Tori Amos: Night of Hunters

I neither make bones about nor apologies for my love of Tori Amos. I’ve been fascinated with her ever since “Little Earthquakes,” though like most favorite artists, have been sometimes as disappointed with her work as I’ve been pleased by it. I thoroughly loved her last big album “The Bee Keeper” and when I heard about her project for Deutsche Grammophon thought “it’s about time!” For Night of Hunters Amos created what’s being billed as “a 21st Century Song Cycle based on classical themes.” Indeed, Amos mined the classics – Bach, Schubert, Satie, Alkan, Schumann, et al. but the great masters are not merely quoted (most of the time anyway) but rather integrated as part of a whole package. It works brilliantly and beautifully.

Amos (like Streisand unlike Ronstadt) forgoes any attempt at trying to sound like a classically trained singer which, juxtaposed with the (mostly) “classical” style writing, adds an intriguing complexity to Hunters. With a chamber orchestra of strings, woodwinds, percussion and brass, Amos and her Bosendorfer wander through the sometimes artfully pretentious story she’s set to this music with far more finesse and assurance than most classical artists do when “slumming” it in the world of pop. The opening of the work, “Shattering Sea” (based on an Alkan prelude) invokes Prokofiev and Bartok as the piano duels violently with the orchestra. This combination aids in making Amos remarkably fresh sounding voice (at 48) sound at once both womanly yet perpetually waifish.

Taking place during the course of a single night Hunters bears a slight resemblance to Arnold Schoenberg’s Ewartung – thematically if not musically, though Amos’ text is a bit less obtuse though no less “arty” than the Schoenberg.

Natashya Hawley, Amos’s 11 year old daughter, does nice work on four of the numbers holding her own and every inch in sound at least, very much Mama’s girl.

Some of Amos’ strongest fans have been the most critical of this, but so far, critical reviews have been more than favorable. Not going unnoticed is a certain theatricality in all of this, which bodes well since Amos is in the midst of finishing her first musical theatre piece, “The Light Princess” (based on a 19th century folk tale about a flying princess) which is set to open in London early next year. Should be interesting!

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Jessye Norman: Roots - Album of the Year!

In her new two disc album, Jessye Norman has given us an a gift that is as sure to infuriate as many as it delights. To my mind, this is exactly as it should be. The live album (recorded before an audience at the Berlin Symphonie) is a musical journey, in its way a theatrical work presenting Norman's life as a proud, African American woman of song.

It opens with a rhythmic overture of African drums serving as a sort of "call to order" which doesn't so much end as it does flow into her first number, an a capella rendition of His eye is on the sparrow. Slowly an instrument, a drone, is heard as we move into the spiritual I want two wings as the instruments progress with the singer directly, marvelously, into I couldn't hear nobody pray with the singer and her musicians increasing in intensity through this steady stream of sound. The effect not unlike that of walking down the darkest of halls or paths, lost, blindly, eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness, moving toward a single shaft of light, distant, faint, that, with each step increases in warmth and brilliance. It is a tremendous.

Norman uses her instrument as the best jazz or classical musicians do, with a sound that is usually immediately identifiable, but also willing to do everything and anything within its means to achieve an artistic purpose. Like the great Betty Carter, she is not beyond bending melodies and pitch, lightening the voice to a thin, almost childlike sound, then suddenly opening up and bathing the room in a lush warmth which you never want to end. Some, particularly strictly classical audiences, found this disturbing, and early reviews denounced the album as "painful," "disgusting," and "shameless." Everyone of those critics may be right in not liking what she's done here, but all of them are dead wrong and have failed to understand what this remarkable artist has done here.

The first song to take us there is Duke Ellington's Heaven, where Norman, begins treating it as a jazz standard, playing with the piano, swooping up and down and coloring the notes and text generously with liberties. But, about midway through, through scatting, nonsense syllables, trilled "rs" and drum-like sounds becomes not only the singer, but a player in her own band. The effect brings a terrific sense of fun with Norman covering several octaves both easily and breezily. Only in the bizarre world of music can this be followed - almost seamlessly, by a reprise of Bernstein's Somewhere from West Side Story. Norman's is about as inauthentic a version to Broadway as is possible to imagine, but she wears it earnestly and this little version does exactly what she expected it would do - have the audience hoopin' and hollerin' as she rolls, plows, then busts into My Baby Just Cares for Me." It's almost too much to take in, and I looked in vain for a place to take a breath before coming to the realization: I didn't even want to.

Norman is unrecognizable in a number of the pieces (including the aforementioned "My baby...") but every syllable is uttered with care, precision, just as every note is a wild, swinging celebration of a life's joy, as she calls out her player's names before a solo riff in classic, great jazz lady style.

While Lena Horne's version of Stormy Weather has always been my touchstone for that particular song, Norman takes a new approach, a jazz-infused one, and at some points almost introduces just a hint of Billy Holiday. It's a slower, more sensuous take than anyone is probably used to, but, with her operatic inclinations and unusual instincts infuses the song with a weight that feels natural as it builds towards the final reprise. Thrilling is not an understatement.

Moving on, what this lady does with Weill's Mack the Knife is nothing but sheer brilliance. Norman almost returns the piece to the opera house, giving the opening narrative auf Deutsch, against the small tattoo of a snare drum as she turns the bloody, violent text into a chilling narrative of devilish delight. Each verse grows in intensity, her voice tinged with a bit of violence until the audience erupts in extended cheers as the song is still wrapping up. Oh, Jessye!

It's almost impossible to review this without wanting to comment on every single number (as I've done up until now). Suffice it to say, what Norman does with nearly every song, is claim it as her own. She turns whatever you may have known or felt about a song completely on its ear. Even something as innocuous as All the pretty horses becomes in her hands, something else altogether - a haunting dreamscape with enough colors to convince this listener he has synesthesia.

Then, there's the throaty brutality of God's Gonna Cut You Down which closes the first half, with a dark rawness that gives Johnny Cash a run for his money. When she ends the song it is with a final pronouncement announcing death and it is blood chilling. BUT, Miss Norman isn't done yet, oh, no! She directs, or more appropriately, admonishes her band to "Take me off" as, mic still in hand, she walks off singing "Go tell . . . go tell that back biter, Good God a'mighty's gonna cut you down!" The audience cannot contain itself again and goes absolutely wild, erupting into rhythmic applause and cheering the ovation fierce and almost unending.

Norman opens the second half with Les Chemins de L'amour in a throaty baritone, that under different circumstances might be deemed a bit indulgent, but here . . . it works. There are countless brilliant touches that abound throughout the remainder of the show, such as La Marseillaise morphing into The Star Spangled Banner which serves as the introduction to J'ai Deux Amours.

Jessye closes out her musical journey with Ellington, Bizet, Monk and more before finally ending this breathless journey with When the Saints Go Marching In introduced by a bluesy, twang that propels both the audience and Jessye into a fiesty mood that finishes the concert in as bawdy, loud and rip roarin' a manner that probably hasn't been heard in a house since Judy sang one night at Carnegie Hall.

It is nearly beyond comprehension (but only "nearly) that this is the same woman who for years has transfixed me as Cassandre, terrified me as Judith, thrilled me as Ariadne, made my heart soar with Sieglindes and it only makes this crazy cake all the tastier.

This is as joyous a celebration of a singer as I have ever experienced and I only hope the album sells well and shows those who might not already know, what a force of nature, what an artist and remarkable human being is this Jessye Norman. Few artists I can think of now or of the past, would, after a legendary opera and concert career has ended in classical music, so painstakingly and intricately craft a show of this immediacy and complexity. Now take the show on the road, girl!

Will the Real Mezzo Please Stand Up? The Phenonmenon of Katherine Jenkins

I pride myself in listening to music of just about every stripe, knowing of and being fan to bands and artists few have ever even heard of. I was, therefore, nearly dumbstruck to read about the phenomenon that is Katherine Jenkins, as I believe I’d never, until the threads here, even heard of the girl’s name. Prompted by the summer lull and ready to avail myself of this egregious wrong, I dove head on into the world of “The Mezzo Soprano Known as Katherine Jenkins.”

I listened to about 20 plus cuts from various albums and could only conclude this girl doesn’t know a damned thing about how to opera singing, and to identify her as a “Mezzo Soprano” is, while kind of cutely inappropriate, a very (sort of) original marketing ploy and little else. While pop singers all have specific ranges to their voice, they’re really never put into the vocal categories of classical (or “church”) singers. There isn’t any need to, so why do it?

First up, Mozart’s “Laudate Dominum.” This was, perhaps, not the best choice for an introduction to the new Mezzo Soprano. It was execrable: breathy, hooty choirboy tone, appoggiatura-like passages executed with a faux vocal mechanism employed only by singers of pop music, and usually then only when attempting to sing legit (and sounds perfectly unnatural – rather like watching a dog dancing on his hind legs).

Next up was the Seguidilla from Carmen. To use proper internet vernacular: OMGLOLROTFLMFAO. This was absolutely side splittingly bad. First, there was that terribly forced, terribly clean and terribly proper “English French” - understandable yes, but flat, and lifeless. Instead of trying to inject life into the music itself, she inserts a choked, hackneyed laugh “ha ha ha !” into the middle . Too freakin’ precious. Seriously.

“O sole mio” – was just plain godawful: generic, badly accented, a throwaway vocalise.

“Song to the Moon” actually began somewhat interestingly, but there was that ever present “precious” sound, here now wed to a forced, unnatural “dark intensity” (had she been listening to Netrebko singing this?) that is not remotely part of this overbright voice.

Indeed, in almost every number I listened to there was that late 20th century Brit-Pop annoying clarity to her diction, but which (like Julie Andrews half a century ago) can make itself rather attractive in the right material. To that end, while still a little generic of emotion, and with a bit too much English choir-boy hootiness, I found her rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” actually rather lovely. I thought though, this was about as heavy a material as she should ever be attempting. Still, I hold serious doubts as to her appearing in a Rogers and Hammerstein musical anytime soon.

Reading and surfing on, I truly WAS startled to see the level of fame this young woman has achieved – (and all under my radar), but still I must ask, can she, so quickly, have become the 16th wealthiest person in Great Britain based solely on her album sales? If so, that’s rather remarkable . . . and a bit sickening, when I think of all the worthy, genuine artists struggling for careers getting little more than Frasquitas, Floras and Anninas to put bread in their mouths.

Nonetheless, much of this would have kept me laughing, at least a bit, until I saw just how MANY albums and DVDs this gal is pushing . . . something like 10. I really flipped out when I saw what they were selling for – at least stateside, her albums are racking in the range from $18.00 to $55 (on Amazon) for a SINGLE DISC. I very nearly choked . . . are people REALLY shelling out THAT much for this crap? Good Lord, it’s absolutely frightening. And, almost all of her albums (at least on Amazon, and including that $55 disc “Rejoice”) do not have a single downloadable track to “test” the waters. Very suspicious, if you ask me (though no one has).

In my “research” someone asked me if I’d ever heard this “phenomenon” live. Of course I couldn’t have only having just learned of her, so I was directed me to a number of live performances. Let me say this: for anyone who has not heard this gal live, you simply MUST. As saccharine sweet as her albums come off there is nothing of that sound when Ms. Jenkins sings live. The difference is more than night and day, it’s more like Spaghetti and Venus. The albums present an even-toned, controlled “product,” while the voice heard live is uneven in every register, forced and a not a little bit harsh, with a wildly produced, uncontrolled vibrato that, shows serious signs of morphing into a genuine tremolo. Pretty her albums may be, but pretty that voice is not. In comparing the two sounds, there was, in fact, absolutely no trace whatsoever of the singer of the albums with the singer of these live tracks. None.

Like every fake diva of the last 20 years, she takes a stab at the Lloyd Weber Pie Jesu and the result is a direct clone of every performance I’ve ever heard of this. I am close to concluding this track was recorded only once, by Sarah Brightman in the 1980’s. Every recording appearing since then has used the same vocal track. I’m almost certain of it.

Still not suffering enough, I was sent a link to material that was sure to enrage me – and did: the promo videos for her new album: “Sacred Arias.” I was at first taken somewhat aback, then had to roar with laughter at the inappropriate inclusion of one of my favorite of all popular songs, Leonard Cohen’s erotic masterpiece “Hallelujah.” That this could even be considered in a collection of “holy songs” rests entirely on the irrational rationale that the word “Hallelujah” alone denotes “sacred.” In the promotional video for this number we find Ms. Jenkins, radiant in a long, flowing yellow gown, spinning, spinning, spinning –miles of golden, gauzy chiffon weaving impossibly about her whilst thousands of petals float down upon her as if in a dream. Oh, yeah, it’s not quite entirely “angelic” as the gown’s cut so low her tits spill almost completely out of it the entire time. I know some will be offended by the last sentence (if not more) and I don’t mean to offend, but when you see the video she’s no longer showing off “breasts” or “boobies” – she’s selling “tits and hallelujah!” Unbelievable.

I wish her no ill (hard as that might seem) but having delved into her world, read scads of reports from her fans (“the greatest opera singer since Callas” – give me a BREAK!) “She can do what no other soprano in opera can do” (what opera?) I’ll politely refrain from either listening to, or writing about this “phenomenon” again. Promise.

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