Carmen Mercedes McRae (April 8, 1920 – November 10, 1994) was an American jazz singer, composer, pianist, and actress. Considered one of the most influential jazz vocalists of the 20th century, it was her behind-the-beat phrasing and her ironic interpretations of song lyrics that made her memorable. McRae drew inspiration from Billie Holiday, but established her own distinctive voice. She went on to record over 60 albums during her career, and enjoying a rich musical career, performing and recording in the United States, Europe, and Japan.In the rest of the article, I learned that she acted roles in several movies and TV shows between 1960 and 1990, and that emphysema forced her to quit singing but not to quit smoking in 1991, and it killed her. Of the dozens of hours of recorded music by her that I've heard, I have a favorite two seconds, and they tell us how McRae's performances reached beyond perfection.
These two seconds come in a remarkable song composed specifically for McRae, "I Have the Feeling I've Been Here Before" from the LP I am Music. The album's producer Roger Kellaway wrote the music. The Bergmans, A(lan?) and M(arilyn), wrote the lyrics. My copy of the album has gone the way of all my vinyl -- into the dumpster. I expected to be able to replace all my treasured Carmen albums with CDs, but that hasn't happened.
The two seconds I have in mind come near the end of the song. Its beginning is an ascending scale from low in the range to high, skipping past the upper tonic and still higher. Ensuing lines parallel that shape in whole or in part:
I have the feeling I've been here beforeShe sings about how she knows the "smile, the look," and she adds with emphasis (as if she's rolling her eyes), "I know the look!" But the lyric develops, "Although I've been on the losing side / that carpet ride / is always worth a try." It concludes, "The only news when you've been here before / is: who will say good-bye." That's the end of the lyric. But it's the place where the instrumentalists do their improv, and Carmen joins in when the music comes back around to the line, "Though I've been on the losing side." That's where I find my favorite two seconds: Carmen rides the swell of the instruments into her loudest and highest notes in the song, as she stretches the word "losing" into four syllables. It's a musical train wreck: her voice breaks at the high point, and she doesn't quite hit the note she's thinking of before she comes back down and recovers for a quiet finish.
More often than I care to tell.
And though the signs have been more clear before,
By now I know them pretty well...
What I love in those horrible two seconds is what makes her better than perfection. She was a team player and a fearless improvisor. She fed off of what she heard, and she sought opportunities to sing with musicians who would push her into new territory, such as her live duet with Dizzy Gillespie on a ballad "Miss Otis Regrets," her album of unrehearsed first takes with pianist George Shearing, and a live concert of duets with avant-garde singer Betty Carter. While she was capable of crooning velvety tones, Carmen McRae was willing to push her characterization outside of "pretty." The kicker is, it's a studio album, and Carmen could have done another take. I'm guessing that she was satisfied with this take, warts and all, maybe because the rest is so good, or maybe it was part of her integrity as a performer, as the overshot pitch and cracked voice were part of her spontaneous living of the moment.
Spontaneity and genuineness are part of her performances, whatever the venue. The closest I ever got to seeing her live was in the late-Seventies, a time when her career had a "resurgence," according to her fan web site. A friend of mine named Pam saw Carmen McRae two times, six months' apart. Pam also saw Carmen McRae's friend Sarah Vaughan twice during that same period of time. Pam reported that she loved both the first time, but the second time, she was disenchanted with one of them. According to my friend, Sarah Vaughan repeated every nuance and gesture, including the supposedly spontaneous jokes and comments about how she appreciated that particular audience. Carmen, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying herself, was truly responding to differences in the audience, and did not repeat her performances, even when some of the songs were the same.
I never knew Carmen McRae except through her music; but it was the special quality of her performance to make us feel like old friends. Happily, YouTube makes it possible for me to see her live, and I plan to enjoy what's there, now that I've been reminded how special she was.
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Reflections on two more Carmen McRae performances from the same album:
I wish that "I am Music" were available on CD, because it included a track of Carmen speaking a lyric over the music: "Who gave you permission? Who said you could go?" It could have been maudlin, as the song was written for a made-for-tv-movie about a woman in her 60s whose life falls apart when her husband dies. But Carmen finds a tone of amusement in her delivery, as if to say, "Well, gee whiz, this is so inconvenient." At the end, she softens the ironic edge in her voice with a sigh, and concludes, "If there was ever a time I needed you, it's now." It's probably twenty years since I last heard the recording, but I'm tearing up now thinking of it, because she made the experience ours. I feel like I've lived it.
Another song from that same album is included on "The Best of Carmen McRae," one of the many bargain-priced CDs that came out in the year or two after her death. "Like a Lover" also has lyrics by the Bergmans, translating a song from the time of the Brazilian invasion of the mid-60s -- that was sort of a British invasion for grown ups. I'd loved this song in its upbeat bossa-nova version by Sergio Mendes and his group Brazil '66. Carmen takes a languorous tempo. I'm fascinated by the pianist, who must find chords to touch in the long spaces between chord changes in the music. The lyric is an extension of the title simile (quoted imperfectly from memory): Like a lover, the morning sun warms your pillow, touches your cheek... Like a lover, the river wind laces her fingers through your hair... How I envy the table that feels your fingertips -- let it be me! At her slow tempo, in her richest coffee-colored tone, Carmen releases her end consonants softly, like lingering kisses.
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