In the moment

Dominique Eade's vocal adventures

by Jim Macnie

Some jazz vocalists keep their adventurousness to a minimum. As gifted as Diana Krall is, she has built a rep on stressing melody and sticking close to her material's easy-flowing arrangements. But there are several singers who treat their material as a jumping-off point. From Annie Ross to Betty Carter, there are those whose yen to romp just can't be sublimated by the tune itself. Dominique Eade is this kind of musician and, as such, she brings a keen sense of action to both her records and her performances. Listen to the way she prances through Frank Loesser's "I'm Hans Christian Andersen" on her latest record, The Long Way Home (BMG/RCA Victor). Gears are shifted, contours are banked, and a long trail of lyrics -- about having stories to tell and telling them eloquently -- unites with some oddly compelling chord changes. It hews to its own curved logic, but that logic is such that you can't help but follow along. In Eade's hands, the song is a literal lark.

The 43-year-old singer was a fixture on the Boston jazz scene during that city's last great jazz era: the early- to mid-'80s. She spent most of the next decade in New York, gigging, teaching, and soaking in the spirit of exchange that was part of the scene for thirtysomething talents concerned with deeply investigating the most serious kind of jazz endeavors. There, in the hardest place in the world to make a dent, her work paid off. She earned herself a national reputation and substantial critical acclaim. After two discs for Boston's Accurate label (don't miss the sublime My Resistance Is Low), she was signed to RCA Victor. Her first album tipped the hat to a pair of somewhat neglected singers, Chris Conner and June Christy. Like many, Eade was looking to the past for material; like almost no one else, she was coming up with neglected nuggets. On The Long Way Home, she picks her fruit from all over the garden, essaying Elton John's "Come Down In Time," the country weeper "Have I Stayed Away Too Long," and a handful of self-penned pieces. Each is marked by a voice that can be dusky on moment, chipper the next.

Eade moved back to Boston last year. She's now the mother of two, gigging occasionally, teaching at the New England Conservatory, and co-captaining a family with husband Alan Chase, a saxophonist, bandleader, and music academic. Eade is both candid and thoughtful -- she thinks often and hard about what jazz is, and what it can be. By all reports, she charmed the Waterplace Park crowd at last year's Providence Jazz & Blues Festival. Why do I feel she'll do the same this time around?

Q: Little regional fests like this must be a boon to you as a businessperson. It seems like there's a flowering of these compact music weekends.
A: Definitely. It helps to have these organizations becoming interested in jazz and other art musics. Up here in Natick there's a guy who got money to turn an old firehouse into an arts center. That kind of stuff is great -- I hope it's a trend. And there's festival in Litchfield, Connecticut, too. With me working closer to home these days because of the family, these kinds of grass-root level presentations become important. Plus, they're developing an audience that's not made up of the typical jazz fanatic. They're literally turning newcomers on to jazz.

Q: Can you look into the audience and see that first-timers are getting the message?
A: Oh, I think that happens, for sure. We play something that's basically a marginal music, and if you introduce it to someone for the first time, that counts for a lot. Nothing wrong with opening up people's ears. New listeners always seem to have a comment, and I love it when they come up and ask me or tell me something about the show. The things that newcomers comment on are different than what more musically informed audiences pick up on. Like a teenager who hears scat for the first time -- that's cool. I remember playing a gig with [guitarist] Peter Leitch and a kid approaching me after I'd done some scatting, and he said, "What's that called? It's so amazing. Boy, it seems like that would be a lot of fun." And with jazz, as great as many recordings are, when people experience it live, they're getting some kind of kinetic thing that doesn't always make it onto albums. It's all right there in front of you -- the interaction between the band members, the spontaneity. Pretty exciting when it's all happening the right way.

Q: You were singing folk music as a teenager. When it came time to get serious about pursuing music in college, how or why did you choose jazz?
A: There wasn't a big decision. It just kind of crept up on me. My parents had bebop records -- I heard it when I was young. But as a teen I slowly started buying Billie Holiday records and Cannonball Adderley records. Then when I went to college I was asked to join a band -- a jazz band. And all the players were totally into it, they were all jazz aficionados. They'd heard me singing and playing guitar in a coffeehouse. The funny thing about music is that it was so in front of my face, I didn't exactly see it as a career. I was an English major. Music was always a result of what I felt about life, but it wasn't necessarily a way to make a living. But I started performing and dropped out of Vassar, and went to Berklee. My parents are respectful of the arts, and they supported the decision. I'm also the last of five kids, so maybe they weren't particularly focusing on me.

Q: Plus the process of being invited to the scene. That goes a long way psychologically, right?
A: Absolutely. I talk about it with friends. I know people who played cello in high school, and who probably had more musical training than I had, who don't play anymore. And here I am doing it. I'm not quite sure what makes one so serious about it. It's got to be more than talent; there's another impetus sometimes. I was really serious about pursuing it once I got the urge. I had a feeling that I just had to strike out on my own.

Q: How do you describe what you're trying to achieve when you're creating music?
A: It has to do with something that I perceive in nature. The confluence of many elements resulting in something beautiful and unique. And it happens in the moment. Know what I mean? And it includes the idea that everything's moving all at once, as if there was a plan -- which is like nature as well. I also think that most visual art, regardless of subject matter, is abstracted from nature -- nature including people, of course. So it's a bit like a code. My music contains my code.

Q: What's the difference between a saloon singer and a jazz vocalist?
A: One of them wears spurs.

Q: What I'm asking is: Must you improvise to be considered a jazz musician?
A: You know, that's a funny question. I guess I wouldn't worry about explaining it. I would just describe what interests me about the way a person sings. If I'm listening to a jazz singer, I'm following some kind of improvisation. It doesn't have to be wordless improv, but it has to be something that tells me they're very aware of all of the music around them. Shaping it at some points, leading it and playing with it. Even someone like Billie Holiday never particularly scat sang. But her treatment of the melody invariably had really subtle rhythmic changes and contours of phrasing that let you know she was fully aware of the action taking place. That's one reason I don't worry about the definition too muche.

Q: Let's talk about the mechanics of singing. You take "The Tender Trap" at about 100 mph. How do you go about rethinking what a tune can be?
A: Well, you try to reconfigure the piece but you try to have it make sense. It's very rare that you can make something be what it isn't. So arrangements can run the gamut. Like on [Hoagy Carmichael's] "My Resistance Is Low" I moved it from a sprightly waltz to something a bit darker. I go with my gut on most things. I don't want to just slap a new façade on a piece, don't want to just gussy it up. I got the idea for "The Tender Trap" when I was at the wedding of friend. Someone mentioned it and another person and I began to sing phrases from it. He'd sing one. I'd sing one. And all of a sudden we were laughing and reeling off the lyrics. And the roller coaster effect kind of fit the tune's message -- you know, that love is wild ride. Each arrangement has to have a kernel of the song's essence. There's usually something that I perceive in there that I want to highlight.

Q: Has your voice changed as you enter middle age? What's it felt like these days?
A: I suppose it has, and really I'm more comfortable with it these days. I feel a bit more authoritative, and as a result I feel like I don't have to push things like I used to when I was young. There is always something about proving yourself when you start out. These days I can be more understated, but still have a better grip, control, whatever you want to call it, on what's happening at every moment.

Q: Are you a bit of a detective when it comes to searching out material? What would make you choose a tune like "I'm Hans Christian Andersen"? That thing's off the wall.
A: Can you believe that Frank Loesser wrote that and also wrote the country tune, "Have I Stayed Away Too Long"? Well, detective work, yes. But some things come easy. I've always loved that song, was enchanted by it, really. Musically it's wild; it's got a funny way of presenting itself. But Danny Kaye sang "Hans Christian Andersen" in a movie I remember from growing up, and I was totally into Danny Kaye. As a child I thought our garbage man was Danny Kaye and would follow him down the street hoping he'd ask me to come away with him. Never happened. But the answer to the question is that you don't usually have to look too far away to find a great song.

Q: Last question: Your records usually have two or three pieces you've written. There are many jazz singers who write their own stuff. Why is it important to keep your compositions on the discs?
A: Of course, one of the things I'm most concerned with as a jazz singer is repertoire -- keeping a lot of options open. Popular songs and the classics are great, but in the last 20 years harmonies and approach have moved forward, phrasing has moved forward, the vocal repertoire isn't as limited as it once was. Instrumental music has certainly progressed throughout the century, and I listen to a lot of instrumental music. I've always written, even back in the coffeehouse days, and the reason I still do so is to try and bring something to the table as far as progress goes. I want take the music to new places, and I want my music to reflect the whole of this century's scope.

Dominique Eade will perform at the Providence Jazz & Blues Festival on Sunday at 3 p.m.