New York, 28 September 1998: Blossom Dearie was rehearsing for a concert. Renaud Machart and I were the sole witnesses to the infinite care she took for every word and note of all of her songs. After so many years, her voice was intact – a wisp of a voice, slightly tangy – with more control than ever. Among her many assets was the subtle way she had the music carry her syllables, conveying the impression of being a “singer of texts” rather than the great musician she truly was. As an exceptional pianist with a delicate touch and strong sense of swing, her harmonic language was splendid, both well informed and clear. Dearie is a vocalist with the voice of a child and the expressivity and sensuality of an accomplished woman; she moves us profoundly.
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