community to what ought to be obvious: Blossom Dearie is one of the finest female jazz vocalists of all time. Sure, she couldn't belt out the blues like Billie, but the warmth and character with which she imbued her renditions of standards is delightful to hear. Think of her as the Vince Guaraldi of lady jazz singers: never era-defining or iconoclastic, but pure, sweet, and nearly flawless. This, her self-titled 1959 album for Verve, is her finest moment. For those innocent souls who can still appreciate a fine jazz album with their dinner and wine, this is a godsend. Ms. Dearie's lilting, girlish voice and spacious, gentle arrangements are pure ear candy, from the West Coast-inspired reinvention of vaudeville standard "'Deed I Do", to the laid-back loveliness of "It Might As Well Be Spring", in which Blossom reinterprets a Rodgers and Hammerstein showtune as a French torch ballad. And at the end, we get the delight that is "Blossom's Blues", a spry vamp that betrays Dearie's sassy side.
No comments:
Post a Comment