Recording of the Week, Kate McGarry, 'What to Wear in the Dark'

Over the past 30 years Kate McGarry has developed into one of the most interesting jazz vocalists out there, consistently offering fresh perspectives on often well-known songs, making her stand out from contemporary jazz singers. Whether it’s her eclectic choice of repertoire (often jazz-infused takes on mainstream pop songs), her unaffected voice, or the multitude of quirky details that are scattered throughout the arrangements, there’s always the sense of each record having been carefully considered and sequenced as a collection. What to Wear in the Dark is no exception; long in the making, it draws upon three different sessions cut over the past decade. All were arranged and recorded in partnership with her husband, guitarist and arranger Keith Ganz, and his superb band, featuring stalwarts such as Gary Versace on keyboards, Ron Miles on cornet, and Clarence Penn on drums.

Having grown up as one of ten siblings in an Irish-Catholic family in Hyannis, Massachusetts, McGarry’s unique vocal delivery perhaps stems from having had to figure out how to be heard during the family sing-alongs that were an important factor of her childhood. After attending the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, studying Afro-American music and jazz under the legendary Archie Shepp, McCarry followed an unorthodox career path, which, alongside residencies at clubs like Catalina's and the Jazz Bakery in Los Angeles, and appearances at the Monterey Jazz Festival, also included three years living at a meditation Ashram in the Catskills. Whilst McGarry is thoroughly grounded in jazz, she has a real penchant for classic pop, especially 70s AOR, and the success of her many LPs is the sense of play she brings when improvising between those often disparate genres.

The album opens with its sole ‘standard’, Dancing in the Dark, a waltz tune from the 1931 Broadway revue The Band Wagon, by Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz. The stark arrangement spotlights Gary Versace’s talents on the accordion, and McGarry’s bright-eyed delivery nicely contrasts with the slightly menacing, Kurt Weill-esque plodding of the band. This is followed up with Steely Dan’s ‘Barrytown’, an arrangement that spotlights just how quietly adventurous Ganz’s band can be, and throughout the record there’s no shortage of instrumental space for individual band members to shine.

Some might balk at the prospect of yet another cover of Joni Mitchell’s ‘Both Sides Now’, but I’m a sucker for it, especially in such a natural performance as this. It highlights the strength of McGarry’s approach - this is not a diva’s overblown attempt to jazz-up a classic AOR song, rather she allows the strength of the words and melody to drive things forward, keeping a rein on the improvising, which makes it all the more potent. There’s similar restraint to be found in The Eagles ‘Desperado’, but McGarry allows more room for re-interpretation with George Harrison’s ‘Here comes the Sun’, a brave choice considering the competition out there (especially Nina Simone’s peerless version). Instead of slowing things down the band take a propulsive approach, with some super tight playing from the rhythm section, all providing extra lift for McGarry’s subtle morphing of the melody.

Paul Simon’s ‘The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)’ is prefaced with a minute-long monologue/rant detailing the trials and tribulations that are part and parcel of being a jobbing jazz musician. The segment winds itself up into a tight knot of angst, all of which makes the sense of release when McGarry is finally in the flow and ‘feeling groovy’ so much the sweeter. It’s also great that Ron Miles’s is given time to develop a fabulous cornet solo, which seems to flit about without a care in the world. And finally, there is ‘It Happens all the Time in Heaven’, a song partly penned by McGarry, and inspired by Daniel Ladinsky’s translation of a poem by 14th-century Persian poet Hafiz, a suitably intimate way to end the record on a quietly optimistic note.