BWW Reviews: It's All Sinatra All the Time and All the Way as Will Friedwald's 14-Hour SINATRA-THON Entertains and Informs at The Cutting Room

Tribute shows to iconic entertainers celebrating a centennial birthday in 2015 (i.e. Billie Holiday, Les Paul, Edith Piaf, to name of few) seem to be all the rage this year. But nobody has been celebrated more in cabaret shows than Frank Sinatra--and rightly so. As Wall Street Journal entertainment columnist Will Friedwald points out: "Frank Sinatra, born a century ago in 1915, was not only the greatest singer in all of American culture, he was also the most prolific. Over a career that spanned nearly 60 years, he recorded over 1,600 songs, starred in over 50 movies, and made innumerable concert, radio, and TV appearances."

Friedwald, also a producer and author who wrote the 1997 book Sinatra! The Song Is You-A Singer's Art, this past Saturday presented the biggest (and longest) tribute to "Ol' Blue Eyes" so far this year with Sinatra-Thon at The Cutting Room (co-curated with performer Cary Hoffman), a potpourri of events running from 10 am to an after-midnight jam, and which included varied live entertainment, rare film clips, and panel discussions. Going "all the way" and attending the entire 14-hours of programs wasn't possible, but this reviewer still managed to witness an entertaining five-hour block between 1 and 6 pm.

Award-winning cabaret vocalist Marissa Mulder and pianist Jon Weber (photo right) recreated the 1969 collaboration between Frank Sinatra and then, hugely popular poet/occasional songwriter, Rod McKuen, resulting in the album A Man Alone. It was the era of The Beatles and the album (which included recitation of McKuen's poetry) was Sinatra's attempt at reaching a new generation. Friedwald admitted that like most of us, he had been a snob about McKuen until repeated exposure to this effort which was, in fact, a revelation to most of the audience. [See video of Sinatra singing A Man Alone in a 1969 TV special.]

A Man Alone may be the piece in which Mulder has shown the most emotional comprehension since her terrific Tom Waits show in 2013. Despite her youth, she inhabited material expressing a lifetime of solitary coping by a gentle, out-of-step romantic. Simple lyrics were performed with measured thought. Mulder seemed to relive memories. She recognized gravitas without letting it weigh down sentiment. Small signs--raised eyebrows, an open palm, a bemused smile, and a sigh of resignation--spoke volumes. Recitation was sensitive, never flimsy. Powdery fades never disappeared too soon. Weber's deft accompaniment shadowed, supported and eddied around the words. What we all assumed were Hallmark expressions emerged authentic.

After showing a number of film clips in the venue's bar area, Friedwald introduced author James Kaplan (left in photo, below), whose recent book, Sinatra: The Chairman follows his first on the icon, Frank: The Voice. The two volumes, written over five years, cover every aspect of Sinatra's life to his retirement in the mid 1990s. The two writers pointed out there was no press about popular music in the 1950s, only influential gossip that might praise or damn someone. Nothing was referred to as a "standard." Pop was not, in fact, considered viable for concert halls . . . before Sinatra. Hits came and went in accordance with what sold. Both agreed that, as Friedwald said, "People loved him, but no one took him seriously until after he died. He was a visionary with the best ear in the business."

"The essence of great performers--Chaplin, Astaire, Cary Grant--is that they made it look easy while working their asses off," commented Kaplan. "Sinatra put himself in training before a concert, cut down on drinking, studied lyrics . . . " As soon as he was able, he also executed incredible control on every aspect of his music. "Doris Day, a great singer, never chose a song she sang in her whole career," Friedwald added. Whether with arrangers Nelson Riddle, Don Costa or Billy May, Sinatra was proactive, in charge. Asked whether he had any "aha" moments, Kaplan alluded to The Rat Pack as having been far less copacetic than the public imagined.

An afternoon concert featured cabaret, jazz, and musical theater vocalists accompanied by Jon Weber on piano, Ritt Henn on bass, and Mike Munisteri on guitar. Sigali Hamburger, who helped organize the event, gave us a cha cha rendition "All or Nothing At All" (I didn't believe her), followed by Kat Gang's conversational, jazz inflected "Everything Happens to Me." Gang's notes often tailed off with an appealing hum creating long words within short phrases. Weber added a sassy piano meander which included a few lines of "Yes Sir, That's My Baby" in a nod to Gang's glowing state of pregnancy.

Jazz baby Kendra Shank sang "No One Ever Tells You:" No one ever tells you what it's like to love and lose/How it feels to waken and have breakfast with the blues . . . Shank's vocal sounded like a controlled horn--brightly out, more quietly back, with a bit of wah wah. When she opens throttle, that voice bounces off the back wall. Munisteri's guitar insinuates. Lauren Fox savored every lyric of the late Ervin Drake's "It Was a Very Good Year" (lovely arrangement.) The sound elicited visions of running one's hand across fur or through a thicket of silky hair. An acapella ending was deft.

Jeff Harnar, truly a keeper of the flame, shared his signature version of "All the Way." It's big, round, warm, and filled with heart. Melissa Ritz, whose fascinating one-woman show Journey of a Bombshell: The Ina Ray Hutton Story has upcoming bookings in three cities, sang a bright and bouncy, if somewhat thin, "Swingin' Down the Lane" as Weber skibbled, skiped, and twirled at the piano. Mike Munisteri's interpretation of "Cottage for Sale," which Friedwald called "the saddest song Sinatra ever recorded," skewed country with strolling, southern-colored phrasing and twang. His superb guitar solo was more bluesy and successful.

Marcus Goldhaber drapeed himself across the piano to perform "High Anxiety," Mel Brooks' satiric homage to Sinatra. The artist was just dead pan enough to make lines like "Key change!" and "It's very disconcerting not to hear ice clinking" work. Wry is a term few performers understand these days. Nancy Harms' "When the World Was Green" toyed with us. Her throaty contralto caressed the lyric. Just when we settled in, an octave rose folk-like causing palpable frisson. As sung by Gabrielle Stravelli, "There's No You" had terrific phrasing but was too aggressive for the lyric.

The inimitable Steve Ross offered "Why Shouldn't It Happen to Us?" which Sinatra sang in duet with George Burns in 1944. It sounded like Flanders and Swan or Cole Porter: It has happened to a cricket in a thicket/It has happened on a streetcar and a bus/There has even been a rumor it has happened to a puma/Why shouldn't it happen to us? I can think of no one more capable of interpreting the charming number with such brio.

From the vocal group, Duchess, we heard solos by Melissa Stylianou and Amy Cervini with Oded Ari Levy at the piano. Stylianou's "I'll Never Be the Same" showed skilled control. The vocalist knew just where to employ hush. Subtle vibrato and period modulation gave the song real character. Cervini's torchy "I'll Never Forget You" arrived unfussy and with feeling, but rather monotone.

Maxine Linehan (Jon Weber back on piano) closed with "The House I Live In," which Friedwald reminded us "Sinatra used to shout how great America was after World War II." The song is personal to Linehan, an Irish immigrant, and a stirring anthem in her capable hands. Linehan has a simply beautiful voice, but I long for a pullback enhancing emotional impact.

Five enjoyable hours celebrating Frank Sinatra on a Saturday afternoon.

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