What can I say about this type of music I live to sing? It is a mix of styles, by composers living and dead, best experienced in a live venue. Because so much of a performance evolves beyond the set roadmap, good jazz musicians will never deliver quite the same show every night. One dreams of witnessing such spontaneous moments of well-ordered chaos. That's always what attracted me to this music, even before I started to work within the realm. That and the element of risk.
   I remember one of the first singing jobs I had. Instead of a set program, the musicians were just playing standards, which they all knew. Of course I quickly fell behind because, back then, I still didn't know that many. The guys all shrugged and said, "Well, you should." And they were right. Standards act as the common language, a foundation to build on - although I also remember a wisecrack about the standards from a friend who works in the Film Business - not a bad guy, actually. "Nice music," he said, "but it's kind of like Latin. I mean, doctors use it to write prescriptions, but what else is it good for?" Oh, I don't know. Latin had its day as the universal voice that kept most of Europe from falling apart during the Dark Ages. It's the root of all of the romance languages and sings down pretty sweetly, too. But I digress.
   I make it my business to catch as many acts as I can, it's my duty as a New Yorker. Besides the thrill of experiencing live music, nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing a composer do an evening of original works. It reminds me that the art of songwriting is far from dead, as long as one is willing to seek it out. I can still rhapsodize about that hot July 4th I saw Michel Legrand sing "The Windmills of your Mind" in French. Or the many wonderful evenings I've journeyed anywhere to hear Bob Dorough deliver his songs as only he can. Or watching the cool trio of David Cantor, Kelly Flint and Jeff Eyrich who make up Dave's True Story wowing a room full of the young and the hip. Or even that long ago night at the Beacon when Tom Waits tore into his tunes almost doubled over the center stage microphone.     
   Recordings are pale substitutes for the real thing, but that's part of the challenge when one ventures into the studio - to capture a few of the flashes of inspiration that are the stuff live music is made of. I've been blessed to work with a great bunch of instrumentalists this time around - all composers as well as players who killed me with their music and kept me laughing when the sessions would degenerate into who knew the best dirty jokes. It's my favorite combination. Musicians love to complain about how under-appreciated they are, yet they make music anyway. They inspire me to hone my craft and then go out and hear someone else when I have a night free. Life is sweeter when the Muse wins out.