McRae strips away sentiment and finds the real joke hiding inside every Coward lyric.
Carmen McRae had a gift for making you hear a song differently than you expected to. When she turned her attention to the catalog of Noël Coward, the British songwriter's urbane wit found its perfect match in her behind-the-beat phrasing and ironic way with a lyric. This album sits somewhere in the middle of her career — after she'd already established herself as one of the most influential jazz vocalists around, but still hungry to find new angles on familiar material.
What makes this set work is that McRae doesn't sentimentalize Coward's words. His songs are written with a sophistication that assumes you're smart enough to catch the joke, and she approaches them that way. She'll lay back on a phrase, let you sit with the silence, then deliver the punchline with just enough spin to make you smile. The arrangements support this sensibility — they're polished without being stiff, elegant without disappearing. You're always aware of the craft, which is exactly right for material this clever.
If you're new to McRae, this isn't the album to start with. Begin with something that shows off her range and emotional depth more directly. This one rewards you if you already know what she can do and want to hear her apply that intelligence to a specific songwriter's world. It's not her most essential work, but it's a solid entry that demonstrates why singers capable of both swing and sophistication have always been rare.