You'd be Paradise

The Mary Foster Conklin Review

by Rod Amis

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On September 12th, in New York City, Mary Foster Conklin is throwing a release party for her new music CD, "You'd be Paradise" (MockTurtle Music.) David Finkle, of the Village Voice had this to say about the Manhattan chanteuse:

"Mary Foster Conklin shows with her second album that she is one of the most underrated jazz singers working today. Her wonderful, unique voice grabs you immediately and doesn't let go..."

Reading that, I understood why I never became a celebrated reviewer.

If you still live in Manhattan, you lucky fool, you might want to drop into Danny's Skylight Room and hear Ms. Conklin live. (Danny's is at 346 W. 46th between 8th and 9th Avenues. Ms. Conklin's performance is at 9:15 p.m.) I'm positive she'll be more fun and involved live than on the review copy of the CD her publicist sent along to me. I wanted to like it, I really did, but there was as much life and feeling in this well-produced CD as in a 2 Watt bulb.

There, I got that off my chest and a woman up in Toronto is now taking me off her mailing list because I'm not raving about her client.

I've listened to "You'd be Paradise" four times now. I'm even listening to it as I type this, but what is missing from this outing is PASSION. Nice voice, serviceable backup band, and I don't feel a thing. When Mary Foster Conklin sings "Everything Happens to Me," I couldn't resist thinking that NOTHING has ever happened to you, Lady.

The song preceding it, Tom Waite's "Broken Bicycles" -- one of his many great lyrical turns -- is rendered decently, but again, the feeling is missing.

It could well be that my living in New Orleans now, instead of Manhattan, makes me much more critical of musical outings than my colleague at the Village Voice. But I don't think so.

Here's the basics you expect from your average reviewer: Accompanying Ms. Conklin you'll find Bill Mays on piano, Frank Vignola on guitar, Jon Burr at bass, and Joe Ascione on the drum kit. These guys do journeyman work behind her, so you won't be disappointed.

Ms. Conklin has been working the rounds since 1984, though this is only her second album. Like many the aspiring chanteuse, she's been working the standards -- Cole Porter gets the nod on this CD with "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" and "You'd Be Nice to Come Home To."

My problem is, having lived in San Francisco and heard Andrea Marcovici, and being here in the Big Easy and hearing everyone from Etta James (admittedly a difference genre) on up, it's tough to tell you "Rush out and buy this one."

And that's the bottom-line, isn't it? Is this a CD I want to spend my hard-earned simoleons on? I can't honestly recommend that you do.

I know a lot of music reviewers pander to the labels and the publicists so that they'll keep getting the free CDs, but that's just not in me. So, whether or not I get more albums from this particular publicist, kids, I have to say this CD is pedestrian at best. You can hear more rocking jazz vocalizations in New York. Bobby Short comes to mind in San Francisco. Or, if you're into the Real Deal, go to St. Nick's Pub in Harlem. Then you can get down. The Sugar Hill Jazz Band plays every Monday.

Let's face facts here. In terms of jazz vocalists in the last few decades, there was Ella, Frank, Tony, Rosemary, and all the others are lounge acts parodied by SNL. I wish it were different, but it ain't.

David Finkle, what were you thinking!

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