Too often, great singers with great voices and great backing bands can throw a track (or five) into an album that’ll make you feel like drinking yourself to death.
Not Blossom Dearier.
Maybe it’s the nostalgia. Maybe it’s the sweetness in her voice. Maybe it’s the fantasy of a more simple time when women were born with a voice and sang into a microphone without all the 21st century techno-gadgets that could make them sound like something they weren’t.
The New York Times put it like this: “Ms. Dearie pursued a singular career that blurred the line between jazz and cabaret.”
Whatever it is, it’ll make you feel like you’re in a laid back swanky jazz club. Or a speakeasy. Or your living room on a night when the temperature has thankfully dropped into the first breaths of autumn range after a hot summer, and you’re barefoot, cool, and with your beautiful girl.
Again… whatever it is, it’s good. Very good.
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