The Magic Lady

The Greatest Popular Singer in America may be a middle-aged woman whose name will draw a blank stare from faithful juke-box feeders: Mabel Mercer.

Make no mistake: she's not spectacular. She won't blast you off the bar stool, dazzle you with trumpet tones, titillate you with tricky technique. In fact, you may not even appreciate her the first time around. Because, like many of life's good things (Scotch, olives, Roquefort cheese), her subtle brand of singing is an acquired taste.

It is a little surprising, then, to discover that Miss Mercer is considered the Kohinoor of interpreters of luscious love lyrics by such spellbinders as Frank Sinatra, Kay Starr, Nat Cole, Peggy Lee and Margaret Whiting–to mention just a few. When Earl Wilson recently reported that Joe DiMaggio and his former bride were seen clutching moist hands in a smart, upstairs boite on New York's East Side, odds on the pair's eventual reconciliation shot up like a December sales chart on Christmas tree ornaments. It wasn't the handholding or the heady locale that impressed the romance touters–they simply had proper respect for the misty magic doled out by Mabel Mercer, then featured vocalist at the Byline Room.

Today, Mabel spins her special web six nights a week at another New York bistro called The Pin-Up Club. (She was forced to leave the Byline Room because of what some people refer to as an Act of God–the place burned to the ground–but what others insist was the direct result of the warmth generated by Mabel's intimate interpretations.) She doesn't arrive at work until sometime after eleven, an arrangement that gives her plenty of opportunity to dine with friends and attend the theatre first. At the club, in a back room entered through swinging doors with a plaque stating simply "Mabel Mercer Room," she chats with customers for a while; then, excusing herself, she'll move to a leather armchair in front of the piano. There she'll sit, her hands folded in her lap, a single, soft spotlight playing on her sensitive face; the pianist will pick out a quiet intro; and Mabel will sing. Then you discover just what magic the lady has.

For a little while, as the shadows move over the darkened room, you are no longer a part of the present. You remember what it's like to walk through Central Park with a girl in the autumn rain; you remember what it is to be in love and be loved, to have a girl and to lose her. There is no vocalist around who can translate these feelings into quiet reality as well as Mabel. The song is hers, but the sentiment becomes your own, and as she sings a love lyric by Cole Porter these seem to be the very words you would use to express your state of heart to the girl sitting next to you. And funny, when you squeeze her hand, your companion seems convinced that you are saying these wonderful things, too. Some very practiced Don Juans have discovered with delight the effect that this can have on even relatively unimpassioned young ladies. The Mercer magic can be well-nigh irresistible.

Mabel's special style has earned her the soubriquet of "The Great Catalyst"–for she supplies the strange chemistry (Larry Hart called it "that unfelt clasp of hand") that turns a guy and a girl (continued on page 47)Magic Lady(continued from page 11) toward each other in the darkness. She might be breathing new life into a strangely forgotten song (Looking at You) or speaking eloquently of a new relationship (We Have Nothing To Remember So Far, Maybe It's Just for a Day). She may be spelling out the tragic end of a love affair (Glad To Be Unhappy, Nobody's Heart) but whatever she sings, she lets the song create the impact on the listener, and the impact is haunting, unforgettable.

Mabel is known as a "composer's singer." Her phrasing and the expressions mirrored on her face lend emphasis to the lyric–they never detract from it. She has the taste and the talent to pick for her repertoire only those tunes with honest merit: the literate, musically meaningful creations of Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hart, Jerome Kern, the Gershwins, Kurt Weill, Dietz and Schwartz. These she sings straight and simple in a tweed-and-taffeta contralto, injecting no phoney "personality" or gimmicks, for Mabel believes in The Song above all. It is no accident that While We're Young, End of a Love Affair and a host of other good things were written especially for Mabel, and dedicated to her with great affection. Alec Wilder fondly refers to her as "... the guardian of the tenuous dreams created by the writers of songs."

If you have never heard of Mabel Mercer, it is at least partly her own fault. She's successful in spite of herself. She delights in a static routine and steadfastly refuses to "get around" to exploit her talent. Her engagement at the Byline Room was in its sixth remarkably unpublicized year when the place burned. Her previous New York appearance was in its seventh year when the club closed because the building was being torn down. It takes some great calamity like these to transfer Mercer to a new setting, but her devoted following would doubtless tag along to Tanganyika, or even Texas, just to hear Mabel's magnificent vocal artistry.

The single exception to her rule about staying in the same place gives some idea of the devotion of the cult that worships Mabel. This writer brought her to Chicago last year for a single evening appearance at the Blue Angel. She packed that night club with over eight hundred turned away at the door. This, mind you, in a city where she had never appeared before, on a Sunday, normally the deadest night in the night club week, and with an admission charge of $5.50. No funny-hat comics, no chorus line, no party gee-gaws. Just Mabel. She came as a favor to a friend and left a score of club owners weeping because she would consider nothing so commercial as an extended return engagement.

Mabel Mercer was born in Stafford-shire, England, the product of a thoroughly theatrical family. After seasoning in English musical comedies, she took up residence in Paris and developed the intimate, interpretive style for which (concluded on page 60)Magic Lady(continued from page 47) she's known today. Mercer became the attraction at the Paris club operated by the fabulous American, Bricktop. Her decision to come to the U.S. in 1938 ended a typical long run of over ten years, a run that added a wealth of French goodies to her repertoire.

Though most of her fans have become acquainted with Mabel through her club appearances, many of her most devoted admirers have heard her only on records. Available on the Atlantic label are four excellent LPs that exhibit Mabel's sentimental touch with Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and the like (After You, Remind Me, Hello Young Lovers), as well as some wonderful material by little known composers who Mabel feels have the stature of the big names. The range of moods in these tunes runs from the intensely romantic to the cynical, the bittersweet, satirical, deliciously comic and the sometimes poignant. The contention of many–that Mercer had to be seen to be appreciated–was blasted by the overwhelming success of these recordings.

A remarkable tribute was paid to Mabel by an exponent of quite a different field of music. Gian-Carlo Menotti, the operatic composer, guaranteed Mabel a measure of immortality by making a Mercer recording an essential prop for his opera, The Consul. Her wonderful voice gives vent to a light French ballad from off-stage at the opening of Act I. No matter where in the world The Consul is performed, Mabel Mercer is, in effect, always in the cast. This peculiar sort of ubiquity gives rise to letters from fans saying things like, "Heard you at La Scala last night. You were wonderful."

But let an old tiger with a lot of taste sing the final stanza in this paean of praise. Dave Garroway, who introduced Sarah Vaughan to the public and is well known for his close association with jazz, says it like this: "Mabel is the greatest storyteller in the business today. The old, old story becomes fresh and alive night after night, and fires the young part of each old heart. Not to have heard Mabel sing is to be a little poor in life."

We can't top that.