Susan Winter

December 14, 2009

“Susan Sings Van Heusen”

Metropolitan Room  –  December 13, 15, 20, 22

From time to time I’ve used the term “nightclub singing” to refer to an artistic approach that focuses on presentation rather than interpretation, an approach in which style and arrangement take precedence over nuance and exploration of the lyric. Though such a performance will never illuminate a song, nonetheless, when in the hands of a master of the form—Marilyn Maye, for example—it can be enormously entertaining or exciting. Then there is what I consider “cabaret singing,” in which the primary purpose is the communication of a song’s meaning—its lyric; other factors are not relegated to unimportance, they’re just secondary. This approach is what a good many people who enter cabaret strive for; the reigning masters are Julie Wilson, Andrea Marcovicci, and Steve Ross. Finally, there are a few people with a foot squarely in each camp: they can wow us with a knockout arrangement one moment, then move us to tears with an introspective interpretation the next, and sometimes both aesthetics co-exist in a single number. The example that springs immediately to mind is Karen Mason; please add Susan Winter to the list.

To say that Winter really knows how to sing a song is at once an oversimplification and a sweeping statement. On the one hand, it doesn’t begin to tell how wonderful a singer she is; on the other, to “know how to sing a song” requires an arsenal of skills that extends far beyond having a good voice. Directed by Lina Koutrakos, Winter’s new show, a program of songs with music by Jimmy Van Heusen, is a fine showcase for these talents.

Instead of trying to hit us over the head, the opening song-pair smartly invites us to join her: with homespun rural references, “Going My Way” (lyric by Johnny Burke) extends the invitation gently, then “Come Dance with Me” (Sammy Cahn) does it swingingly. There are three other pairings: a sweetly affectionate “Nancy (with the Laughing Face)” (Phil Silvers—that Phil Silvers) followed by “Polka Dots and Moonbeams” (Johnny Burke), which Winter invests with romantic joy; an exquisitely subtle “Darn That Dream” (Edgar DeLange) with an introspective “Here’s That Rainy Day” (Johnny Burke); and a tender “Good for Nothin’” (Edgar DeLange), segueing to “Call Me Irresponsible” (Sammy Cahn), which becomes impassioned, but since the fervor builds organically, even at its biggest the song has depth and heart. (Similarly, because it rests on a solid foundation of truth, the build in “I Could Have Told You” (Carl Sigman) comes across as dramatic, rather than merely big.)

A medley of “Come Blow Your Horn,” “Tender Trap,” and “High Hopes” (all Sammy Cahn) is classic nightclub singing. On first hearing, “It’s Anybody’s Spring” (Johnny Burke) appears to be only an OK song, but Winter gives it a highly polished, swinging club performance. One of Winter’s distinguishing virtues is that even on the nightclubby renditions, her vocal arrangement never overshadows the song’s meaning. This sensitivity is mirrored in the instrumental accompaniment provided by musical director Tedd Firth on piano, Tom Hubbard on bass, and Tony Jefferson on drums. Though the band can cook, and sometimes it sizzles, it never boils over. As if that weren’t enough, Firth lends his low-key vocalizing to “How D’ya Talk to a Girl?” (Sammy Cahn); the duet is delightful.

A couple of nit-picky things. Winter transforms the normally-for-two “Fancy Meeting You Here” (Sammy Cahn) into a successful solo number by relating it to unspecified people in the audience; however, when she turns and addresses the band members individually by name she sends confusing signals to the audience: are we expected to acknowledge, with applause, each musician at that point, or is this merely part of the song? At least it was unclear on opening night.

In the patter leading up to “Nancy (with the Laughing Face),” Winter tells us about her pregnancies and her two children—extraneous autobiographical information that is not needed to set up the song. After the number, she mentions her two sons again, as lead-in to “His Rocking Horse Ran Away” (Johnny Burke); only this second mention is appropriate.

The one issue I consider significant is that “Only the Lonely” (Sammy Cahn) is performed with a strong Latin beat in the instrumental accompaniment. While as it stands the number has a late-night feel, it would be more effective, more forlorn, without that rhythm; I suspect that Winter might not have to change the vocal one iota.


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About the Author

Roy Sander has been covering cabaret and theatre for over thirty years. He’s written cabaret and theatre reviews, features, and commentary for seven print publications, most notably Back Stage, and for CitySearch on the Internet. He covered cabaret monthly on “New York Theatre Review” on PBS TV, and cabaret and theatre weekly on WLIM-FM radio. He was twice a guest instructor at the London School of Musical Theatre. A critic for BistroAwards.com, he is also the site’s Reviews Editor; in addition, he is Chairman of the Advisory Board of MAC.