News of the death of Blossom Dearie made its way to my INBox this week and I've been missing her ever since. In fact the whole week has been colored by fragments of her tunes sung in that unmistakable teensy canary pitch-perfect voice dancing around inside my head.
I remember the first time my friend Martin took me to hear her perform at Danny's Skylight Lounge and Seafood Bar. This was one of those quintessentially New York venues that somehow managed to be both a quaint little hole-in-the-wall and a serious destination for the cognoscenti. The room sat maybe 50, if that, but I'll never forget the way Blossom strode up onto the stage, taking her position at the baby grand with a confidence and a seriousness of purpose suitable to Carnegie Hall.
And once those fingers landed on the keys and she and her band started up, it was clear to everyone assembled that we were in the presence of greatness. In fact one of the fascinating aspects of watching her at Danny's was watching the expressions on her bass player and her drummer. Here was this woman nearly twice their age and yet, three things were palpable among them: 1) Her younger collaborators felt lucky to be making music with her, 2) They admired her and she admired them and all 3 of them were fueled by a joy of music-making and 3) Hands-down, Blossom always was the hippest cat in the room.
I wanted to post a video of her to illustrate my point but the selection available on Youtube doesn't do her justice. Suffice it to say, she was an extraordinary talent and I feel lucky to have had the chance to see and hear her live.
