Review: Songbook Sundays' HOAGY CARMICHAEL Tribute at Dizzy's Is Delightful

Songwriters being interviewed about their output are often asked, “Which came first: the music or the words?” In the case of one of the Great American Songbook standards, “Stardust,” it was definitely the music. Hoagy Carmichael (1899-1981) composed it as an instrumental and played piano in the band for its first recording. It was back in 1927, on the last day of October — Halloween, a day that’s all about haunting. And “The melody haunts my reverie” is a phrase that appears in the belatedly commissioned lyric by Mitchell Parish. Almost 100 Octobers later, vibrant vocalist Kenita Miller got to dig into the melody and its lovely lyric referring to the haunting tune of  “...my stardust melody: the memory of love's refrain.” The occasion was the latest entry in the “Songbook Sundays” series that takes place at Dizzy’s in the Jazz at Lincoln Center complex by Columbus Circle on the day before Columbus Day, convened for a collection of Carmichael classics. 

The splendid band on hand included soaring saxophonist Sarah Hanahan, who includes “Stardust” on her debut recording as a leader, released in June of this year. Hanahan played it live in her show at this venue that month. Joining them musically for the Hoagy happening, presented twice that day, were three people with similar first names: the two other singers — Christine Andreas and Christian Weeks – and drummer Christian X.M. McGhee, as well as bassist Jayla Chee and pianist/music director Ted Rosenthal. Deborah Grace Winer hosts and curates the programs, with efficient, sufficient, proficient narration that adds context and interest.     

The title du jour was Heart and Soul and Hoagy Carmichael, a choice that did double duty as it referenced the song “Heart and Soul” – the one purely instrumental number, allowing the band to expand a simple tune and be showcased wonderfully — and  reinforced the truism that many of the songs presented throughout were heartfelt and soulful. Rising to that occasion most rewardingly was Christine Andreas. She masterfully inhabited the tender, emotional ballads “The Nearness of You”(lyric by Ned Washington) and “I Get Along Without You Very Well (Except Sometimes),” imbuing them with tremendous feeling and elegance, full of nuance and sensitivity. For the numbers that became the biggest successes, Carmichael didn’t typically pen his own lyrics and “I Get Along…”  was the sole semi-sample of his wordsmithing in this program full of the big standards. I say “semi” because the text was adapted from a poem in a magazine.                        

Since Hoagy Carmichael was also a performing singer/pianist in various media, that suggested a closer association with the lyrics than other composers might project. But he collaborated with quite a few lyricists, such as Johnny Mercer and Frank Loesser — each of whom was the subject of a previous “Songbook Sundays” earlier this year.  Next time the spotlight will be on Cole Porter who, like Carmichael and Stuart Gorrell, his lyricist for  “Georgia on My Mind,” was a native of Indiana. “Georgia on My Mind” was handled adeptly by Kenita Miller.  She also swung into “How Little We Know” and included a bit of the similarly named non-Carmichael piece “(How Little It Matters) How Little We Know.”  But, oddly, in two of the four instances where the words of that full title were sung, she replaced “How” with “What.” 

The jazz-centric sensibilities of Dizzy’s and of the talented musicians employed — and because the chosen repertoire featured melodies of the honoree — make it a given that there would be some inventiveness and freedom in how those melodies would be handled. While Andreas remained a pure storyteller bringing out the nuances and drama of the aforementioned love songs, other lyrics sometimes took a back seat to the musical structures. Christian Weeks stretched some phrases so that a one-syllable word might be spread elastically over three notes in a bold, showy way.  That doesn’t mean he wasn’t diligent about diction. Quite the opposite, in fact: He sometimes leaned harder than necessary on the consonants to make them super-crisp.  I missed the usual sensitivity and looking for love in “Skylark.” An his energized approach was not the ideal match for projecting being one of “Two Sleepy People” who were yawning because a night date had gone on until “dawn’s early light” because they’re “too much in love to say ‘good night.’” (Cutely, the pianist threw in a bit of “Brahms’ Lullaby” at the end.)  The bright tone of Mr. Weeks has appeal and his most impressive moment was when he unleashed some spiffy scat-singing in the finale, the group reprise of “Up a Lazy River” which had been one of his solos. 

Deborah Grace Winer’s commentary included sharing that she first became aware of Hoagy Carmichael when, as a child, she saw a TV episode of “The Flintstones” with a character named –yes– Hoagy Carmichael, voiced by the man himself (playing the “Stoneway” piano and singing). She pointed out that he was one of the songwriters who had an active career as a performer. And she pointed out that he’d studied law, but didn’t pass the first bar exam and was fired by a law firm, quipping that “If you fail as a lawyer, you can always make a living as a songwriter.” 

A few quibbles: As fun as the reprise of “Up a Lazy River” was, I would have preferred to instead allow a slot for something that would dig deeper into the oeuvre, as the set list was made up of the most well-known Hoagy hits and I think the American Songbook-savvy audience would appreciate a discovery of a piece of buried treasure. There were also times when singers relied on the crutch of glancing at papers on music stands for songs not fully memorized, missing opportunities for audience connection or to convey being fully immersed in the material. Christine Andreas didn’t have the pesky habit (except for the group finale) and Miss Winer admirably does her talk in a lively manner without carrying notes, making her narration more conversational and direct.

I guess the best test of a cabaret show or concert of famous songs is if you happily go in with the songs in your head, then enjoy hearing them for the hundredth time, exit humming, and find the tunes and words still sticking with you the next day. This Sunday soiree passed those tests: I’ve still got “Georgia on My Mind” on my mind and feel like I’m contentedly floating “Up a Lazy River” and, as for “Stardust,” still “the melody haunts my reverie” – in a good way.       

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Visit Jazz at Lincoln Center's website to find more shows there and at Dizzy's Club.

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Header photo by Magda Katz

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