MOOD TO BE WOOED
Beyond candlelight and cocktails -- classic crooners
of the mid-century who enhance romance for a song

From the pages of the CA-Modern magazine
By Jeff Kaliss

When the boys returned home to their girls after fighting World War II, they were very much in the mood for a different kind of boom -- from making babies, not from dropping and dodging bombs. In the years that followed, there was a bounty of singers who set the mood for love all over America by romancing melodies and lyrics.

The term 'crooning,' applied to this style of singing, evoked the soothing but sensual sounds that beamed from the country's emerging line of mid-century home electronics -- newfangled hi-fi record players, transistor radios, and television sets. Singers got served up, along with cocktails for two, in the intimate setting of the homes Americans were building and buying in record numbers, as well as in the nation's bourgeoning network of cozy nightclubs.

A ban of several years on recording, instigated by the American Federation of Musicians, had ended before the close of the war, but not before it had helped diminish the role of big bands and evolve vocalists from band functionaries to stars in their own right. These new luminaries benefitted from the replacement of the old 78-rpm record by the more durable and cheaper 45-rpm single (which also featured one song per side), as well as the expansive 33-1/3-rpm long-playing (LP) record album, with room for at least a dozen dreamy tunes.

Alluring album covers were an essential ingredient of LP packaging. Fine young vocalists such as Peggy Lee and Julie London also had to look fine to catch the eye of record shoppers. (Check out Ms. London and the period jacket art for her 'Around Midnight' album on this page.) Foxy female models adorned albums by male crooners such as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Mel Tormé; while Chet Baker, on 'It Could Happen to You, appeared with both horn and honey to show that he could do more than just purr a lyric. It wasn't women's lib, but it was an improvement over the racy, and sometimes racist, association placed on such earlier singers as Bessie Smith and Billie Holiday.

To a degree, Holiday benefitted from the iconic affect of sophistication and virtuosity associated with mid-century female crooners, both white and black, who also included veterans Ella Fitzgerald and Lee Wiley, as well as newer arrivals Sarah Vaughan, Helen Merrill, Chris Connor, Etta Jones, and others. Cut loose from their former big band restrictions, often working with a small ensemble or a single piano accompanist, both women and men found a way to not only look and sound fine, but to croon away the fourth wall that had formerly separated performer from listener.

"You learned how to woo the audience, and have them come to you and have you come to them," reflects Tony Bennett, whose first of many crooned hits for Columbia Records, 'Because of You,' helped usher in the 1950s. "What I found out...is that the more honest you become, the more it becomes a reality and a solid performance. The greatest example was Billie Holiday, or Frank Sinatra. It lasts, it's not something that will just be popular and then be forgotten."

Bennett, now 83 and one of the few mid-century favorites still alive and singing, is quick to point out that the long-lasting appeal of crooning actually predates that period. Bennett's own trademark smoky tone and his personable performance style, he says, were influenced in his youth by 1930s jazz singer Mildred Bailey, who "was nice and sweet and honest." And there was also Bailey's more famous contemporary colleague, Bing Crosby. "I had an Irish aunt and she had every Bing Crosby record, and I used to go over to her house on almost a nightly basis, and we'd just listen to Bing. It was Bing and the art of intimate singing which interested me."

The late Mel Tormé, with Bennett one of the most artful of the mid-century male singers, featured Crosby among "my singing teachers" in his 1994 book of that title. "Before Bing, most singers were stiff and predictable," Tormé writes. "Bing, on the other hand, exuded charm, ease, and a nice tenor quality that instantly endeared him not only to the female population but to a much broader audience that included men as well." Mahalia Jackson, elsewhere in Tormé's book, cites early recording artist and actress Ethel Waters as a vital influence on later women, including Holiday, Fitzgerald, and Vaughan.

Another of today's singing survivors is Jimmy Scott, who can still croon more emotion in a single phrase than most other singers in the history of jazz and popular music. On the phone from his home in Las Vegas, the 84-year-old Scott cites both the singing and trumpeting of Louis Armstrong as influences, but also points to two beacons from outside the jazz world, one of them Judy Garland. "She was so soulful in what she did, she gave it her all when she sang," he says. He also touts the classically trained Paul Robeson: "In singing, he told a story, and you read it like a story, whenever he sang."

Both Scott and Bennett have been recent recipients of the prestigious NEA Jazz Masters Award, but it's vital to realize that their training and influences extend beyond jazz, and that crooning, whatever it may signify, owes allegiance to no one musical genre.

Bennett actually studied classical bel canto technique on the G.I. Bill after the war, but went on to build his early fame and fortune within the marketing concept of pop music. Against the advice of Columbia producer and A&R head Mitch Miller, who wanted him to keep crooning pop hits, Bennett sought the jazz-wise company of the sort of sophisticated instrumentalists he'd come to admire in New York nightclubs in the '40s, and he eventually succeeded in recording that repertoire.

Similarly, Frank Sinatra, who had ascended and continued to shine as a pop singer, was held up to strict scrutiny as a nuanced and innovative performer, even by jazz standards. Dean Martin, though not as sophisticated, celebrated, or long-lasting as Ol' Blue Eyes, approached his pop material in a distinct and artful manner.

The diminutive African-American Jimmy Scott was never given the pop promotion received by his suave Caucasian sound-alike, Johnnie Ray, whose histrionic hit single 'Cry' might as well have been lifted from the Scott songbook. "And in the '40s, when we were doing the Apollo, I remember Johnnie coming in and sitting in the front row, him and [future rhythm & blues star] LaVern Baker," Scott points out.

Some amount of imitation, or emulation, is inevitable, even among the best of singers. Bennett remembers listening over airplane earphones to what he thought was a vintage Bing Crosby track, only to discover that it was "an early Sinatra record, where he sounded just like Crosby." And when Bennett was first hired by Columbia, he realized they wanted to model him on the famous and favored Tony Martin.

But his coach in popular singing, Mimi Spier, had warned Bennett "to not imitate singers, because you'd just be one of a crowd if you imitated Sinatra or Dick Haymes or Bob Eberly in those days. She said, 'Imitate instrumentalists.'" In live performance, Bennett discovered, "audiences are just wonderful when you're just yourself and follow your own instincts. They'll tell you right away if they like it or don't like it."

"I never wanted to be just like anybody," echoes Scott. "You want to develop something that's your own." He criticizes the marketing campaign by Capitol Records with Peggy Lee, "trying to make her sing like Billie Holiday -- and that was the wrong thing for them to do."

In any case, no single vocal quality could have assured status as a crooner or even commercial success, though possession of more than one quality furthered one's chances. Sinatra was particularly gifted; he brought tonal accuracy, strength, phrasing, swing, and more. Fitzgerald was similarly talented, though perhaps a bit shallower in emotional depth.

By contrast with these stronger singers, Bobby Troup was much lighter in his delivery, but nevertheless pleasant and playful. Bennett had shared Troup's smokiness, but his flow was much richer and sweeter. Billie Holiday worked within a limited vocal range but an unlimited dramatic range, her vulnerability and humanity irrevocably transparent. Dean Martin dipped lower than his fellow crooners, into baritone waters, and his trademark slurring of words engendered the rumor that there was a high alcoholic content in those waters.

Johnny Hartman was perhaps the lowest of the low-range singers, and Jimmy Scott the highest among the men, so high that he was at times mistaken for a woman. His androgynous range actually worked to wonderful emotional effect, envied and sometimes emulated by other crooners. "You heard that little boy in my voice, and I liked the idea of hearing it," says Scott.

"All the things Jimmy sings about are things he went through and experienced himself," says Scott's wife, Jeanie. "It's kind of like he's telling the story of someone who got all the bumps and bruises from the 'Battle of Life.'"

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that Scott prefers ballads to up-tempo numbers. However, not all his songs are as wrenching as 'Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child,' which evokes for him thoughts of his mother Justine, who died when Scott was 13. His song lists include many of the odes to love you'd expect from a crooner, such as 'All or Nothing at All' (from his 1955 album 'If You Only Knew'), 'I Cried For You,' and 'Embraceable You,' the last of which he dedicates to Jeanie as "the song that got me married." Scott makes his way through 'Day By Day' more like it was minute by minute, perhaps too slow and emotionally saturated for some tastes.

Aside from differences in singers' vocal and dramatic approach to their craft, there's much variety in repertoire, both in recordings and live performances. It's not all crooning, and oftentimes song selection was not a singer's choice. "When I first started, in the '40s, I had to do some songs I didn't care for," the late Etta Jones said in 1993. "But now I more or less sing what I want to sing...And my songs -- I want a good lyric, I don't want nonsense. I like heavy dramatic tunes, usually, a tune that's saying something, that's not 'moon in June.'"

Like Jimmy Scott, Jones singled out 'All the Way,' with lyrics by Sammy Cahn, "who was one of my favorite writers, if not the favorite writer." She supported her preference with a quote from Cahn's heart-tugging lyric: "When somebody loves you, it's no good unless he loves you -- all the way."

Love sought, won, struggled over, and lost is of course the most likely subject for crooning, but not the only one. Consider what's arguably Tony Bennett's most successful paean, to the city of San Francisco. "['I Left My Heart in San Francisco'] is a song everybody loves," Bennett rightly claims. "Like in the days of Vietnam, I'll never forget what it said in the 'New York Times': when they [the soldiers] were sitting around the fire waiting for planes to bring them home, they were all singing, 'San Francisco.'"

Along with love -- and San Francisco -- crooning and its repertoire never really disappeared. Bobby Darin, a protean performer with rock 'n' roll hits, extended himself and crooning into the '60s, working with big band jazz arrangements and recording in a voice and style that seemed to variously channel Sinatra and Bennett. The '90s brought a new crop of singers, similarly inclined to explore more than one genre, including mid-century crooning. They included John Pizzarelli, k.d. lang, Diana Kraal, Michael Bublé, Harry Connick, Jr., and Peter Cincotti.

"It's a more mature kind of young people coming up that plays piano and has a good musicality, so that's encouraging," says Bennett. "They all have great potential, all of them. But the only trouble is that they don't have that vaudeville training. They haven't learned about the craft and singing properly." Bennett and Scott have tried recording newer songs, but don't find as much to like. "I'd say music back then [in the mid-century] was much better for my style of singing," says Scott. "You could understand what [the songs] meant. Now you don't know half of what they're saying. The music goes nowhere and I don't think it reaches the musicians, especially the young musicians, like our music reached us in our day. There's no unity, no harmony -- they have lost respect for the design of music. And that's sad."

But there's enough good music out there to support an ongoing crooning renaissance of sorts, from which Scott, Bennett, and fans of all ages have benefitted. Both men have issued an impressive number of new and reissued albums over the past two decades, and have toured widely, sharing stages and studio time with several young singers. Bennett also, with funding from the city of New York, founded the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts, named for his fellow crooner and including jazz vocal training in its curriculum. Scott plans a release later in 2009 on which he'll share vocal duties with both the 20-year-old Renee Olstead and 72-year-old Nancy Wilson.

Despite the glut of extraneous information and unartful entertainment in the new millennium, and maybe because of them, there's a lingering desire among many of us to be crooned to, to take the time to listen, and to love. Thanks to a few sensitive folks in the entertainment industry, there are still tender tracks to follow.

Both Jimmy Scott and Tony Bennett certainly believe that audiences are still able to hear with their hearts, and that singers should keep crooning to them. "I'm more passionate about it and more disciplined about it than ever," Bennett points out. "They're beginning to understand what I'm trying to say in a song," Scott chimes in, "and that inspires me and makes me want to do more."

Special thanks to Mickey McGowan of the Unknown Museum for music and graphic archival research.

Photos: John Abbott, Maurice Seymour; and courtesy Jimmy and Jeanie Scott, Abbey Anna and Concord Music Group, Capitol Records, Inc., Sony Music Entertainment, Inc.

Candlelight Faves
	1 Mel Tormé: Intimate Moments (Riff City - 1947, 1958). With impressive early and rare transcriptions, this set features a youthful Tormé sounding his horn-like tone on appealingly foggy lyrics like 'I Cover the Waterfront.' He's eminently sophisticated and graceful, as well as playful, on 'Three Little Words.'
	2 Jimmy Scott: Lost and Found (Rhino - 1969-'72). Though neither pretty nor tone-perfect, Scott's voice is dramatically melancholic, and his high register and excruciatingly slow tempos make for a unique, emotional experience. A collection of what may be his greatest recordings.
	3 Frank Sinatra: Songs For Only the Lonely (Capitol - 1958). One of Ol' Blue Eyes' classics, in the crooning corner of his repertoire. The tasteful song list lets him showcase his uniquely artful admixture of allure, control, and vulnerability.
	4 Ella Fitzgerald: Pure Ella (Decca - 1950-'54). On numbers like 'But Not For Me,' Fitzgerald just never sounded credibly sad enough to be a crooner, but her purity of tone and technique are models for every singer. Intimately accompanied by Ellis Larkins on piano.
	5 Dean Martin: Dream With Dean (Collectors Choice - 1964). One of the very few after Bing who could be defined as a true crooner, Dino here swings his brawny baritone-tenor voice through mid-century love songs and charming older chestnuts. Mellow and lovely small combo setting.
	6 Julie London: Julie Is Her Name/Lonely Girl (Hallmark Import - 1958). With little in the way of vocal decoration or innovative phrasing, London's clean and clear approach still appeals to many, and actually sounds haunting on 'I Should Care.' Her highly regarded first two LPs are combined on this single disc.
	7 Johnny Hartmann: with John Coltrane (Impulse - 1963). The songbook is enhanced by this classic and pretty pairing of Hartmann's dusky and seductive affect with one of jazz's most poignantly personal saxophonists. A must for jazz lovers.
	8 Sarah Vaughan: After Hours (Roulette - 1961). Late night, small combo. The singer nicknamed 'Sassy' gives an unusually sweet and accessible reading of 'Sophisticated Lady' and other laid-back numbers in a creamy but slightly grainy tone, almost trumpet-like in its phrasing.
	9 Chet Baker: Jazz 'Round Midnight (Verve - 1955-'67). Nice mellow compilation finds Baker trading off vocal and trumpet duties, sounding equally dreamy on both. As a singer, he's boyishly dulcet on 'No Greater Love' in a range approaching Jimmy Scott's.
	10 Helen Merrill: Complete Recordings (with Clifford Brown) (Lonehill Jazz - 1954-'55). More into expression than innovation, Merrill muses tearfully on 'Yesterdays' and is credibly sodden on 'Lilac Wine.' Her sound is clear and pretty, with a whispery bottom.
	11 Billie Holiday: Jazz Moods - 'Round Midnight (Sony Import - 1937-'45). One of the most recognizable of instruments, Lady Day's voice, based in the blues, is intimate and dry and its delivery completely credible, with an affecting slide both sexy and sad. Nice set of ballads.
	12 Peggy Lee: Trav'lin Light (Capitol - 1946-'49). At this stage of her career (late '40s transcriptions, with husband Dave Barbour's combo), Lee sounds a bit like 'Billie Lite,' but the similar slithery approach to a lyric isn't a bad thing, and her interaction with piano or Barbour's guitar is pleasantly girlish.
	13 Dick Haymes: Complete Capitol Collection (EMI Import - 1955-'57). Both the appeal and the limitations of crooning are personified by influential baritone-tenor Haymes, who's both strong and sweet while sticking to a narrow repertoire. Two enjoyable discs.
	14 Lee Wiley: Night In Manhattan (Sony - 1950-'51). This sounds like what might have happened if Billie Holiday's husky diction had been refined at Hunter College, without losing its roots in the blues. The old-time arrangements work well.
	15 Nina Simone: After Hours (Verve - 1964-'66). Definitely not your standards album, but Simone's caramel-like voice, with its haunting vibrato and graininess, gets under your skin on crooning numbers like 'If I Should Lose You.'
Swingin' & Jazzin'
	16 Bobby Darin: Love Swings (Collectors Choice - 1961). A musical chameleon, Darin displays why fellow crooners and their fans admired him outside his rock 'n' roll hits for his fine voice. Though sometimes overly sassy, he treats gentler material nicely here.
	17 Bobby Troup: Tell Me You're Home (Audiophile - 1958). Some of the material is unfamiliar, some of it penned by Troup (including 'Route 66'), and all delivered in a light, breathy, conversational voice, with the engaging singer often dropping behind the beat.
	18 Tony Bennett: Jazz (Columbia - 1954-'67). Eminently likeable, Bennett brings a shine even to the crooner material here, which he delivers with an insouciant mid-Atlantic accent, jazz-wise phrasing, and dramatic dynamics. Well-crafted compilation.
	19 Chris Connor: Jazz Date/Chris Craft (Rhino - 1956-'58). Though not a strong or tone-perfect singer and limited in range, Connor is enticingly vampy and slightly attitudinal, like the femme fatale you'd like to get to know better. Two of her best Atlantic albums on one disc.
	20 Frankie Laine: Setting the Standard (Jasmine - 1947-'48). Two CDs of free-flowing transcriptions. Laine purrs and yowls more than he croons, and both the bulk of his material and the way he approaches it seem rather retro at mid-century, but Laine's user-friendly by pop standards.