I was sad to hear about the death of singer Jo Stafford. She had such a pure, lovely voice. Surely one
of the great bandstand singers of the ’40s and ’50s.
Back in the early 1990s, when I was first starting as a music journalist, I interviewed Jo’s late husband,
the arranger / composer Paul Weston. As Paul and I talked about everything from his work with Irving Berlin
on Holiday Inn to his early days at Capitol Records, Jo would occasionally chime in with a missing name or
a well-timed pithy comment. After my article ran, I got a lovely note from Paul and Jo, along with a signed piece
of sheet music.
Here’s a great clip of Jo, swinging with a big band:
Jo Stafford
“New York is the biggest collection of villages in the world.” – Alistair Cook
I was thinking about weird chance encounters I’ve had in the city over the years. One summer afternoon in the early 1990′s, I was in Times Square, near the TKTS line. I was trying to figure out if I had time to get uptown to the museums. As was my habit then, I wasn’t wearing a watch. So I asked a guy who was sitting on a bench, reading a book, for the time. He looked up, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Paul, one of my best friends from college. We’d fallen out of touch and it had been at least four years since we’d spoken. Longer since we’d seen each other. We were both surprised, but somehow not surprised to see each other. We had lunch and caught up. If you think of human beings as pieces on a kind of time-space chess board, what are the odds that Paul and I would collide in that way, at that exact moment?
A very different encounter. Swan Dive was in New York in 2000, playing a few shows. After an early performance, we wandered around midtown, looking for something to do. I remember there was a theater in the Broadway district where there was obviously some big event going on. It turned out to be a birthday celebration / tribute concert for Stephen Sondheim. Though we didn’t have tickets, we tried to sneak in. Not really to see the show for free, but just to see what was going on. Anyway, I started to walk up these winding stairs to a balcony. It was kind of dark, as the show was already in progress. Suddenly, a woman came flying around the corner and we bumped into each other. I nearly knocked her down. “Oh gosh, I am so sorry . . .” I started, then realized it was Mia Farrow. She looked gorgeous, and I was completely starstruck, tongue-tied.
Have you had any odd encounters in NYC?
Things that are making me happy this summer:
Sgt. Bilko – DVD Box
The Major Labels – Aquavia
The Ditty Bops – Summer Rains
Glen Campbell Good Times – DVD
Bawdy 70s Hospital sketch – That Mitchell & Webb Look
Tragically I Was An Only Twin by Peter Cook
“When I’m Cleaning Windows” by George Formby
eBay
The lobster bisque at Costco
“Dad Blame Anything A Man Can’t Quit” by Roger Miller
I ended up on Fiona Hewitt’s site by accident, and immediately fell in love with her paintings. Take
a look:
Fiona Hewitt
When we played at the Bluebird last week, Cher was in the audience. It was an in-the-round
with our friends Jason White, Kim Richey and Will Kimbrough, and right before we went on, Jason told me
that he’d heard from the bartender that Cher’s people had called about reserving a table. I didn’t think
much more about it, but then during the second song, in walks Cher, looking like the pop icon she is.
She sat at a table near the door with three friends, and stayed for the entire performance. I didn’t want to stare, but I stole a few glances her way during the night and she seemed to be digging the show. A friend who was directly in her sight line told me afterwards that Cher seemed very taken with Molly’s voice.
Immediately after the last song, she and her friends left the club. Too bad. I wished I could’ve at least said hello. Later
that same night, Cher went to Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge, where she was harrassed by a drunk guy in an incident
that made all the papers. She should’ve stayed at the Bluebird.
