In Praise of Diana Krall

I’m a never-jazz person. I like to know where my music is going and how it's going to get there, preferably in neatly organized harmonic and rhythmic structures. Obviously, jazz doesn't do that, so it leaves me feeling uncomfortable and at loose ends, which I suppose is the point. Those interminable improvisation solos, despite the artistry of the musicians performing them, make me want to run for the exits. I often say to my husband, I respect the style, but I don’t have to like it. A choral piece we’re currently working on that’s filled with syncopation requires sessions of rhythm therapy from the person in this house who does have the jazz gene. Unlike him, I don’t just “feel it.”

All that being said, we recently attended a concert by Diana Krall who is an extraordinary pianist and song stylist with a torchy, sexy voice. She puts her own unique spin on the classics—tunes by Cole Porter, Billie Holiday, and Nat King Cole, beloved songs from the Great American Songbook, (think Tony Bennett) plus some obscure Paul McCartney and a few of her own tunes. There’s no hype or gaudy special effects, beyond a little fog machine smoke. She sat alone at the piano with normal looking hair and wearing a simple black pants suit and spoke to us as though we were in her living room. The effect was magical, quietly romantic, and altogether soothing. When she finished a piece, those last few notes lingering at the extreme end of the keyboard were like water droplets slowly falling off a tree branch, shimmering in their perfection...before the audience erupted into applause.

It felt good to be in the presence of superb talent that spoke for itself without the need for millions of dollars’ worth of staging and costumes. Not that there's anything wrong with a big, showy production, and I’m not so far into my dotage that I’m ranting against pop music, but there was something about the singular, pristine sound of Diana Krall that left me utterly spellbound. (and to be honest, is far more provocative in its subtlety than pop stars screaming graphic lyrics.)

Some days, most days, I find myself walking around in a slow burn of fury, frustration, and occasional terror about what is happening in this country The world feels like a circus midway of constant stimulation where I’m bombarded from all directions with bad news, noise, and people clamoring for attention. So the opportunity to sit in a darkened theater with a bunch of my fellow humans listening to Diana Krall sing The Way You Look Tonight and Cry Me A River was a much-needed respite from that madness, even for someone who hates jazz.