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We have two male singers: Craig Pomranz and Steven Pasquale, both singing in especially sweet, lyrical voices and both including composers Gershwin, Rodgers, Berlin, and Strouse. Then the sweetness continues with Sweet and Saxy from songstress Pamela Luss and saxophonist Houston Person.
"To everything, there is a season ...": For balladeer Craig Pomranz, what is always in season is a very, very sweet sound because of his high, honeyed tenor. He lays on that honey pretty thick throughout his CD filled with songs about different kinds of weather and whether love is in the wind or not. "Legato" is his motto, it appears, and the long, oh-so-gorgeous vocal lines are a treat for the ears. The lyric may be mirthful or mournful, reveling in romance or dripping with drama, but it's more about the voice. Despite the topic of changes in climate (meteorological or emotional), this CD with some stylized singing is almost always warm, warm, warm. Though this can upstage or minimize the intensity or subtlety in the material, it's often worth the trade-off. I have very mixed feelings about the sound mix and impact of the instrumentals on many tracks. The vocal is so upfront that the musicians too often seem to be somewhere in the distance, with some brief solo instrumental figures sounding like distractions or afterthoughts rather than supportive collaborations. This is particularly a shame with the gifted Don Rebic on keyboards most of the time, with four tracks having Stephen Bocchino, who supported the singer so well in the cabaret show based on this material. Some of the chatty, casual patter from that act, and a greeting, is spoken on the disc; such running commentary isn't needed and is a bit odd but does add a friendly, down-to-earth enthusiasm. It might have been better used as liner notes. In More Than a Seasonal Thing, 'tis the season to be jolly, if gently jolly, and the timing of the release gives a jump start for anyone looking for new versions of those tunes we will be inundated with shortly. There are no religious Christmas songs, but there are the evergreens adrift in white flakes: "Winter Wonderland" and "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!"—because Pomranz plows through the snow sagas with his gearshift still set on "gentle glide," neither becomes overly peppy/perky. More intriguing is a medley of two songs introduced by Judy Garland: "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" with its wary and weary moods brought out by being blended with John Meyer's heartbreaking leave-taking "After the Holidays." The latter ballad, which Garland sang near the end of her life, is intoned with more of a croon than a cry by Craig. Sounding less desperate and devastated than one might think is in order, a case can be made that the person singing is calmer due to being past the point of most intense anguish and is closer to acceptance of the parting. Another nicely done way of doing double duty to take a holiday in: Holiday Inn, the Irving Berlin movie score, is represented by its song about January first: "Let's Start the New Year Right." Right at the beginning of the CD it's heard with plenty of optimism and innocence and then, later on the album, it's combined with "Auld Lang Syne." There's another dose of Berlin with his "Heat Wave" as the big, very rollicking energy blast, set up by—or, rather, interrupting—a sublime idea exquisitely performed: Carousel's "June Is Bustin' Out All Over" taken at a slow, luxurious tempo. In another Rodgers and Hammerstein classic, "It Might As Well Be Spring," that "restless" feeling and "melancholy way" the lyric dwells on is glossed over here, although it gives way to another excellent song about a kind of seasonal affective disorder. That is the reflective "Blackberry Winter" (Alec Wilder/ Loonis McGlohon). And speaking of thoughtful, artful pieces about disquieting moments, also welcome is "Night Song." It's lovely to hear this too-rarely done piece by Charles Strouse and Lee Adams, written for the score of Golden Boy. The listening is easy, as he sings to soothe with the smooth Porgy and Bess lullaby, "Summertime."
Whether you're lulled to slumber by his sleek "Summertime" or are sharing insomnia with an equally attractive vocal of "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning," or more serenely, "Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep," I think there's a musical thanksgiving in and for Steven Pasquale's debut solo CD. It's an album that is immediately disarming and satisfying from the first few seconds, perhaps even more so with repeated plays. The versatile performer, who has been busy in film, TV and theatre (musical and non-) is a natural for creamy crooning with tremendous presence and an open, vulnerable sound. Though it's a ballad-heavy album, it never ever drags because the phrasing is involved, thoughtful and fresh, and the accompaniment is caring and supportive, insinuating and nudging the moods. Spare but not sparse, the settings have what is often the goal but can be an elusive one: an intimacy between singer and musicians and, therefore, intimacy with the listener and really communicating the lyrics. Especially notable is how ideal the tempo is on each track to bring out the essence of each song with the chosen interpretation. A huge plus is that the producers are both excellent singers who know whereof they sing: John Pizzarelli, also doing the tastefully terrific guitar work, and Jessica Molaskey who also brings her reference point as an actress. And the CD's title song was written by this multi-talented married couple. And it's a marvelous, smart, snuggly modern "list" song that somehow has a nostalgic ring around the rosy lyrics with smile-inducing references to "cool and exciting" things like new shoes and Groucho Marx. Although Steven also has a big, strong theatre voice, it's the pensive Pasquale that is brought to the table for this relaxed, interactive menu of tender loving share, bringing its own kind of goosebumps. Attractive melody lines with a lyric baritone in his comfort zone, never shying away from sensitivity, the sweet and sad songs are imbued with intelligence. Though not leaning toward fairy tale style fantasies of love, and allowing for lamenting and some jazz, hip touches, the sensibility remains romantic within the realism (or is it vice-versa?). It's nice to remember, when listening to Steven sing Johnny Mercer's wistful lyric with such investment in the standard, "Laura," that he's married to Tony winner Laura Benanti. Throughout the album, interpretations sound sincere and unaffected, never studied or like an actor over thinking. With just a few changes in words, the song "Maybe" from Annie gets adopted as a grown-up love song instead of being tied to a child imaginings about her birth parents. Instead, a man is missing his ex and the "he" and "she" in the lyric are that woman and her new partner, wherever they may be ("maybe far away or maybe real nearby ..."). It works. Meanwhile, just ahead of the curve for 2010's centenary of the birth of Frank Loesser, there are three picks from his oeuvre: a plush and heart-tugging "I Wish I Didn't Love You So" and two livelier, slightly sly, knowing takes, "If I Were a Bell," where the joy rings true, and (with Burton Lane's melody), "The Lady's in Love with You." Besides himself on guitar—for which, hooray—John Pizzarelli and Jessica Molaskey have added a layer of theatrical subtext by bringing in the muted trumpet work of Marcus Parsley, so fine and dandy in the forefront, too. And, there are the usual (sublime) suspects from their own performing/recording work: brother Martin Pizzarelli on bass, Larry Fuller and Tony Monte on piano, and Tony Tedesco on drums. It's great teamwork and the sound quality is warm and very "alive." This debut is something like love at first listen—something that will stand up well and add another feather in the cap of the record label PS Classics.
Moody, mellow, and more comfortable in her own musical skin than ever, Pamela Luss does well with her fourth album, with veteran sax player Houston Person sharing star billing. He's especially at home with singers, most prominently jazz vocalist Etta Jones, with whom he has shared a collaboration stretching over 30 years. He's also this album's producer, returning to share disc time with Pamela as he has on disc and in live performance. They are simpatico and seem to find an affectionate balance and comfort zone together. She may be a still-growing singer, sometimes tip-toeing just a bit in territory that he has long traversed and trudged through. Still, his many more years of experience flatter her and his work is supportive, not overshadowing. She's also in fine hands with pianist John di Martino, although I wish he had more solos, could cut loose a little more often here or there and that more of the arrangements (which are his) allowed his more musically contemplative/experimental side to more prominently come through. Still, even without more spotlight, he's spot-on and splendid. On bass is Ray Drummond and drumming is Willie Jones III. Although guitar is only used on five of the twelve tracks, James Chirillo's work really stands out and adds immensely to the proceedings. There's a nice mix of material and moods here, from the serene "Canadian Sunset," the sunny memory of finding love that appeared one day "like the sun up from the hills" to last forever, to a metaphorical sunset bringing on the blues "every time he goes away" with "Ain't No Sunshine." There's also a show tune that's been around for 80 years, "Why Was I Born?" by Kern and Hammerstein's Sweet Adeline, thankfully not going anywhere near over the top with self-pity. These are handled rather well, without the changes of style seeming awkward or jarring from track to track. The selections are well programmed. Although Pamela's focus has been largely jazz standards—and she just performed at the Manhattan club, The Jazz Standard—pop material given a jazzy setting may be her real strength. Case in point, as I hear it: far and away the highlight of the CD is "It's Too Late," the king-size Carole King hit from the Tapestry album (co-written with Toni Stern). Taken at a slower pace, with its rock-beat spine removed, it's more of a serious adult lament and retrospective on a love affair's regretted demise. The sometimes holding-back, languid Luss gets deeper into the lyric here. At other times, she's appropriately off-hand and relaxed, most obviously with "Nice 'n' Easy," though, to her credit, she sings the lyric as if she is invested in the romance working out, slowly, slyly, slinkily, but surely. It's fun and builds well. Even when one misses a sense of her really "owning" a song—melody and lyric—her musical partners bring in enough muscle or easy swing to make me want to hear it again. Her smoky sound is more even and appealing, and phrasing more natural, making the whole style more intrinsic and introspective. There's a lot that's plus with Luss this time out, her fourth album in just a few years.
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CRAIG POMRANZ
STEVEN PASQUALE
PAMELA LUSS (vocals) & HOUSTON PERSON (sax)
