Pink Martini have so far taken the Harper Lee approach to avoiding sophomore slump - they haven't released an album since their debut, "Sympathique," in 1998. In the last five years the Portland-based ensemble has toured endlessly, taking their Latin-jazz-lounge-classical-everything sound around the world and back again (their album is certified double-gold in France). They’ve spun off into side-groups and contributed music to various film and TV projects, including the theme to the animated series "George of the Jungle."
Maybe being so in-demand is a drawback of releasing such a wonderful, genre-blending first album. A look back at "Sympathique" reveals a collection of great depth and vision, that is at the same time so easily enjoyable it's no wonder Pink Martini haven't been able to get off the road to record a follow-up; they could just play this one forever and no one would complain.
The album opens with "Amado Mio," a slinky ballad with Latin percussion, intricate, interwoven piano and vibraphone lines, and an omnipresent harp that makes itself felt in occasional bright sweeps. There are flourishes of flamenco guitar throughout and a smoky trumpet solo halfway through.
Over this beautiful arrangement, vocalist China Forbes does her version of a torch song, imploring her darling to "love me forever / And let forever begin tonight." Forbes walks a thin line; she's not as adept with her instrument as the rest of the band are with theirs, but what she lacks in jazz-singer chops she makes up for with charisma and credibility. When she sighs "Amado mio, I love my darling," I believe her more *because* her voice falters slightly.
"No Hay Problema," the first of several fine instrumentals, is a conga-driven exploration of a luscious salsa phrase. Pianist and musical director Thomas Lauderdale lobs the line to the guitarist, who rolls it around like a hot bite of jambalaya and then passes it to Brian Davis, who converts it to a killer conga solo.
The playful title track, sung in French with obvious relish by Forbes, is so "Roaring Twenties" evocative that, during the squawking trumpet solo, I expected to look up and see F. Scott Fitzgerald sipping gin fizz outside my window.
The album hits an early high point with "Que Sera, Sera," a gloriously uplifting ballad-out-of-time, with a wonderful vocal by Forbes that floats along like ether through the first two verses:
When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me:
Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be.
The future's not our's to see.
Que sera, sera.
When I was just a child in school
I asked my teacher what should I try?
Should I paint pictures? Should I sing songs?
This was her wise reply:
Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be....
Then an ascending piano line pulls back the curtain, the strings swell, the harp sparkles, and the trumpet majestically reinterprets the vocal line. By rights this sort of grand orchestration should seem dusty in 2003, but "Que Sera" is so lovely it repels any nostalgia that tries to attach to it. It's a great song in any year.
If there were any lingering doubts about their versatility, Pink Martini dispel them by moving smoothly from the slow-burning "Soledad," with its rippling piano arpeggios and ghostly cello, to the energetic "Donde Estas Yolanda," which flirts with mariachi. Lauderdale's piano runs like a bright, percussive thread through the disparate styles and provides the backbone of the group’s unique sound.
And the great moments keep piling up. "Andalucia" is a gorgeous waltz with throbbing percussion and a twirling theme taken up in turn by piano, cello and trumpet. If anyone ever asks me to pick a house band for the next "Fantasia" movie, Pink Martini are getting the call.
Heck, they can put their version of Ravel's "Bolero" in there as-is. The band showcases their classical roots by tackling this composition, which is famous both for its melodies and for its occasional appearance on "most boring song ever" lists. (Me, I'd give that honor to the collective work of, ahem, Collective Soul.) Pink Martini keep things cooking, though, with great synergy and a heroic finish.
Forbes returns in fine form on the last three songs. "Children of Piraeus" continues the Mediterranean tour with a flower-child vocal, this time in Italian. There's a shiver-inducing spoken-word part that recalls that goofy Enigma song everyone knows. "Acuarela de Brazil" casts Forbes as Sinatra with Lauderdale playing Nelson Riddle. He surrounds his singer with rustling cymbals and gathering horns, and then harp and piano for the quiet opening sections, but when the big-band rumba beat kicks in you know its Martini time.
"Lullaby" closes the album with a rapturous reprise. Forbes, in a cathedral-like echo, and with just Lauderdale accompanying her, wordlessly hums and croons the melody to the title song. I'm sure I already used the word "lovely" in this review, but this graceful outro is just that again, lovely to the max.
"Sympathique" is a great album, with beautifully varied songs, inspired performances, and masterful execution. This record just *sounds* good; every instrument is sharp and clearly audible, the mix is spacious and warm, and the studio magic (e.g. the old Victrola vocal-treatment on the title
song) is always put to tasteful use.
Pink Martini swears up and down that they'll be recording a second album in early 2004, which would make six years between records. Considering how fresh "Sympathique" still sounds, I'd almost say they're rushing things. |