Bazazz

KAY THOMPSON
November 9, 1909 - July 2, 1998

Hallelujah, Baby!

We can't think of any better reason for exultation than Leslie Uggams' fabulous one woman show at the Cafe Carlyle. Musically charting this Tony-winning veteran's journey from being a 6-year-old sensation at Harlem's famed Apollo Theater to becoming the toast of television, Broadway, Vegas and beyond, From Uptown to Downtown is a thrilling ride.

To say that Miss Uggams looks absolutely splendid would be gross understatement: poured into a slinky, low cut, tomato red gown, the soon-to-be-67-year-old stunner's cut glass cheekbones, flawless skin and dazzling smile would have been enough to charm and disarm the audience, even if all she did was stand stock still. Fortunately, Miss Uggams sounds even better than she looks, belting out one number after another with breathtaking elasticity, suppleness and range, in a warm, rich, powerful voice which betrays absolutely no sign of age - except, perhaps, the increased wisdom and interpretive skills which come with experience.

Indeed, this may be Miss Uggams at her absolute artistic peak: at the time of her greatest commercial success in the 1960's and 1970's, Uggams' voice was just as strong and pretty as it is now, but with a certain lack of depth. We never really felt what she was singing. But, boy, does she make you feel it now: when she bites into "My Own Morning," the big ballad number from her 1967 Tony-winning turn in Hallelujah, Baby!, she turns a relatively undistinguished piece of material into a masterpiece of self-affirmation. And while Uggams has never been a true jazz singer, she can now swing with the best of them, giving thoroughly enjoyable performances of Ella Fitzgerald's classic "A-Tisket, a-Tasket" and a wild, percussion-driven arrangement of "Hello, Young Lovers" which would have given Marni Nixon cramps. Dramatic ballads are her true forte, however, and the well-thought-out program gave Uggams a chance to get more than a few in, while not bogging down the pacing. A devastating "If He Walked into My Life" from Mame made one long to have Uggams star in a revival, right this very minute; while "Stormy Weather," sacrilege though it may be, now belongs to Miss Uggams, with apologies to Lena Horne and Ethel Waters.

Throughout her act, Miss Uggams managed to be both completely polished and professional, while also warm and engaging. The highest compliment we can give Uggams and her excellent team is that, although clearly a lot of thought and planning went into the conception and execution of this show, it still feels fresh and spontaneous. We really can't say enough about this show, so we simply urge you all to go. Miss Uggams is at the Carlyle through this Saturday.

Lamas Liked Leather?

Mrs. Lamas clues us in to what went on at Fernando's Hideaway.

The Maye Way

1967...



...and 2009:

What's so remarkable about this lady is that she sounds better now than she did in her youthful "prime." We attended the raucous, star-studded closing night performance of Marilyn Maye's tribute to Johnny Mercer on Sunday evening, and we're still reeling from it. Just as Dorian Gray had an aging portrait hidden away, we're convinced that Ms. Maye has a shriveled, croaky larynx tucked in a drawer somewhere. At 81 years young, she keeps getting better and better each time we see her, and that's not just hyperbolic gushing. Her reviews have been nothing short of rapturous, and her complete command and hypnotic hold on an audience is a thrilling spectacle unto itself. Marilyn returns to the Metropolitan in October; we're counting the minutes.

The Thrill of Them All

To appropriate a few lyrics from Johnny Mercer:

When the angels ask us to recall

the thrill of them all

we shall tell them,

We remember Marilyn Maye.

Simply put, there is no one on the nightclub, cabaret, concert or theater scene who can touch this 81 year old dynamo. No one. Her voice is a force of nature: as big as the Grand Canyon, deep as the Pacific, and warmer than July. She has consistently amazed and delighted us with her annual appearances at The Metropolitan Room; but we were honestly astonished by the magnificence of her latest triumph, a tribute to master lyricist Johnny Mercer.

To begin with, Ms. Maye looked splendid: svelte and chic in a very 1950's, Dior-esque belted satin jacket with a standaway collar, paired with trim black sequined slacks. She was clearly "on" from the moment she took to the stage, declaring that this would be "My Shining Hour." It was, and for the next hour and a half, she wove absolute magic.

Picking a highlight from an act filled with nothing but is as difficult as picking your favorite child or pet; but off the top of our heads, we'd have to mention stunning (and we mean stunning) renditions of "Blues in the Night," "When the World Was Young," "I Wanna Be Around," "I Remember You," "Something's Gotta Give," "Skylark" - oh, hell, the entire show. 

For the record, it takes a very special performer to tackle the signature songs of a bona fide legend and make them their own: but that's exactly what Marilyn Maye did with Sinatra's "One for My Baby (and One More for the Road)," delivered as a wry character study of  a down-but-not-out lady lush.

Special mention must be made of Maye's superb trio: pianist/leader Tedd Firth, whose virtuosity on the keys matches Maye's vocal feats of derring-do perfectly; charming bassist Tom Hubbard; and the man who has been with Ms. Maye longer than all of her husbands combined, her 40-year drummer man, Jim Eklof. Not only are these men excellent musicians, but they are clearly delighted to be performing with a singer who knows her stuff and can rise to any musical challenge.

The New York Times (and Ms. Maye herself) referred to the fact that her opening night on Friday had run a bit long: over two hours and encompassing 35 songs. When we saw her last night, she had trimmed back; and as much as we wish we had been there to see and hear everything, that's the hallmark of a great entertainer: leave 'em wanting more. 

We return to The Metropolitan next Sunday to see Marilyn Maye one more time before the end of her run; if you have the opportunity, do not miss her. She's the one fail-safe recommendation we can give you without any reservations. In a field littered with half-baked newcomers and tired veterans trading on past glories, Marilyn Maye is the genuine article. Like Mr. Mercer, she's just too marvelous for words.

Unsinkable?

You bet. If an act like the one she's proffering at the Carlyle can't sink that indefatigable MGM workhorse, Debbie Reynolds, nothing can.

An unusually subdued MISS DEBBIE REYNOLDS, courtesy of STARLET SHOWCASE. 

Debbie Reynolds. Oh. My. God. A train wreck, but an entertaining one. She was SO manic, we wanted to slap her at times. It's a hoary old act which Deb probably hasn't changed since 1973, and one obviously designed for bigger theaters in, say, Reno or Branson. It hasn't been scaled down for the intimate Carlyle at all, and the result is unnerving and uneasy. What's worse is that the star (admittedly resplendent in more red sequins than A Night Of 1000 Liza's) is clearly aware of the fact that she's playing a smaller-scale venue - she made several references to and jokes about it - but apparently didn't feel the need to alter her act accordingly.

The singing? Well, Miss Reynolds was always known more for her spunk than her voice, and age has not exactly refined her instrument. She had rather clever, re-written lyrics to "I'm Still Here" ("I survived Louis B. Mayer, and I'm here"), but if you weren't listening VERY closely, some of the in-jokes flew over your head because of her wobbly pitch, incredibly sloppy phrasing, and a maddening, consistent-through-the-show need to rush the tempo. 

For instance, what should have been the showpiece of the set (a medley of  songs from her MGM days) practically flew by as an afterthought - ONE sped-up verse each of "I Wanna Be Loved by You," "Abba-Dabba Honeymoon," "Singin' in the Rain" and "The Tender Trap," punctuated by hurried dialogue ("...and then I did this picture with Frank Sinatra at Metro"), and culminating with "I Ain't Down Yet" from Molly Brown. Miss Reynolds more or less sang this one complete, intending it to be a "showstopper," but this brassy, belting number showed off all the worst aspects of her voice. 

Known for her sometimes caustic, often raunchy humor, Reynolds' stage patter with the ringsiders was bizarre, overly familiar and "earthy" to a fault - it became downright embarrassing at times. "Eat, eat, it's expensive here - whatcha got there?" was a tired, repeated refrain throughout the evening. And one mention of her age and a joke about how no one under 50 in the room would recognize her was funny - it became strained and unfunny after the fourth or fifth crack.

The best part of the evening was a deadly, dead-on impersonation of Barbra Streisand. Oddly, Debbie's voice sounded pitch-perfect as Babs, albeit hidden under tons of reverb. She should have kept the reverb button on for the rest of the act. The Big Closing Number was a medley of Judy Garland songs ("My dear friend at MGM..."), which was OK and cute when she did "You Made Me Love You" and "For Me and My Gal" (both suited to her range and folksy, down home style), but turned mawkish and unintentionally funny when Little Debbie attempted to torch her way through a (thankfully) abbreviated "The Man That Got Away," which segued into a strained last chorus of "Over the Rainbow." The finale was a surprisingly tender, sweet, complete rendition of "Tammy," a song she used to denigrate and kid in her other acts - it was the best song of the night.

On the plus side: she's a trouper, Debbie Reynolds is, and she looked great. Despite the fact that it was a pretty bad show, she still had you rooting for her, and we (and the other handful of gay men in the sparse, second show audience) were one of the only ones who gave her a standing ovation. We shook her hand as she exited, and thanked her for coming back to New York. We were sincere, too; we just wish she had come back with better material.

Weekend at the Waldorf

Well, actually, it'll be a weekend at the Carlyle and the Metropolitan, but whatever - there we'll be. We probably won't be updating much, being in such a state of anticipation - we're all a-twitter that we'll be seeing Miss Debbie Reynolds' second performance on Saturday at 10:45; and Marvelous Marilyn Maye's Sunday evening show.



Hope to see some of you there! Look for the bow tie.

We Love a Cabaret

Make Someone Happy

Jayne Mansfield, giving her audience what they want.

Photos from the JAYNE MANSFIELD FORUM

Showgirls

Debbie's Back in Town...

...at the Cafe Carlyle. Her official website lists a "dancer" (yes, singular) among her accompanists, which gives us the slightly foolish hope that, when we see her on June 13, the Unsinkable Debbie Reynolds will be recreating her nightclub act, circa 1966.





Barring that, perhaps Miss Reynolds will persuade her bosom buddy Raquel Welch to share the stage for an impromptu Woman of the Year - Victor/Victoria medley.


Whatever the case may be, of this much we can be certain: Miss Reynolds will give her all to entertain us. Although, despite the lingering M-G-M stardust, there will still be the bittersweet sadness which now follows us whenever we now return to the Carlyle, realizing that its most fabulous occupant is well and truly gone.