I’ve been a fan of female jazz singers since I’ve had my own apartment to fill. My first grownup love affair would have paled without Ella and I would not have survived the last without Nina. Yet only now have I succumbed to the charms and chimera of Carmen McRae. Something about her grown-lady yowl—her oldest soul take on that youngest of topics (love love and more love)—opens me up and strips me down as this brave new world keeps shifting beneath our feet. She croons”Miss Otis regrets,” and I marvel at how many colors course through that Cole Porter shade; “I’m okay how you come and go” and I make peace with my romantic limbo. Of all her albums, it’s “At the Great American Music Hall” that’s holding me closest. Listen and love.
In prior years I would wear my film critic hat or my intuitive hat but never did the twain meet (not unless I was making Academy Award predictions; oh, the Oscar pools I’ve won). In this Brave New World, though, I feel it necessary to integrate my various entities. So I had great fun appearing on Deep Night, the podcast by comedian Dale Seever. We talked about magic and medicine of all varietals, including the 2017 Oscars, bald eagles, spirit guides, Mother Mary, and such films as All That Jazz, In the Mood for Love, and The Wiz. That Dale is quite a rascal; take a listen.
I saw “The Lady Eve” at Metrograph; I wore fur and red lipstick with zero compunction; I ate oysters and duck; I drank champagne cocktails and big red wine; I walked miles and miles with a kindred spirit in the shadow of the Empire State Building’s red-harlot lights. I heckled men walking down the street carrying red roses–“Are those for meeee?”–and sniffed at a swain who tried to pick me up at the mail box. “You post things? How elegant!” “Oh, take your Valentine goggles off!” Most of all, I smiled at everyone who smiled at me, and batted my lashes lasciviously at the rude boys on the subway. This year’s V Day had a different vibe–less materialistic, more conspiratorial. It suited this love witch just fine.
I’ve been a fan of female jazz singers since I’ve had my own apartment to fill. My first grownup love affair would have paled without Ella and I would not have survived the last without Nina. Yet only now have I succumbed to the charms and chimera of Carmen McRae. Something about her grown-lady yowl—her oldest soul take on that youngest of topics (love love and more love)—opens me up and strips me down as this brave new world keeps shifting beneath our feet. She croons”Miss Otis regrets,” and I marvel at how many colors course through that Cole Porter shade; “I’m okay how you come and go” and I make peace with my romantic limbo. Of all her albums, it’s “At the Great American Music Hall” that’s holding me closest. Listen and love.
In prior years I would wear my film critic hat or my intuitive hat but never did the twain meet (not unless I was making Academy Award predictions; oh, the Oscar pools I’ve won). In this Brave New World, though, I feel it necessary to integrate my various entities. So I had great fun appearing on Deep Night, the podcast by comedian Dale Seever. We talked about magic and medicine of all varietals, including the 2017 Oscars, bald eagles, spirit guides, Mother Mary, and such films as All That Jazz, In the Mood for Love, and The Wiz. That Dale is quite a rascal; take a listen.
I saw “The Lady Eve” at Metrograph; I wore fur and red lipstick with zero compunction; I ate oysters and duck; I drank champagne cocktails and big red wine; I walked miles and miles with a kindred spirit in the shadow of the Empire State Building’s red-harlot lights. I heckled men walking down the street carrying red roses–“Are those for meeee?”–and sniffed at a swain who tried to pick me up at the mail box. “You post things? How elegant!” “Oh, take your Valentine goggles off!” Most of all, I smiled at everyone who smiled at me, and batted my lashes lasciviously at the rude boys on the subway. This year’s V Day had a different vibe–less materialistic, more conspiratorial. It suited this love witch just fine.