Friday, July 20, 2007
I now believe that the crazy Betty we've heard so much about is nothing more than an urban legend. Nevertheless, I'll take what I can get. Her voice is sometimes on the brink of hoarseness, forcing itself over her vocal chords, and then suddenly breaking in to pure belt that tingles my spine. There was nothing quite like sitting at her feet while she peered right over her music stand into my eyes. I was afraid that she might reach over and hit me, she was so fierce at times. But then she was smiling and tender and she really believes in the poetry in she sings, turning Broadway show tunes and Bob Dylan songs into jazz standards. Since I saw Betty in March at Feinstein's, hardly a day has gone by that I haven't put a song or two of hers in my listening rotation. I'm completed addicted to the sound of her voice. But its not just her sound, it's her interpretation - she finds something in lyrics that you never knew were there before. I'll have another chance to take all this in again tonight and I'm already counting the minutes until showtime.