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Jimmy
Scott
St. Paul MN, 25-27 February 2002
by James Lindbloom
May 2002
The arc of Jimmy Scott's life and career has been told many times:
born with Kallmann's Syndrome, a hormonal disorder that gave him
an absolutely androgynous voice; finding a moderate degree of fame
first as a vocalist in Lionel Hampton's orchestra, and then with
a budding solo career in the 1950s; falling into the legal clutches
of Savoy label owner Herman Lubinsky, who prevented Scott not only
from recording for other labels, but refused to issue Scott's music
himself for decades, effectively sidelining his career; being presumed
dead by the mid-1980s by the jazz public at large; and then, with
the support of fans like Doc Pomus and Madonna, re-emerging in the
1990s to the most widespread popularity he'd ever encountered. Such
is the emotional weight of Scott's story that it's tempting to filter
his art through his personal pain and tragedy. But that would be
a mistake. Unlike, say, Billie Holiday or Chet Baker at the end
of their lives, Scott is not a walking display of life's hardships;
his voice in and of itself does not invite a listener to wallow
in the pathos of its history. More importantly, Scott himself is
not a desiccated figure; at 76, he's an amazingly spry, cheerful
man. If finding such unfortunately belated success is a bittersweet
triumph, Scott clearly chooses to focus on the sweet part of it.
Better to hit upon recognition in one's twilight years than a posthumous
revival, right?
Scott brought his working band, the Jazz Expressions, to St. Paul
for a three night run at the Dakota, a cozy supper club. After the
leadoff instrumental number, Scott took the stage to sing "All
Of Me". Saying that an aged singer's voice is not what it once
was is usually a shorthand putdown, but in the most neutral terms,
it's true of Scott. His approach has changed over the years, employing
much more vibrato than he did in his youth. The timbre has roughened
with time, of course, but it's still a unique voice, and the behind-the-beat
phrasing that's become his signature (a technique he shares with one
of biggest admirers, Lou Reed) is as surefooted as ever. Scott introduced
"Embraceable You" as his "bootleg record", referring
to a track that turned up without his knowledge on Charlie Parker's
One Night In Birdland album; the echoes of Billie Holiday's
treatment of the tune sat comfortably with Scott's. Scott is primarily
thought of as a ballad singer, and while it's true that his emotional
impact was strongest in sad love songs (such as "Sorry Seems
To Be the Hardest Word", done as a duet with pianist Jon Regen),
he also delighted in taking "I Cried For You" at a jaunty
pace to close each set.
Scott's group was solidly behind him. Hilliard Greene is perhaps best
known to OFN readers as the bassist on Charles Gayle's Repent
(talk about a wide-ranging resume!), but he's been the musical director
of Scott's group for some fourteen years. Scott and Greene engaged
in mock sparring each set: Greene would act exasperated at Scott,
and Scott would mug at the audience: "He really wants me to take
him to the back alley!" Another longstanding associate is drummer
Dwayne "Cook" Broadnax, whose occasional solos demonstrated
a mastery of elastic rhythms. Swiss-born harmonica player Gregoire
Maret was standing in for saxophonist Bob Kindred. I'll confess that,
to my tastes, a little jazz harmonica goes a long way, and at first
I was somewhat less than enthusiastic about the prospect of sitting
through three nights of mouth harp solos. But Maret did much to chip
away at any of my innate prejudices about his ax of choice—I
never could take issue with his impeccable choice of notes—and
by the end of the run, I found myself enjoying his solo turns.
The first two nights were uniformly good. But it was the last night's
two shows that proved the most engaging, for different reasons. The
first set was undoubtedly the high point of Scott's run; in terms
of song selection and delivery, he was at his peak. "All Of Me"
was the opener again, and Scott infused it with palpable longing.
Next was "Dream", one of the most languid ballads in his
book, followed by "Time After Time" and "All Or Nothing
At All". Scott's clipped phrasing underscored the sentiment of
"I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)" to full effect. Then
came the showstopping "Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child".
He'd featured it on the other nights as well, but this gripping rendition
showed how Scott's talent can still suspend time for an enthralled
audience, whether in a formal concert hall or in an intimate club.
After that, the obligatory "I Cried For You" was a welcome,
uptempo balm.
Perhaps Scott knew that topping the early set would be a difficult
task. Perhaps the emotional weight it generated affected him as profoundly
as it did the audience. Or maybe he just wanted to do a little celebrating
after a victory. Whatever the reason, it was clear that when he ambled
onto the stage again to sing "Blue Skies", he'd been sucking
down quite a few cocktails. His normally happy demeanor now bubbled
over into effusiveness, as he draped an elbow over the piano to sing
directly to a bemused Jon Regen. (As one friend who had only caught
this set remarked afterwards, "I didn't expect the show to be
so... upbeat.") The introduction to "Embraceable You",
which had been a concise little tale on the first night, turned into
a long, rambling attempt to remember what Parker's album cover looked
like, the placement of the track on the record, the name of the singer
that Scott's contribution was erroneously credited to, and the rest
of the personnel who had been present on the bandstand. This is not
to say that Scott ended his Dakota run in a drunken debacle: the additional
lubrication made for an enjoyably loose set. Sure, his voice caught
a few times, and a couple of lyrics were flubbed, but he took the
opportunity to stretch out his interpretations of the songs as well,
reaching for (and hitting) notes in "When Did you Leave Heaven?"
and at the climax of "All Of Me" that he had previously
eschewed. The band joined him in the spirit of things, with Maret
cracking a rare smile after taking an over-the-top solo on "I
Cried For You". After his customary encore, "Everybody's
Somebody's Fool", Scott got a standing ovation. And it was well
deserved.
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