The following article appears in the Jan/Feb issue of Chicago Jazz Magazine.
ANITA O'DAY
The "Night Bird" Flies; and the Curtain Officially Closes
by Paul Marinaro
2007. We find ourselves in an era of music where kiddie-pop dominates like never before. Originality and creativity seem to appear only in the antics and costumes of the current formulaic music "stars." Within jazz, as it continues its fight to stay alive and reinvent itself, we find a scene of continued club closings and diminishing venues, its members grappling with the persistent question of "what is and what isn't jazz." In all of this, jazz lovers find themselves, perhaps more-so than in any other genre, looking back to their icons, to the brave creators, the unique founders.
On Thanksgiving morning, the jazz world lost one of its icons with the passing of vocalist Anita O'Day. The last surviving vocalist of her era and stature, Anita O'Day is a cornerstone of vocal jazz and a true American original. With her, goes the last living glimpse into the great era of Jazz; that exciting era when Jazz was as close to being the popular music of our culture as perhaps it ever may be. With her passing, we are once more reminded of how important it is to honor our idols and to stand firmly on the foundation that they've built.
Like so many, I had previously only vaguely known of Anita O'Day, and was unaware of her talent. Fortunately, that changed in 2000 after a viewing of "Jazz on a Summer's Day", a wonderful film of the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival, and a starting point for many O'Day fans. Among the many artists featured was Anita. Being an ardent devotee of Sinatra, Fitzgerald, Holiday, and Vaughan, I was skeptical at what this white girl was going to do. Two songs later, I was hooked. Visually and musically stunning, her performance stands as one of the hottest cinematic jazz moments on film.
Upon viewing, you instantly become aware that you are witnessing something completely original, wholly entertaining, technically brilliant, and dripping with her salty personality and sex appeal. On her two songs, "Sweet Georgia Brown" and "Tea for Two", she claims ownership. I quickly felt the need to hear more and soon had saturated my ears with everything Anita. "That film did more for my career than anything I'd done before or since," Anita later recalled.
Being a jazz lover and performer, and having been born into "Generation X", I often feel robbed of the chance to have witnessed any of my idols. They have all either retired, or had since died. However, in 2002, upon hearing that Anita O'Day would be doing a rare performance in NYC, I booked the flight immediately, knowing that this was my chance.
When I arrived, I learned that many of those in attendance were there from all over the country, and quite a few, like me, had never seen her perform before. What would it be like? What would it be like to finally witness in person, someone who had given me so many wondrous hours of musical enjoyment?
I was aware of the possible let-down one could experience when they finally see one of their idols, especially at such an advanced age. The only live video I had seen of Anita was from 1958. I didn't expect much, and told myself that I was grateful just to be in her presence, a mood common throughout the audience. There was a nervous anticipation as we awaited the start of the show and the arrival of our favorite singer.
After some wonderful film clips that took us throughout Anita's early years, from her time as a young singer with Krupa and Kenton, to her legendary appearance at Newport in 1958, her quartet took the stage and played a commendable warm-up tune. During their song, a frail but beautiful elderly woman appeared off to the side, keeping time to the tune and eagerly acknowledging the musicians' solos. After the tune ended, she gingerly walked up to the stand and grabbed the mic. After having just seen the film clip of her in 1958, it was a bit jarring to fast forward to the present, 44 years and many conquered addictions later.
She appeared in front of us as a shadow of her former self. A bad fall in the late 90's had resulted in her right arm and hand being fused. (She actually had almost died, having developed blood poisoning and pneumonia. She was in a wheelchair for a year, until she decided that she wanted to make a comeback. She walked again, and brought the house down at the JVC Jazz festival in 1999). Yet there she was at 82 years old, small and frail, but with the same exuberance and determination that marked her life.
The packed audience of devoted fans nervously held their breath as she called the first tune. "Let's do it," she called to her trio as she set the tempo and went into "Blue Skies." There was a collective sigh of relief as we heard her familiar, breathy style navigate through the Irving Berlin tune, desperately trying to defy the ravages of time. Yes, the voice had faded considerably and her already small vocal range had diminished even more, but the musical ideas remained, as did her impeccable rhythmic sense. "Nothing but blue skies." It was a fitting choice for an opener; she appeared thrilled to still be up there doing what she did best and having had beaten all of the odds. At each instance of one of her trademark sounds, such as her chromatic and melismatic separation of a particular vowel (three…eee…eee) or one of her patented flips, the audience cheered in hearty acknowledgement. At one point, as if to acknowledge her own pride at her accomplishments she coyly reminded us, "I'm 82"!
As with almost any performer of that age, there were moments of uncertainty, missed entrances, and flubbed lyrics. They, of course, were entirely forgivable, but did create a bit of nervousness among the band members.
Several such moments occurred just prior to her calling one of her most famous and signature tunes, "Honeysuckle Rose." This had been a tune that was most associated with her throughout her career, and one that she had performed with such perfection, that its lyricist Andy Razaf has claimed that hers was the definitive version. As she called the tune, she set a rather brisk tempo, one that the pianist nervously declined and reset to a much slower pace. She paused, stopped the song, and once again reset her original tempo. This happened several times and caused a palpable tension in the air. Did the pianist know better? Was this a glimpse of her senility? She finally turned to the bassist and said, "Just you and me, kid, right here" and once again set her tempo. The audience erupted as she and her bassist flawlessly and creatively navigated through her favorite tune.
After the first delivery of the tune, she turned to the pianist and proudly shouted; "Now you can come in". It was magical. That was Anita.
There is a school of thought among musicians who believe an artist should pack it up before they are past their prime. It's a valid argument. At 82 years old, Anita was well passed her prime. Yet to those who may firmly subscribe to that school of thought I say, "You weren't there that night." It was clear to all of us that Anita had nothing to win or lose anymore. She had survived. She needed to be up there, and we needed her to be there. In a throw-away generation, this Gen-Xer was glad she was still there. She deserved this moment.
After a chance meeting with her manager, Robbie Cavolina, he invited me back the following night, gave me a table directly in front of her, and allowed me to visit with her backstage. I, of course, was in heaven. This consequently set the stage for many more visits in the following years and allowed a friendship with my idol. I am forever grateful to him to have given me this opportunity.
Having grown up in the Uptown district of Chicago, Anita was eager to discuss with me her early career here. She recounted with pride her grueling days as a Walkathon contestant at The Arcadia Ballroom, on Broadway just north of Montrose, where a young Red Skelton served as MC. She also remembered living at The Chelsea Hotel at Wilson and Sheridan, which housed many musicians at that time, not to mention the gamblers, hustlers, and call girls. "Honey, there was a party going on somewhere 24 hours a day" she laughed.
It was during this time, the late 1930's, that she found her way to Chicago's hottest jazz club, The Three Deuces, located at 222 N. State Street. Underneath was The Off-Beat Club where she got her first gig, singing with Max Miller and his group. It was here where she performed alongside the likes of Jimmy McPartland, Rose Murphy, Mugsy Spanier, Art Tatum, and of course Gene Krupa.
With Krupa, Anita went on to become a star as she joined
his Orchestra and reinvented what it meant to be a girl band singer. Refusing to accent her looks or glamour, she would not be just "window dressing" for the band. She wanted to be respected as a musician and therefore dressed in pants and a suit, just as the men were. Of course, this caused quite a stir and much speculation about her sexuality in the early 1940's.
Thanks to Anita, Gene Krupa scored some of his biggest hits, making him a contender alongside the other heavy-hitting big bands of the day. Their first big hit together was "Let Me Off Uptown", a duet between her and Roy "Little Jazz" Eldridge. This groundbreaking duet also caused a stir, marking the first time a white girl sang side by side with a black man.
Another Chicago story resulted in her recalling an audition for Benny Goodman at the Chicago Theatre. She didn't get the job; Goodman was not a fan of her reinventing the melody line. "'What the hell was that?' is what he said," she laughed. Years later, in 1959, he asked her to accompany him on his tour of Germany and Sweden. She would soon discover his competitiveness and claimed that "he'd pick his teeth during your number, sit behind you and pick his nose or scratch his private parts---anything to distract from the singer. If I got a little too much attention from the audience, he'd cut my songs.” When I asked her to discuss some of the other big singers, in reference to Sinatra she quipped, "Yeah, he was good, but he always stole my musicians whenever he came to see me."
Upon learning that I was a young singer, Anita was always happy to share stories and offer generous advice. “Go with your gut, kid, and remember that you didn’t find jazz, it found you. Go with it”. She was happy to see her music touching a new generation. She also wasn’t afraid to be realistic about a career in music. During one visit, we sat at the bar together and viewed her most famous appearance at Newport. It was surreal for me. I wondered what had happened to the ostrich-feathered hat she wore in the film. “You don’t save a hat when you’re living out of a suitcase”, was her frank but humorous reply. That was Anita.
In her prime, Anita O'Day was untouchable, her inimitable vocal style having been created as much for her abilities as for her limitations. She claimed that a botched tonsillectomy at age 7 left her without a uvula and unable to produce a vibrato. Her approach to singing not only forged new ground, it began a new school of thought with many ardent followers and copy cats. Of this "school” June Christy, Chris Connor, Helen Merrill, and Jackie Cain were the most prominent. All notable talents in their own right, none of them came anywhere near to swinging as hard as the teacher. To explain her importance, legendary Chicago vocalist/pianist Audrey Morris offers, “After Anita, when did Krupa or Kenton have a vocalist who didn’t try to sound like her?” “She was one of a kind and one of the absolute best…we won’t see the likes of her again”. Morris and O’Day crossed paths many times during Chicago’s musical heyday of the ‘50s, having performed at many of the same clubs such as Mr. Kelly’s and The London House. At one point, they shared a hair-stylist. Audrey recalls that O’Day had asked Morris to accompany her, an offer she graciously declined. “I was honored she asked, but I’m not her type of player!”
After a successful stint as a singer with Gene Krupa and Stan Kenton in the early 40's, she proved herself a formidable solo artist beginning in 1947. She was always much more than just a white band canary. Anita demonstrated that she was a masterful scat singer, and possessed an ingenious sense of phrasing; she was able to carry a line seamlessly through complex harmonic changes and the most dramatic of tempo shifts. Her most notable work was for Norman Granz on his Verve label for which "Anita" was the first release in 1955. During this period she blossomed as a true jazz singer with an unflappable rhythmic sense at all tempos, possessing a highly advanced harmonic knowledge in the league of Sarah Vaughan and Ella Fitzgerald. She could sing the most tired or familiar tune with such uniqueness and inventiveness that it was all brand new.
Her singing gave the impression of a tightrope walker, taking many chances and leaving the listener breathless. When singing live, she removed the net. Never one to care much about commercialism, she avoided "pop" hits and always performed with artistic integrity, perhaps a reason as to why she's not known nearly as well as she should be, even in jazz circles.
Having started as a Big Band Swing singer, she quickly developed a keen sense for the modernism of Bop. A thrilling rhythmic singer, Anita successfully applied her unique style to ballads. A stellar 1956 outing with the Oscar Peterson Trio resulted in "Anita Sings The Most" and features highly inventive trading at breakneck speeds, combined with tender, introspective ballad singing.
Shortly after the death of Billie Holiday in 1959, Anita recorded her own personal favorite album, "Travelin' Light," in tribute. Featuring marvelous arrangements by Johnny Mandel, it is notable more for what she didn't take from her idol than what she did.
In 1961, she released "All the Sad Young Men." Featuring arrangements by a young Gary McFarland, this is a brilliantly brave, creative and modern album. All of her work during her years at Clef/Verve (1952-1962) is highly recommended, and features Anita in a variety of settings with top musicians and arrangers including Buddy Bregman, Johnny Mandel, Billy May, Marty Paich, Russell Garcia, Bill Holman, Cal Tjader, and Jimmy Guiffre.
After her tenure with Verve ended in 1963, Anita would never again be recorded with such consistency nor high production values although her later work, released on smaller independent labels, is worth noting. Released in 1976 on her own label, Emily Records, "My Ship" is a masterful collection of mostly ballads. Backed by just piano and bass, Anita is in top form on quiet and personal versions of "Come Rain or Come Shine," "The Man I Love." and "Body and Soul." The best of her later recordings reveal an older, wiser and more reflective singer with many layers of nuance and emotion.
Through all of my meetings and conversations with Anita O'Day, what sticks with me most is how genuinely and brutally honest she was. She appeared to be a complete independent, a tough old girl who lived in the present and never looked back, her saltiness still largely intact. This probably accounts for her ability to conquer her many addictions and demons. At this stage of her life, in her mid-80's, she appeared to be much like a tough grandma, not sure what all the fuss over her was about, yet needing and loving all of it. She had needed to develop a tough skin, but would be moved to tears when listening to a playback of one of her earlier recordings. "I never stuck around long enough to listen to them. I sang and was out the door."
She remained completely disinterested in what others
thought of her, as was demonstrated in her frank and startling autobiography "High Times, Hard Times". She was a completely unique individual, both onstage and off, and a true survivor in every sense of the word. I believe her personal honesty is what makes her such a marvelous performer; having the ability to be totally honest allows one to pull out all the stops as an artist.
In a society where we tend to celebrate those who have died young, Anita O'Day had survived. It makes one pause and think that if she had died at her peak, would more people know her name today? Unlike her idol Billie Holiday, and so many others in jazz, she didn't succumb to her harrowing 16 year heroin addiction. She survived through a staggering amount of ups and downs, and fought back all of her life, making comeback after comeback. Through it all she had sustained a vital career, one that lasted longer than that of any of her peers.
Earlier last year, her last recording, "Indestructible" (2006) was released. It reveals her considerable diminished abilities and suggests, in reality, that there were no more comebacks to be had. After all, she had turned 87 years old in October. Yet, in a way it was comforting to know that she was still with us, that the survivor in her still wanted to step in front of a mic, in front of a quartet. True to form, the recording is honest and raw. In an age of imitators, fads, copy cats and quick returns, she was a welcome presence, reminding us of a time when talent mattered. And she had it in spades.
I’ll miss knowing that she’s still around humming a tune, or rather, reconstructing it. I feel blessed to have known her, will continue to learn from her, and will find inspiration in the amazing body of work she left us.
Yes, the 'night bird' has flown. The curtain closes. We find ourselves looking back to our idols. And we mourn our loss.
