Just like to formally announce my new pet-project. TheFaure.com
Continue below for our artsy mission statement. Way more info to come.
Gabriel Faure - Composer
Imagine for a moment a place - a place where musical minds of different ages, genres, temperaments and tastes could come together, work out their differences whilst celebrating those differences simultaneously. Imagine being able to change someone's mind for the better - not by shouting them down, but by opening their eyes. Imagine having an artistic voice - and having that voice not only heard, but listened to and acknowledged.
No one can give you these things - they must be stolen in the night - and you must be organized. This is our goal: to elevate the whole of musical taste. Not just the educated, not just the upper crust, not just the young and the wealthy, the whole. All of it together.
Rachelle Ferrell is as unique as a singer comes - but not because of musical genre. She’s one of those hybrid jazz, r&b, pop divas that have been on the scene about as long as there has been a scene. Ferrell’s got vocal chops galore. The highs, the lows, the screeches, you heard that right, screeches. She’s got it all. That’s the good news and the bad news all wrapped up into one. She can do whatever she wants, and typically does.
This particular performance of Autumn Leaves from 1989 starts off generically enough with the standard intro from the Cannonball/Miles version, but quickly gets out. When you see her mouth go all crazy around the 30 second mark you know this isn’t going to be your grandpa’s version of Leaves. And, as much as a singer with braces can get tribal, it gets a bit tribal in there before the intro is through. You don’t see many jazz/r&b/pop singers getting crazy on stage in front of a big crowd much these days, and I have to say, it feels quite refreshing. But on to the song. We’ve still got about eight minutes to go.
That sound she makes the first time she sings the word “autumn” is what we in the vocal biz call a “Brittany Spears.” It’s not really singing. It’s more of a guttural speaking of the word that certainly is meant to have a great deal of feeling, but always ends up sounding a bit digestive instead. Al Jarreau does this too, but, I dare say is the only one that can do it and still sound legitimate (Jarreau is not just another one of these jazz/r&b/pop singers - he’s the king).
Please pause a moment at the 1:55 mark and consider her pronunciation of the word “saouwuoung.” Thank you.
I’m definitely proud of her for improvising. It’s a tricky thing for a singer for a number of reasons, and many don’t even attempt it. Although I’ve heard some great solos by Ferrell, this one starts out with a combination of r&b stylized moans and, for the most part, random frills and runs. Not a lot of real melody there. Or rhythm. But when it comes to feeling, forget about it.
The high notes sound great and they really ramp well into the next chorus, but then we realize the frightening truth that all that high singing has temporarily turned Ferrell into a brain eating zombie. And then, just when you think she’s going to break out of your computer and knock on your front door the aforementioned screech pulls the whole glorious solo together.
At least the piano player has some class (4:30).
Once the saxophone takes over I’ve suddenly forgot what makes this performance so unique, as I seem to have stumbled into a Jamie Abersold after school special.
It’s gets real nice and ghetto the last time through the chorus and this most unique of unique vocal jazz rides is about to come to an end. But through it all we learned a bit about what is possible and can still hopefully fall asleep at night without the threat of a zombie Rachelle Ferrell knocking on our door.
