I take a back seat to no one in my appreciation for the Great American Songbook, that loosely amalgamated body of work that comprises those tunes written between the 20s and the 60s – by the likes of Berlin and Ellington, Porter and Rodgers, Harry Warren and the Gershwins and a hundred others – that make up the standards repertoire. But having heard definitive versions of them by Ella and Sarah, Frank and Mel and Billie and a dozen more, I don’t usually need to hear them again.
Born To Be Blue (Seraphic), the new album from Chicago vocalist Solitaire Miles, doesn’t have a single song written less than a half-century ago. The newest is “Too Close For Comfort,” written in the mid-50s; many of them date from the 30s, and one, the age-defying “Lover Come Back To Me,” hit the scene in 1928. And Miles doesn’t do anything all that special with them – which begs the question of why I find this disc mostly successful and entirely appealing.
As it turns, that’s the whole point: Miles doesn’t do anything “special.” She doesn’t burden these songs with “unique” arrangements, or misplaced scat solos, or even the post-modern dramatic interpretations with which many singers recast these classics (and which, in the wrong hands, can shatter them instead). Miles sings the melodies without improvising, swings the rhythms with just enough lilt, and lets her light but smoky voice carry the day – along with a slew of terrific Chicago soloists.
In the former category are trumpeter Art Davis – whose uncluttered melodies and burnished tone recall the era in which these songs thrived – and the late Joe Vito (on both piano and accordion), who grew up with these songs and worked with them throughout his lifetime. Among the latter, guitarist Neal Alger and saxist Jim Gailloreto offer perfectly attuned solos that belie their reputations (but polish their cred) as much more modern artists.
All of them contribute to an album that is lovingly crafted, with a dozen well-placed and finely polished details that subtly declare the care that’s gone into it. And several of them – pianist Willie Pickens, bassist Marlene Rosenberg, and drummer Robert Shy, along with Alger and Davis – will join in a CD-release celebration Tuesday night (July 13) at the Jazz Showcase, 806 S. Plymouth Ct. They’ll perform at 8 and 10 PM.
Like a guided missile from the past, Solitaire Miles (and yes, that’s her real name) homes in on modern sensibilities in her approach. In interviews she has stated her desire to re-create the historical context – and especially the emotional context – in which these songs first appeared, yet also bring something contemporary and personal to her interpretations.
That’s not as contradictory as it might seem. Miles knows that the best way to authenticate these songs is to inhabit them entirely. By willing herself into the world-view of their original creators, she avoids any hint of camp. But by investing them with her own personality – as did her predecessors of the 30s and 40s – she can make them sound nearly as fresh as they did when first performed.
The material ranges from the well-known, such as the torchy title track, to the absolutely obscure, such as a ditty co-written by Duke Ellington and Mel Torme called “You Gotta Crawl Before You Walk.” In between are several songs familiar to fans of standards but still somewhat underperformed, such as Artie Shaw’s “Moon Ray” and Hoagy Carmichael’s “Baltimore Oriole,” with a touch of feather-ruffling innuendo.
Miles’s version of “Detour Ahead” has special resonance. To begin with, it was written by Chicago violinist Johnny Frigo, who first encouraged Miles to forego opera singing (her original goal) for jazz and proceeded to mentor her learning much of this material. In addition, it’s one of the tunes that features pianist Vito – Frigo’s long-term musical partner – and he invests the introduction with gorgeous harmonies that capture a bit of the song’s elusive (and often ignored) mystery.
Miles’s timbre offers a good amount of variety. Up top, it skips with a light clarity; in the huskier mid-range, where she mostly lives, there’s some salt and some molasses, and the cool intimacy of a gin martini. Her lowest notes have a bit of the throaty warble that made June Christy, Chris Connor, and their cool-school successors such appealing poster girls for the 50s. Her intonation falters occasionally, just slightly – but only occasionally and only slightly, which is fairly high praise for a style that refuses to hide behind flurries of extra notes or melodic paraphrase.
In addition to music, Miles also works as a quite accomplished illustrator. She paints a pretty good picture on Born To Be Blue, too, filled with clean lines, nicely muted primary colors, and a sure eye – and ear – for classic composition.
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