Jonathan Ng's The Sphynx

My latest Vinyl Anachronist music review is now live at Part-Time Audiophile. You can read it here.

Rondi Marsh's The Pink Room

I often approach new albums from female jazz singers with some caution. I've been burned many times, you see, with chanteuses who are more concerned with vocal "stylings" than real singing. Ah, you've heard me start off like this before. It usually leads to me talking about a female vocal album that has surprised me in some way. You're so on to me.

I've never heard of Rondi Marsh before, even though she released a couple of albums more than a decade ago. It took me some time to slap this CD into my machine because, well, you know, female jazz singer. But once I did, I felt happy. Rondi's a lovely singer with a rich and sultry delivery that has something I really like...gravitas. I usually hate that word, nearly as much as I hate the word stylings. But when it comes to female singers, I enjoy a little bit of extra weight. So many of these new jazz singers, both male and female, want to be so light on their toes that they feel like they're rushing through the song. They avoid holding notes for too long--they don't want to be caught not living up to that note's potential.

Rondi Marsh is different. She's relaxed. She's not trying too hard to impress you with her interpretations of old standards such as "Misty," "Boy on a Dolphin", "Angel Eyes" and even "Mambo Italiano." She knows she's good, she know she's an able singer. She's not trying to knock you off your feet--she just wants to have a good time. If you're in the same room at the same time and you're having fun, then win-win, baby.

Rondi's almost opulent delivery only gets me half of the way there. The other half is supplied, of course, by a group of musicians who know how to accompany her and align with her strengths. There's nothing minimalist about these arrangements which often include accordions, strings, guitars, mandolins and plenty of horns. This is the kind of jazz singer albums they used to make back in the '50s and '60s, where a versatile and professional band might be given a seemingly impossible task and the only reply is "What key?" That observation makes me realize why I like this album so much--it is decidedly old-fashioned, and in the best possible ways.

Then there's a touch of the modern. Rondi is hip enough to mash-up Meaghan Trainor's "All About the Bass" with Ira Gershwin's "Slap That Bass," and it's respectful toward both worlds. She's also generous with David Lange's accordion, which suggests that she's right on top of the current hot Parisian jazz trends. (She calls it "gypsy jazz," a term I haven't heard in a while.) The sound quality is also modern--it's clean and clear with minimal reverb. You need that transparent sound in order to explore the hills and valleys of that lovely voice. Highly recommended.

Sundae + Mr. Goessl's When You're Smiling

In this day and age, I feel I have to be cautious when choosing adjectives to describe female singers. For instance, when I'm listening to Kate Voss, aka Sundae, sing these old originals from the first half of the 20th century, the first two words I think of are coquettish and kittenish. In their defense, those two words are old-fashioned in the right context and not at all dismissive since Sundae + Mr. Goessl are anything but from "this day and age." Voss and guitarist Jason Goessl are a "vintage duo," a seemingly new name for a very old sound. You've heard it before, probably in other recordings that have been pigeonholed into the genre known as hot Parisian jazz. I've been hearing a lot of these recordings lately; it's a thing, and I'm happy about it.

I do have a word, I think, and it's adorable. Sundae's voice is equal parts Billie Holiday and Teresa Brewer, light and silly when it needs to be and tinged with an old soul's wry wit that pulls these vintage themes away from forced innocence into something more pure and knowing. She's a charmer. She casts an undeniable spell on you and she does it by staying honest and doing things that have been done before, just not for a long time. Once you hear her simple and loving takes on old songs like "Stardust," "Embraceable You," "The Best Is Yet to Come" and the title track, you might forget about everyone else's versions, at least for a while.

Ah, but Sundae is not singing acapella. None of this would work as well without Mr. Goessl's hot Parisian acoustic guitar, played with deft uke strums from the Django Reinhardt School of Casual Virtuosity. Just when you think you have a handle on his style and his instrument, he switches it up with a classic electric jazz guitar ("Caravan") or he turns up the reverb ("Bang Bang") or he throws in a little country twang (Patsy Cline's "Any Time"). Sundae often provides an amusing counterpoint with her little melodica, reinforcing the whole Parisian aspect, and both add a smattering of bells and chimes whenever punctuation is required. Percussionists Adrian Van Batenburg and Sam Esecson provide the beats and subtle rhythms when needed.

Most of the time, Sundae and Mr. Goessl give everything that's required in a pared down, almost pristine manner. It's a beautiful recording, enhanced by the compact simplicity of the accompaniment. You won't be digging through layers of texture and meaning here--this is a concise idea that's composed of a lovely voice and an exquisite guitar delivering familiar classics in a way you haven't heard in a very long time. Don't be surprised if the younger generations immediately pick up on When You're Smiling and turn it into a thing. Remember how everyone jumped onto the martini wagon twenty years ago and started listening to Sinatra and Tony Bennett? This album has that same combination of hipness and historical flair. Or, as one of these classic tunes declare, "S'wonderful."

Roch Lockyer's When Frank Met Django

I don't normally stoop to poking fun at people's names, but Roch Lockyer reminds me of a certain B-52s song. ("Oh yeah," Roch will say with an epic roll of the eyes, "I've never heard that one before.") But it's safe to say that Lockyer's music is the polar opposite of New Wave dance music. While his earlier work focused on both modern jazz and be-bop, this jazz guitarist has tackled a novel and thoroughly successful blending of two jazz sounds--or, as he suggests in his title, what if Frank Sinatra met Django Reinhardt and they cut an album together?

Just imagine Reinhardt's hot Parisian jazz guitar complementing great Sinatra standards as "Summer Wind," "Embraceable You" and "Just One of Those Things," and you'll have a fair idea of what this album is all about--except for one thing. Lockyer's singing voice is also nothing like Sinatra's. His voice is that of a crooner from the Great Depression, earnest and slightly fragile and head over heels in love. It's Lockyer's way of saying "I'm going to combine the stunning guitar sound of Django with famous Frank tunes, but I'm going to make them mine, all mine."

I have to tell you a little bit about my feelings toward "hot Parisian jazz." Down deep, I like it. I think Django is amazing, and I own a couple of original pressings that cost me a boatload of money. But if I hear too much of it, I start to feel like some guy sitting on his balcony off Central Park West, reading The Times while my law professor wife solves the crossword puzzle. We'd be playing either hot Parisian jazz or Mozart violin concertos, and we'd be drinking coffee that was shipped overnight straight from a plantation in Kona. Lockyer grounds this urbane, civilized tone with guitar playing that is downright stupendous. It's one thing to copy Reinhardt, and quite another to play as an imagined contemporary--which Lockyer does. Reinhardt was incredibly melodic but he was also lightning fast when he needed to be. Lockyer, in turn, imbues his playing with less technique and more feeling. He's on the nose in his tribute, of course, but he's also bringing something new to the table--himself.

For me, that's what makes this album stand out on its own. You can love Reinhardt or Sinatra of hot Parisian jazz, but it takes considerable finesse to to execute this type of novelty and have listeners walk away with one thought--"What a guitar player!" Lame B-52s jokes aside, that's the reason to love this album.