If it's never too late for a good laugh, how about the belated release of a long-ago concert saluting composer-lyricist-playwright Noël Coward—with some serious songs, too—and the CD debut of a longtime comic performer, the daffy Joan Jaffe? Here they are, folks.

VARIOUS ARTISTS
A TALENT TO AMUSE:
NOËL COWARD'S 70TH BIRTHDAY CONCERT
Must Close Saturday Records

As tributes with an appropriate who's who of stars go, you could say this one takes the cake—the birthday cake, that is. And it takes its title, A Talent to Amuse, from one of its subject Noël Coward's most touching songs, here essayed with a touch of ladylike class and simplicity by Joyce Grenfell, "If Love Were All." You can still feel plenty of love and respect that filled the room for the 70th birthday tribute back in 1969, in the way these numbers are performed and received—in the presence of the beloved Renaissance man himself. He did not sing, but at the conclusion of what was a very full evening, he briefly acknowledged the affection gratefully and gracefully. Some other tracks are also spoken pieces, though not all are indicated as such on the track list on the back. Since Coward wrote scripts and a memoir as well as songs, it feels right to have those aspects represented, too. Appreciative laughter greets many lines in the rhymed recollections of Coward's early performing days when he was "The Boy Actor," read with sly charm and great affection for all things theatrical by no less than Sir John Gielgud. It gets things off to a grand start.

Although the sound for this recording—not intended for commercial release—is not ideal by modern standards, with balance issues with the small band, the convened bevy of major British theatre figures compensates. And yes, some of the longer-in-the-tooth celebrities sinking those teeth into the juicy material are ragged around the vocal edges. But there's panache and historic import to compensate. Rather explosively loud and thus harsh is the often vociferous and laughter punctuating punch lines in songs and spoken sections, such as what is by far the longest track, almost nine minutes of bantering dialogue from Private Lives with Richard Briers and Susannah York enjoyable as the accidentally reunited divorced couple. There's some terrific comedy timing and spark there. One can find more definitive and polished performances of some of the songs, with old recordings by the songwriter himself often hard to top. Still, this is a treasure well worth having, especially with the generous playing length of 75 minutes and 23 tracks.

There's more than just ha-ha here, as Coward dipped his pen into pathos and sentimental operetta regularly. "Melanie's Aria" from Conversation Piece is quite glorious, with a smashing conclusion, thanks to soprano June Bronhill. "Matelot" is exceptional, strikingly and sensitively sung by Mark Wynter, the tones and emotion ringing in the air. Those who don't know the careers of these notable British stars might not be as appreciative, but theatre fans/cast album collectors will recognize more than a few names and voices. British music hall star Stanley Holloway, Eliza's dad in the original Broadway, London and film casts of My Fair Lady, is joined by the audience for a noble "London Pride." Patricia Routledge, always a pleasure, gets the gem of a ballad of devotion, "I'll Follow My Secret Heart."

Many of the songs in this parade are short and sweet, ten of them lasting three minutes or less, perhaps in an effort to get on with things. (Even still, the liner notes tell us that the concert was close to four hours long!) Many Coward classics, of course, are in the line-up, but also the less often heard "Mary Make-Believe," and it gets an endearing, winning, short (under 90 seconds) spin by Jessie Matthews. Humor comes aplenty: Maggie Fitzgibbon gleefully mines the laughs in the curmudgeon's lament, "Why Do the Wrong People Travel?"—wishing those annoying globetrotters would trot back to from when they came, with one line's update to reference then-new US President Richard Nixon. The delightful Cyril Ritchard, capturing the Coward style and stance, has a field day ripping through the rhyme-rich tale of "Nina" from Argentina who refuses to dance. Olé! Elisabeth Welch's "Twentieth Century Blues" has a nice mix of tongue-in-cheekiness and vigor. Also nailing her number is—no surprise—Cleo Laine, joined by husband John Dankworth on sax, for one section of "Mad About the Boy," which they recorded more of at another time in their own concert. There are three vocal duets and a trio which aim for breezy charm, but are rather less successful and smooth than the solos, despite the attraction of the combined theatrical personalities. "I've Been to a Marvellous Party" has its snickering, snarky, gossipy qualities overflowing to the extreme with the campy, over-the-top choice of the very broad style of female impersonator Danny La Rue.

But this birthday party is a mostly marvelous party with marvelous guests and presents of song and speech, still holding up very well, like the legacy of Noël Coward, half a year after the 100th anniversary of his birth.

JOAN JAFFE
JOAN JAFFE SINGS FUNNY ...

Simply put, Joan Jaffe is adorable. An old-school performer with a flair for vaudeville and shtick, she has a smile in her voice. It's not a big voice by any means, but it doesn't need to be for most of what she has chosen to sing. Her delivery is that of a pro and she puts personality into everything, always game for a bit of goofiness and makes "silly" into an art form. Uncomplicated, just eager to please, her CD is a modest, merry breath of fresh air. Its title puts it plainly and delivers on its plucky promise: Joan Jaffe Sings Funny.

Joan colors her words judiciously with a comic's touch, injecting mood and attitude into single words and phrases: frustration, excitement over little things, confusion, shoulder-shrugging, occasional character voices. Having seen her cabaret act of the same name, with these songs, I'm happy to report that this very visual performer of many faces, with eyes that light up and ever-changing facial expressions, manages to get so much into these vocal inflections for an album recorded in a studio. Expressing delight like a wide-eyed little kid getting a puppy on Christmas, joyful Joan can intone a word with wonder and innocent giddiness. Case in point and pointing up: singing the single word "cheese" about her excitement at what's found in the middle of a breakfast sandwich, in the middle of a line in "Bagel and Lox" (Sid Tepper/ Roy Brodsky). And when she grits her teeth and grins at the same time about taking the bad with the good (and the denial), the excitement of living in New York City wins out in Murray Grand's "I'm Never Bored." In the hilarious grumble about living in the excitement-challenged, geographically challenged NYC borough of "Queens" (Francesca Blumenthal/ Addy Fieger), she bemoans blatantly and moans and groans with flair, observing that it's "not quite suburbia/ Lost between Yonkers and Serbia." The laugh-out-loud lines penned by these writers suit her, and she knows it, with their songs taking up almost half the album: she embraces Grand's absurd story-song "The Spider and the Fly" and "April in Fairbanks," that loopy ode to the sweet smell of frying blubber from New Faces of 1956, and two more by Ms. Blumenthal alone (one about raising hopes for finding a non-trendy "Little Luncheonette" and one about raising her eyebrows at the public displays of affection and lust everywhere "On the Streets of Paree").

In her live show, which returns to Manhattan's nightclub Don't Tell Mama in July, Joan does a few serious songs as respite and to show she has other quivers in her bow; she's also an actress with range and has a heart. It works in person, but on the CD, not so much. Her one choice here, the standard "You Go to My Head" doesn't feel necessary as a change of pace on the chipper album which never seems exhausting and needing a breather. This ballad needs something—maybe just another take—as it doesn't find her in an even, secure vocal place or show her to advantage. That's a rather small quibble for an otherwise on-the-mark, vital recital.

Kander & Ebb's "Coffee in a Cardboard Cup" from the score of 70 Girls 70 is a bright and brisk romp, a paean to the lost little pleasures in life, a theme she often addresses in song. Those with friends who are in shows that don't always show them at their best and who have been stuck backstage, stuck for something to say after an especially underwhelming performance will identify with "You Were So ... " Its tongue-tiedness and resourceful euphemisms exploring what can be said without resorting to the bald truth, words and music by Peggy Simon Traktman, are great fun here.

Accompaniment is simple and direct, like Jaffe's jubilant performances—just piano with longtime New York City cabaret/piano bar favorite Jerry Scott tickling the ivories as Joan tickles the funnybone of willing victims. He joins her in singing a nifty bit of nonsense borrowed from Groucho Marx, Kalmar & Ruby's "Hello, I Must Be Going." (Too soon!)

One needn't struggle for words to describe the work of Joan Jaffe on her album. It works. She is so ... deliciously amusing.

And now "I must be going," too  ...

- Rob Lester

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