CD
Liner Notes
I first met Bill
Cooper seven years ago when, in my capacity
as a record and CD dealer, I sold him
a rare, shockingly expensive record called Dody
Goodman Sings?--which tells you
something about Bill, something about
me, and maybe even a few things about
Dody Goodman. Since then we have
become great friends and had scads of
good times together, doing mostly what
I would classify as All Things Show-biz,
from A to Zzzzzz. Still, I can’t
recall having a better time with him
than when I sat through every performance
of his two engagements at San Francisco’s
Plush Room, when he finally realized
his lifelong dream of assembling a solo
cabaret act. This CD, his first,
is the outgrowth of those shows.
I won’t pretend that someone else
wouldn’t be better qualified than
I to talk about the technical aspects of
Bill’s singing. Pitch and tone
and timbre and drawing breath across the
vocal cords as if you were bowing a string
instrument.... Well, as Ann Miller
once blithely exclaimed when someone described Death
of a Salesman to her, “Whooey! Not
my thing. Guess I’ll skip it.” So
I’ll skip it and just say that Bill
Cooper is a damn good singer with a strong,
clear baritone, who knows how to sing
out, Louise, and let it go at that. After
all, a technically impressive sound--which
Bill Cooper has--is only a small part of
what makes a compelling singer. (Think
of, say, Elaine Stritch and Frances Faye,
great singers who sound as if they’d
go home after a show, kick off their shoes
and relax by mixing themselves a tall bleach
cocktail.) The other--and, to me,
more interesting--part of what makes a
good singer is taste, that oversized
umbrella which covers influences, interpretations,
choice of material and the musical settings
in which a vocalist chooses to showcase
himself.
Jazz singers forever seem to be paying
homage to “Diz” or “Bird.” Boy
singers, nearly 50 years later, still emulate
the cool sound of Sinatra at his Eisenhower-era
swingin’-est. And a whole new
generation of female vocalists seems torn
between emulating Joni-Mitchell-filtered-through-Ricki-Lee-Jones
or post-Stoney End Barbra Streisand.
But unlike any other vocalist I know, male
or female, Bill Cooper honors the great “lost” women
singers who, from the ‘40s to the ‘60s,
operated within the traditions of popular music,
the music of Tin Pan Alley and Shubert
Alley--singers like Lisa Kirk, Karen Morrow,
Susan Johnson (who are all represented
here) and Frances Faye, Kay Thompson, and
Dolores Gray (who, only by chance, are
not). These larger-than-life, uber-talented
girl singers were the standardbearers for
the theater and cabaret songs of yesteryear,
but are virtually forgotten today except,
by some indefinable mystery of life, by
gay men. It’s a phenomenon
that warrants a book unto itself, but suffice
it to say that we came to instinctively
sense--and value--their drama and spirit,
their complete command of a song, and the
vulnerability beneath it all that sometimes
shone through. The essence of their
artistry--great musicality combined with
great emotionality--is the essence of Bill
Cooper’s singing as well.
Bill, I know, has always appreciated the
outward demeanor of these ladies--the glamor,
the wit, the abandon, the campy posturings
so rooted in time (mostly the ‘50s)
and place (mostly nightclubs). But
with the tricks, he learned traditions--the
lessons these singers have to teach--and
the hardest one of all is how to cut a
direct path to the meaning of a lyric and,
thereby, to the emotional center of any
song, wild or wistful. His vocal
style is simple and straightforward, but
brims unabashedly with emotion. It’s
a technique that was fully realized in
the heartthrob vocal of Judy Garland (though
any one of these vibrant ladies could do
a 180° turn on a spiked heel and set
about piercing the heart with a ballad). Not
insignificantly, a good half dozen of the
songs here were sung by Judy, though you
could hardly accuse Bill of raiding her
songbook--not with lesser-known songs like “Sweet
Danger” (from the ill-fated musical Kean), “Why
Can’t I?,” “I’m
Feelin’ Like a Million,” and “Here’s
What I’m Here For” (from A
Star is Born).
Equally important, Bill Cooper has an absolutely unerring ear
for a great song. Here he takes a
handful of standards and intersperses them
with worthy songs that coulda been contenders
had they not been trapped in major flopperoos,
or in some cases simply--inexplicably--left
to languish by the wayside. These
are songs that immediately draw you into
their story or thrill you with their spirit,
and none of them deserve to be lost to
the ages.
I am thinking especially of “So Far,” a
small but breathtaking ballad from Rodgers
and Hammerstein’s Allegro. Or
the poignant “Who Knows?” introduced
by Marilyn Cooper in I Can Get it for
You Wholesale. Or, on a brassier
note, the title song from I Had a Ball,
which Karen Morrow walloped into the rear
balcony for only six months of performances
35 years ago. Only a rung or two
up the ladder of public recognition are
the lovely “Ev’ry Time” from Best
Foot Forward and “I Walk a Little
Faster,” Cy Coleman and Carolyn Leigh’s
sublime paean to love’s eternal hope.
Then there’s the triumvirate of swell,
well, women’s songs--the kind that
no female cabaret singer today seems interested
in, and no other male cabaret singer would
dream of tackling (at least not outside
the reflection of his bedroom mirror, alone
at night). “When the Tall Man
Talks” was introduced by the phenomenal
Susan Johnson in Whoop-Up!, another
short-lived musical. “I Fought
Every Step of the Way,” done to a
crisp by Rose Marie in Top Banana,
gets my nod as one of the all-time great
comedy numbers and, hands down, Johnny
Mercer’s cleverest lyric. And the
hyperkinetic Lisa Kirk rendition of “Anything
Goes” might as well be a completely
different song from Cole Porter’s,
outfitted as it is from top to bottom with
outré special lyrics (“When
it behooves me, I sleep in just pajama
tops / I’m takin’ chances,
I suppose....”) in a swank arrangement
by Robert Wells and David Saxon. Speaking
of which, Bill, who’s a San Jose
hairdresser by day, introduces himself
in “Beautician on a Mission”--Irving
Berlin’s “Hostess with the
Mostes’” with new lyrics by,
um...oh, yeah--me!
I have always felt that a good pianist,
playing a good arrangement, can provide
all the backing a singer needs. Barry
Lloyd, Bill’s accompanist, is closer
to a great pianist, playing great
arrangements. His accompaniment serves
as an entire orchestra, but Bill has secured
the talents of the redoubtable Al Obadinski
on bass, for good measure and additional
warmth. Together they create an array
of flawless, intimate musical settings
to showcase Bill Cooper’s knowing
interpretations and sterling instincts.
To paraphrase the late, great Kay Thompson--mmmmm,
quel fabuli talent!
---
Michael Mascioli, All Music Services, San
Francisco
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