Greetings, music sloots and welcome to another edition of Manor Music Monday! Today we have a beautiful-sounding mystery, because unlike so many music performers, past or present, there's virtually nothing to be found out about this one-of-a-kind jazz songstress on the internet - which, no matter your background or era, is pretty hard to do these days. And these days? We really need her.
Yes, we desperately need the dulcet tones from a singer who's been there and back. In fact, we need Cora Lee Day (center in the photo above), a noted actress who had a late-career renaissance in "What's Love Got To Do With It?" and the compelling "Daughter's Of The Dust," for which she should have received an Academy Award (or at least a nomination) (but I digress) (as I'm wont to do). Born in 1914, many claim that she first worked as a model in New York City. This isn't hard to believe, since she was stunning to look at and quite tall. Somehow, she next transitioned into becoming a jazz singer.
For reasons that still confound me, she recorded only one LP, 1960's luscious "My Crying Hour." The album was released on Roulette Records, which had scary ties to New York City mobsters, including Vincent “The Chin” Gigante and Morris Levy. In other words, it was basically a money laundering front for the Genovese crime family, who were loath to pay royalties to any of their artists. Luckily, as far as we know, Cora emerged unscathed.
On her LP, her delivery on standards like "Trouble Is A Man" and "When Your Lover Has Is Gone" is deceptively gentle, yet steeled with mournful unease. Her style is less about vocal fireworks and more about nuance and a deeply felt connection to the songs she performs. This is a singer you can really feel. Unsurprisingly, her album is cherished by jazz aficionados. Give a listen below and you'll understand why, I promise.
What are you listening to this week? DJ Li'l Scratch wants to know. Till next time...purr, bitches, purr! 🐾
While we Americans like to think of Canadians as polite, well-mannered citizens, they turn positively feral at the sight of Trump, as evidenced by a Trump punching bag which a group of ordinarily gracious Vancouver moose heads (allegedly!) were only to happy to punch, pummel and viciously kick. C’est tiguidou, cheri. C'est le fun. To which I say, we understand, eh-sayers, we understand. After all, we can't even escape our hell-hole of a country these days. Calisse, right? And though sane 'Muricans won big in the recent election, causing much amusing uproar , we ain't out of the woods yet . The stupid rich are still getting stupid rich , and it could all blow up before you know it. Chalice de Crisse! So keep punching and kicking, mon amis . We're hanging on by a thread here, and hoping that all won't be forgotten come the midterms in 2026. Because, tabarnak , that would be tres-tres hellacious, no?
Comments
Post a Comment