Monday, February 8, 2016

A Dallas jazz singer in California: What a swell party it was!

Lou Delmonico, one of the original founders of Southern California’s Orange County Performing Arts Center, celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday recently.

Lou sits on many arts-related boards; his love of opera and chorale music is legendary.

He’s also a great fan of classic jazz, the kind you can dance to.

Standards. Big band. He loves it all.

I was honored to have been part of the spectacular celebration Lou put on for his many friends and associates.

Lou flew me out from Dallas, with instructions to assemble the wonderful musicians I work with in California.

It was quite a band: Bill Cunliffe, Terry Harrington, Steve Wilkerson, Dean Koba, Kye Palmer, Ben May, Tony Campodinico, Barry Zweig.

Can you spell “G-R-A-M-M-Y?”

These folks have played on many Grammy award-winning albums, and have a few statues of their own.

It’s always great fun to work for Lou. He knows what he wants, which makes entertaining his guests a delight.

And, of course, I know a lot of the folks in his crowd. It was good to see them, too.

I think I sang for five hours.

And guys…there is never enough time.

You are the best musicians in the world, the pink cloud on which the musical dreams of this singer have floated effortlessly so many times, and in so many incredible settings.

I thank you all.

Many more happy birthdays, Lou!

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Frank Sinatra did not write Fly Me To The Moon

The internet is loaded with stuff like this:

Fly Me To The Moon “by” Frank Sinatra.

Shame on you, Pandora.

Sinatra may have had the hit, but he didn’t write the song.

A guy named Bart Howard did.

To me, this is about as bad as looking at the Facebook page of one of New York City’s most venerable restaurants and finding a picture of colorful little French macarons with the title “MACAROONS.”

Probably one of those erroneous spell-checker “corrections”…but still.

As some of you may know, I was once a restaurant critic.

I wonder what New York Magazine’s Adam Platt makes of this sort of thing.

Psst…Adam, call me!