It’s a tale as old as time.
A singer from New Zealand with a background as a rock session vocalist in the UK scene finds himself in Warsaw, Poland, singing jazz.
Ugh. So obvious.
And yet, here we are.
If you’d asked me a decade ago, ‘Where do you think you’ll be at age 46?’, the answer “writing a Substack about jazz singing outside a cafe in central Warsaw” would have been low on the list.
Turns out, to paraphrase Gershwin,
Life Is Jazz.
The unexpected modulations, the surprise chords, the shift in tempo; improvising for dear life and trying to make it to the end of the solo.
Hence, this Substack exists.
for two reasons:
as a cathartic act, a diary of sorts, a way to unpack this very unexpected phase of my musical life as I journey into jazz singing;
as a way to connect and learn from all you jazz gurus that must live here on Substack. Hit me with your old recordings, new recordings, new interpretations of old songs, old interpretations of new songs, unknown vocalists, well-known vocalists, phrasing, scat technique… whatever you got. I’m hungry to learn.
Note #1: I will post music - my own and others - for context, to help you as a reader understand what’s going on. You may not like it and that’s cool. If you want to be constructively critical, that’s also cool. Just don’t be a dick about it, please.
Note #2: there may be a lot of swearing. Blame the Irish in me.
Bad pierogi
A quick backstory:
I grew up in New Zealand, learned my trade in various bands
then, for 10 years, was a session vocalist and performer in the UK
had an original song playlisted on BBC Radio 2. Guested on a dance track released by a prominent house label. Had management.
recorded at Abbey Road. Worked with some well-known producers.
did topline songwriting for Sony and Warner. Good times.
(here’s an example of track from an old band of mine)
But, as is the way with the music industry, it never quite came together into a meaningful career.
By this point, I was married and my Polish wife was pregnant.
LIFE CHOICES
had to be made.
[Cut to montage about having kids, buying a house, mowing the lawn, and stop at today.]
Fulfilling a commitment to my wife to spend time in her home country.
August 2024.
Warsaw. Poland.
Now, the music bug never truly goes away, does it? And if there’s one great uniting force in the world, one that transcends language and culture,
it’s music.
So, I’m in a new city and don’t know a soul. What is one to do?
Look for musicians.
I find a singing teacher.
We run singing lessons in Polish (a story for another day).
And she introduces me to a fantastic Polish pianist and composer named Michał Salamon.
We have a jam, there’s a rare and unusual musical chemistry.
We begin to write music together.
Then he comes to the mystifying conclusion that
I should sing jazz.
At first, I assume he’s ill - possibly bad pierogi, possibly the wódka for breakfast, possibly another lazy national stereotype.
Turns out, he’s serious.
And here we are.
“I’ve nothing against it. I just don’t do that sort of thing.”
Am I completely new to jazz as a genre? No. But at best I’m an amateur enthusiast.
I’ve absorbed Keith Jarrett and Brad Mehldau.
I’ve appreciated (though not studied) the great jazz vocalists,
from Sinatra to
Nat King Cole to
Ella Fitzgerald to
Mose Allison to
Kurt Elling.
I keep up with modern acts, like The Comet Is Coming or Yussuf Dayes or Laufey.
Most importantly, I’ve read all the
articles ;-)But the genres I’ve sung in were rock and indie. Jazz never came my way.
So I say to Michał, with the naivety of someone who has absolutely no idea what they’re signing up for:
‘Sure, why not?”.
What I didn’t know then, but am learning brutally fast now, is that listening to jazz is one thing.
But singing jazz?
Singing jazz is an
entirely. different. story.
To paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, it feels like a “long plastic hallway where pimps and thieves run free, and indie vocalists transitioning into jazz die like dogs.”
Because it now seems to me - and call me naive - that there’s jazz singing and there’s JAZZ singing.
There’s Michael Bublé, black tie, smooth as caramel, sweet as diabetes-type jazz.
(Not knocking Michael Bublé by the way, the man can hold a tune, and if I’m doing him a disservice, let me know. As Sinatra said at Caesar’s Palace in 1978 about Tom Jones’ act: “I’ve nothing against it, I just don’t do that sort of thing.”)
And there’s the your-voice-is-an-instrument-and-you’re-gonna-play-it-type-JAZZ.
That one, Michał tells me.
The JAZZ one.
That’s the road we’re taking.
Oh.
Right.
And here we are.
Next post: There’s Nothing Standard About Singing The Standards