Rosalyn McClore

August 4, 2011

“Cry Me a River”

Metropolitan Room  –  July 24, 31

There’s no denying that Rosalyn McClore possesses bountiful musical talents, both as singer and pianist. She seems to connect in a very deep way with the music she sings, which runs the gamut from blues to gospel to pop to jazz. At her hour-long show at the Metropolitan Room, she even threw in a Stephen Sondheim song (“Not While I’m Around”).

In this show—centered on the theme of crying/tears—she was especially effective in the blues and gospel numbers. McClore’s voice is commanding, and she knows how to drive a rousing tune like a fleet of mad stallions. On “Crying at Daybreak” (Chester Arthur Burnett, aka Howlin’ Wolf) her variations on the wolf howl suggested she has mastered the trickiest conjugations of the lupine language. For the spiritual classic “Mary Don’t You Weep,” her hands vigorously slapped the music out of the piano, and toward the end there was one “Mary” in which a series of angry notes cascaded from her throat. Just terrific.

I would buy an album of Rosalyn McClore singing and listen attentively to every intricate (and seemingly impromptu) vocal turn. But I would hesitate to attend another of her cabaret acts anytime soon. At the performance I attended, McClore seemed extremely ill at ease: fidgety and distracted.

She mangled lyrics badly. I wouldn’t expect the same lyrical precision from a blues/jazz performer as from a show-tune stylist. But when you’re performing “Cry Me a River” (Arthur Hamilton) and you repeatedly sing the phrase “out of my mind” instead of “out of my head,” you do lose something when you get to the phrase “all that you said” and it doesn’t rhyme. I was reminded of Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s disregard for the lyrics on his popular recent recording of “Over the Rainbow.” McClore wasn’t quite that sloppy—at least not until she got to the phrase “love is too plebeian,” which was a rushed garble.

The singer was clearly uncomfortable about speaking to the audience, yet she spent an inordinate amount of time doing so. At one point, she rambled on for what must have been ten minutes, mostly talking about rap music. She read the lyrics to rapper Rick Ross’s “Tears of Joy” and then threw the paper on the floor in disgust. I wasn’t sure what her point was, but I was certainly ready by then to hear her start singing again.

She told us that the “crying” theme was something she had chosen on a whim, because a theme was expected of her. In effect she was trashing the whole concept of her show. Worse was the treatment of her fine quartet of band mates. She intimated that the convention of introducing musicians to the audience was a tiresome chore. She said that when she goes to hear a headliner, nobody really cares about the supporting musicians anyway. Quickly backpedaling, she said, wait, she didn’t mean she didn’t care about her players—but the damage had been done. (I suppose this whole sequence could have been an elaborate bit that the musicians were all in on—but, if so, it misfired badly.)

If Rosalyn McClore is going to continue to perform in settings like the Metropolitan Room—that is, if she even wants to—she needs to hire a director/writer/coach who can help her iron away such painfully embarrassing wrinkles from her act and help her become more graceful—and seem more gracious. If not, perhaps she should stick with venues where she can just play and sing and let people listen in while she communes happily with her muse.

 

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About the Author

Mark Dundas Wood is an arts/entertainment journalist and dramaturg. He began writing reviews for BistroAwards.com in 2011. More recently he has contributed "Cabaret Setlist" articles about cabaret repertoire. Other reviews and articles have appeared in theaterscene.net and clydefitchreport.com, as well as in American Theatre and Back Stage. As a dramaturg, he has worked with New Professional Theatre and the New York Musical Theatre Festival. He is currently literary manager for Broad Horizons Theatre Company.