Arbors Records ARCD 19463, CD $10, available at https://arborsrecords.com/collections/frontpage/products/tom-hook-62
"Where were you in '62?"
The number 62 always gets my attention. That's because I was born in 1962, and any mention of that year and the events that occurred instantly gets embedded in my memory, everything from Marilyn Monroe's death the day before I was born to Jamaica's independence from Britain and, not surprisingly, the embargo on Cuban cigars. My favorite film of all time is Lawrence of Arabia, which happened to win the Oscar for Best Picture of 1962. American Graffiti, the source of the tag line above, has always been special to me because it was the first movie I'd seen that was specifically set in the year of my birth.
Tom Hook contacted me a few weeks ago, asking if I'd take a listen to his new CD. He introduced himself as a pianist and singer from New Orleans, and he'd just "finished a great album with some of New Orleans' finest artists. This came right on the heels of my blog review of Matt Lemmler's Love. Lemmler's another beloved singer from the Big Easy, and I wouldn't be surprised if Tom and Matt were old friends. At any rate, I was enthusiastic in my reply to Tom—I love having direct contact with the artists because it reminds me that I'm dealing with a real, genuine human being who loves music and just wants to be heard.
When I received the CD, which was titled 62, I stopped in my tracks. Either this guy was born in 1962, like me, or he's 62 years old. As I stare into the frightening abyss that is yet another birthday, I realize it won't be long until both conditions are accurate. On the liner notes, however, Tom is quick to point out the significance of this number. Hook decided to record his "dream album," including most of the songs and singers who influenced his career. After noticing that most of this music came from roughly the same era, he quickly averaged the years of release and came up with—you guessed it—1962. "Ironically, I turned 62 years of age this year," Hook explains in the liner notes, "so it seems only logical to call this project '62.'"
Oh, and the year 1962 comes into play once again with the overall theme of these covers. "In my mind's eye, I set this album in one mythical night in 1962, when an evening in New Orleans' French Quarter could have easily included some lucky guy and gal hearing these songs." This particular note from Hook is amazingly apt. The thirteen songs here are performed with a sublime vibe that echoes a night on the town many years ago, a big night you'll remember the rest of your life. These arrangements are so flashy and fun that you'll be able to picture Hook, a dapper man in a black suit and a fedora, acting as emcee to this spirited cavalcade, maybe standing off to the side of the stage and letting all this sheer entertainment flow from the center of the stage, through the club and out into the streets.
I know the word for this. It's an old word, one I haven't thought of in many years—revue.
Hook has created a bona fide musical revue here, an extravaganza, something that was still very common in 1962. Each song presented here, from "Buona Sera" to "Come Fly With Me" to "That Old Black Magic," is presented as a singular production, with different moods played by different types of ensembles. His arsenal is full—he employs an amazing core rhythm section with guitarist Danny Caron, bassist Bobby Durham and drummer Ed Metz, and he also employs a quintet of horn players to bring that Bourbon Street flavor home. When he wants to get romantic, he has a string section at the ready—when he closes the album with a somber and reflective version of "Here's to Life," you'll think Nelson Riddle did the arrangement. He also employs a small army of featured female vocalists that adds to the flash and sparkle, as well as a medium for flirtatious banter. From these women you'll hear everything from The Andrew Sisters to China Forbes of Pink Martini to any number of doo-wop trios from rock and roll's earliest days.
What makes 62 so special, of course, is Hook. He is truly a Man of a Thousand Voices and can sound just like Belafonte or Sinatra or Armstrong or Louis Prima or Big Joe Turner, all while still sounding like Tom Hook. His Prima will make you do a double take, it's so on the money. He also does a convincing Tom Waits on "I Never talk to Strangers," which was culled from the 50 or so Waits songs Hook regularly covers. He's not just an ordinary impersonator, however, but he is trying to carry the audience to another place and time, and he's purposely trying to evoke those great singers of the past without being merely a mimic, even one who's full of nothing but respect and admiration. In most cases, Hook suggests the mannerisms with a modicum of restraint so he can stay true to his own talent.
It all comes down to the fact that Hook is a showman, a title that goes hand in hand with the word revue. While this is the type of music that begs to be witnessed live, this is also a feast for home listening since the recording captures that powerful, electric feel of a wild performance in a sparkling venue. It's not the last word in air-tight resolution, but it has plenty of audible cues that define the space. You'll know you're in a club, albeit without the cheering and clapping. While you may or may not miss that feedback you'll still be able to clearly see this man, sitting at his piano in New Orleans, giving you a night you'll never forget—a night that feels just like it happened in '62.
