Twinkly but unblinking



Lorraine Feather sings one of her wickedly interesting  numbers at Catalina's in January, 2002.

 

It would be quite enough if Lorraine Feather stuck to writing, like her late father, the jazz critic for the Los Angeles Times. Her stuff glitters and gleams and makes you think of Dorothy Parker or Nora Ephron.

And even those two might have trouble writing a hip little ditty such as the one she dedicated to the painter Paul Cezanne and set to the Fats Waller number, "Smashing Thirds."

You did suffer

But got tougher

An old duffer, brave in your gloom

Like the poster in the dining room.

Nice word choices, there, and a most unusual subject. Now try singing the thing, at 90 miles an hour, with a trio behind you that allows no rest or deviation. Let your audience hear and understand every word, follow every phrase, even though Shelly Berg is pounding out stride piano and Greg Field is whip-stroking the snare drum and bass player Chuck Berghoffer is making it never stop moving.

Feather dealt with all this without flinching, making every note sing, and keeping her voice sweet as Doris Day and hip as Ella Fitzgerald.

But she deployed more than craft and chops. She brought to bear her little girl charm, an unforced intimacy that kept the audience in the palm of her musicianly hand. And that wasn't easy because the house was full.

But the material she's written was hard to resist, no matter how civilized its bearing in the rock stained heart of Hollywood.

Lines like this one from the song "Too Good Lookin' " ring loud in Tinsel Town

Now that you've risen to glory 

on your camera-friendly cheekbones

You don't get into makeup for less than 20 G's.

Or these, from "Timeless Rag"

She walked in wearing a timeless rag

The band was playing the Viper's Drag

I looked at her and she looked through me...

Or these, from "New York City Drag," about a departed lover

New York is strange

A little unkinder

It wore your smile back then

Put that kind of wide-worldly stuff together with a roaring trio, a do-anything voice, and a twinkly but unblinking soul, and you've got a combination that might even be a big pop success at a moment like this when the vocalists are getting sharper than ever.

A bit of deviltry shows more often than once.

 

Text and photographs by Tony Gieske

Tony Gieske has been reviewing jazz and occasionally playing it on his cornet since the 1950s, when he wrote the jazz column for the Washington Post. Now he works for the Hollywood Reporter, where his reviews and photographs, such as these, appear regularly.The photographs are available as prints or as scans by sending an e-mail to grnskl@earthlink.net. More jazz stuff can be seen by clicking on the links beneath.

 

 

Jumpin' in the Boneyard: The prelude

The night they remembered Woody

Woody remembers Woody

Woodchoppin' for the old Woodchopper

The blue flame goes out

Riding with the boys on the Count Basie bus

A mockingbird sang on Citrus Place: Annie Ross

Melissa Manchester's voice does everything she asks

Earthy delights with the Bricktop of the blues

Uan Rasey: Play it reverently

Young Jazz Giants: Newsy and juicy

A taste of the new Brownie, Maurice Brown

Hank Jones: Not a minute to waste

Horace Silver becomes more spiritual

Take your time, Sister D

Gerald Wilson reveals the secret of bebop

Teddy Edwards: 'You ain't done nothing but play great.'

No sun, no day: Sun Ra

Tiny Grimes: 'I never could afford the other two strings'

'Ain't that a bitch!' said Jay McShann

Woof of melancholy, warp of jazz

'Pop, can you play this thing?' Stacy asks Jimmy Rowles

Hamp's last stand

Hamp's last stand: The outtakes

Final flight

'I never wanted a band,' said Marshal Royal

Twinkly but unblinking: Lorraine Feather

Pronounced john-gear-off

Miss Peggy Lee, 1920-2002

The real Count

'A little trumpet player from down in Dayton named Snooky'

Sweets Edison: Death of a Mainstay

Hubbard in the hood

With abandon but chops: DDB

Dwight Trible, kick-ass holy man 

'I'm Roy Haynes, Dammit!'

High kicks and belly blows: James Carter

The accursed Coltrane

Jazz Fusion Is Not Dead: Billy Cobham

Brookmeyer: Soft spoken but hard core.

Snakes in the Clover: Steve Lacy

Sam Rivers: Like Bartok rocking out

Les Paul, Solid Body

Billy Higgins: We're really blessed

A night full of deep things: Charles Lloyd

Death of the horse whisperer

Talking about Chet Baker

A visit from the Poinciana Kid

 Adieu to Art, a Euro-gentleman of jazz

Blues for Bags, 1923-99

A night with the Florence nightingales 

 An ancient afternoon with Dizzy

Bill Berry's Own Private Ellington

A Bowl full of bebop

A blessing blows into town

Blowing with Buckaroo Banzai

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