BWW Reviews: The Transcendent Voice of Ageless and Evergreen JUDY COLLINS Once Again Enchants Café Carlyle

Judy Collins, who celebrated her 76th birthday on May 1, has been entertaining us for 56 years "not including childhood." A formidable contributor to the soundtrack of Boomer lives, her transcendent voice conjures memories like few others of any generation. The artist arrived in Greenwich Village in 1961. She relates astonishment at the crowd gathered for her debut only to discover they'd amassed to see 13-year-old Arlo Guthrie. Releasing Maid of Constant Sorrow that same year, Collins entered the fray, became prominent with her rendition of Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now" on Wildflowers, and went on to shine among a group of vocalists and singer/songwriters who embodied crosspollination, political activism and lyric poetry.

Collins' current show at Café Carlyle (which opened last night and runs until May 16) mines familiar territory like evocative comfort food, including retold tales that sometimes go on too long. Many songs take on new coloring both vocally and in terms of changed context, i.e. that of a mature woman looking back. Her most recent CD of new and original material, 2011's Bohemian, shows she's not sitting on her laurels.

Elegant in white including her signature halo of hair, Collins begins with her own "Open the Door (Song for Judith)" which includes the resonant I'd like to be as good a friend to you as you are to me. Her still rich, soaring voice, which climbs like an Indian fakir and evaporates into the air, is now more contralto than soprano. "Both Sides Now" follows with phrasing that lingers past the accompaniment of Musical Director Russell Walden on piano and Collins on guitar. She appears serious, reflecting on the lyric.

The beautiful "Diamonds and Rust" (Joan Baez), "About her bad boyfriend-Bob Dylan," makes years fade away, both Collins' and those of her audience. Well I'll be damned/Here comes your ghost again/But that's not unusual/It's just that the moon is full/And you happened to call. Does it get better than that? Phrasing plumbs the pith and purpose of the song while that voice sails off invisible up-ramps. Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man," with rolling texture on piano, is somewhat bittersweet. Collins climbs inside. We're invited to join in the chorus. Everyone knows it.

"Helplessly Hoping," written by Stephen Stills in an effort to seduce young Judy back into their relationship (he was unsuccessful), sounds like a classic madrigal. "My Father (always promised me that we would live in France)" arrives after choked up memories of her beloved dad. "I think about him every day." Always immensely moving, she makes the song sound immediate tonight, conjuring a barefoot girl alone in a meadow, dancing to her own singing. Gratitude pervades.

Collins sits at the piano (one forgets the artist's virtuosity here) to perform her first original composition, "Since You Asked," created with the encouragement of Leonard Cohen whom she credits with discovering her. It sounds like leaves drifting down, like exhaling. Also hers, "Arizona" was written while staring out a Tuscan hospital window for a month: All of the magic moves on/But nothing forgiven is gone. The song is melancholy yet exhilarates in observed beauty.

Several Stephen Sondheim numbers declare her affinity for the composer/lyricist. Though Collins doesn't hit every note and her voice seems more translucent for lack of guitar underpinning, she does hit every idea, every feeling with tremulous honesty. In particular "No One is Alone" (from Into the Woods) gains with depth of experience.

Judy Collins has always been forthcoming with her emotions both in songs, authored books, and social commitment. It will come as no surprise that she seems vulnerable onstage. Sincerity and candor (alongside integrity) are part of lasting appeal. And then, there's that gift of the ethereal. "Amazing Grace," which I remember singing at a concert of hers when I was in college, closes the show. We're again invited to join in the chorus. And do. The room collectively smiles.

Photos courtesy of Mireya Acierto for Café Carlyle

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