I’m in Love Again

Six o’clock on a Saturday evening in May at Birdland is probably nobody’s idea of hip. But for us, and it seemed for the rest of the happy few in attendance, it was transcendent. Barbara Carroll’s set goes down for me as one of the five or so performances that changed my life.

We were there almost by accident. I had been planning an evening at the opera but, around three, my companion and I decided that — as much as I love Cosi Fan Tutte— an investment of almost four hours wasn’t in the cards. And the early show at the Vanguard was sold out. So I happened upon Ms. Carroll’s performance. I had never seen this particular jazz legend live, and so it was that we settled at our table shortly after five.

Birdland at that hour is a bit surreal. The black walls, the dim lights, the very essence of the deep, transgressive night — and sunlight peaking through the windows. It seemed almost obscene to be there before darkness. Ms. Carroll outshone the stars.

I worried as she walked onto the platform, aided by her perfectly-paired bassist, Jay Leonhart, whether she would make it to the keyboard. Ms. Carroll is stunningly beautiful, elegant, frail, and 89 years old. She steadied herself at the piano, turned to the audience, and beamed the smile that was to come back repeatedly through the evening. Trembling slightly, she sat.

Her opening chords obliterated any doubt. As she began her sonata -like rendition of the deeply meaningful, “Let’s Face the Music,” I knew we were in for something special. And when, as she hit her groove several measures later, she bopped the keyboard with that magnificent smile, I began uncontrollably to grin and, except for those few moments where I was truly overcome, couldn’t stop.

What made this performance so special? Obviously, one doesn’t often see an 89 year old performing as if she were at the top of her game. But she is. Her chops are just fine, thank you, whether introducing contrapuntal Bach lines into a number or slipping in a phrase or two from a Gershwin prelude, from barrel rolls to dancing arpeggios — Ms. Carroll plays. That would have been enough. But there was so much more. As my erstwhile companion, whose musical taste and human insight I judge to be impeccable, put it: “She knows everything.”

Ms.Carroll does know everything. At least everything that matters. From her sexy, sly, and provocative come-on, Bart Howard’s, “You Are Not My First Love,” to her utterly convincing rendition of Cy Coleman and Peggy Lee’s, “I’m in Love Again,” Ms. Carroll yielded nothing to age, and everything to talent, experience, and her deep knowledge of what it is truly to be human. “Nothing bothers me now, I enjoy everything,” she sang, looking out at us smiling, and we knew the truth of it.

She sang to each of us. She made me feel as if there was nobody in the house but me. And, what she was showing us, was how to live. Her song selection was brilliant, each one progressing through a marvelous story of life. Eleanor Roosevelt told us that while a beautiful young person is an accident of nature, a beautiful old person is a work of art. Ms. Carroll is beauty, simpliciter. And, last night, I fell in love with her.

She concluded the formal set with Stephen Sondheim’s “Old Friends.” I have to confess that my eyes weren’t dry at that point. When I went to thank her after the performance, she took my hands in hers, looked at me, waited as if she had all the time in the world. The only words I could manage, were ‘thank you.” And she gave me that world-embracing smile.

Who is like Barbara Carroll? As Sondheim wrote, “damn few.”