Cry Me a River

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Songscape)
Cry Me a River
Piers Ford explores how certain songs stand up
to reinterpretation by different singers
rthur Hamilton's timeless standard 'Cry Me a River' crystallises that thrilling moment when a mistreated lover finally
passes through the pain barrier and achieves a glacial
objectivity. This dish of revenge is served on ice. The time for feeling is past. The drama is in the understatement.
That, at least, is the legacy left by the song's most definitive
interpreter Julie London. Her rendition in the 1955 film The Girl
Can't Help It, and its subsequent release as a single, gave her a
major international hit. Her spare, almost laconic delivery leaves
many subsequent versions foundering on pale imitation or
misguided attempts to over-dramatise the studied sophistication of the lyric.
Like so many songwriters, Hamilton was forced to fight for the integrity of that
lyric. The song was initially offered not to London, but to her film-director first
husband Jack Webb as a possible number for Ella Fitzgerald. Webb disliked the use
of the word 'plebeian' - intrinsic to the song's maturity and surely a lyrical trick that
Cole Porter would have been proud of - but Hamilton stuck to his guns. When Ella
demurred, Arthur's old school chum Julie asked if she might sing it herself and,
sardonic in strapless satin, she sang it in the 1955 film, The Girl Can't Help It.
The 1957 recording that followed was produced by London's second husband
Bobby Troup and featured a Spartan backing from guitarist Barry Kessel and bass
player Ray Leatherwood. It was an inspired move that, according to Hamilton,
left the singer and the song totally in the clear'. He says the impact was
immediate: There was that wonderful thing the mind does when it hears
something that matters to it and it repeats the song in the head after the record
ends. Somehow, it becomes a memory.'
As he suggests, it must also be fun and satisfying to sing as, to date, there
have been more than 700 recordings of it. The impact of 'Cry Me a River' on
London's own career can hardly be underestimated. Her fortuitous request to try
the number herself resulted in one of those iconic singer/song pairings that shine
like beacons across the history of popular music.
Her contemporaries were quick to spot a good thing; nobody more than that
awesome Queen of the Blues, Dinah Washington, whose extemporisations make
the song's take on revenge sound, frankly, horny. In both the London and
Washington versions, the torch-song potential of 'Cry Me a River' is underpinned
by a neat irony. Once the song is over, you feel the torch will be flung away.
Other artists have preferred to take a more traditional torch-singer's angle and
writhe in the agonies of love gone wrong. The song can certainly take it. A
young and audacious Barbra Streisand wrung every ounce of anguish from it on
her classic first album; it's strong, angry stuff. Ironically, she would later claim an
aversion to 'victim' songs and if she ever records it again, it will be interesting to
hear the effect of life and experience on a mature interpretation.
Others have followed the belt route less effectively including, predictably,
Shirley Bassey and Elaine Paige. Alison Moyet's disappointingly overwrought
rendition didn't do justice to her estimable vocal gifts.
Its appeal hasn't been exclusively female. Ray Charles and Joe Cocker are
among the men who have found a new perspective. Cocker, in particular,
introduced a splendidly desolate sense of waste. And Aerosmith gave it the
outrageous braggadocio of heavy metal.
But ultimately, all roads lead back to Julie London. Two performers stand apart
for a respectful nod in her direction, which complements rather than diminishes
the intelligence and sensitivity behind their individual recordings. For Mari
Wilson, it proved an excellent bridge between a pop career and more
meaningful success as one of Britain's most respected and versatile vocalists. For
Diana Krall, it was further evidence of a great jazz singer at her consistent best.
As Arthur Hamilton says: 'When great singers such as Mari Wilson, Diana Krall
and Barbra Streisand sing a song, they re-experience it, and bring to it all the
underlying drives and passions of their own lives. They personalise their version
and make it their own statement. I've been constantly amazed to find new
interpretations of the song each year by new contemporary singers.'
A
Three of the best:
Julie London, The Liberty Years, Liberty
Still the coolest, after all these years
Mari Wilson, The Rhythm Romance, Select
A soulful reinvention but the stiletto is there, concealed under layers of black velvet
Diana Krall, The Look of Love, Verve
A smooth, tellingly jazz-flavoured version for the 21st century
April/May 2004
The Singer
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