The Songbirds Archives

GRP’s issue of The Very Thought Of You is a welcome and long-awaited event for those who care about American popular singing. It serves as a well-considered sampler of Southern’s inspired work for the Decca label, and, one hopes, will provide new admirers for a unique singer who has had little public attention since her retirement in the early 1960s.

Jeri Southern (1915-1991), was a highly individual and somewhat enigmatic figure in the world of popular music and jazz of the 1950s. Her recorded work has not, until recently, fared well in the universe of compact disc reissues. Early in the CD revolution, a Japanese MCA compilation appeared but briefly; her three uneven Roulette outings have made their way back into circulation in several different forms; and recently, her two final recordings for Capitol have been put forth on an English "two-fer."

Yet, of her entire canon of recordings (ten LPs, an early and rare 78, a number of singles, and a recent English collection of non-studio performances), it is the six Decca LPs that display the very best of Jeri Southern, before personal and professional difficulties began to be evidenced in her work. And it is just this material that has had Southern fans the world over wringing their hands in worry that "the Decca stuff" might never see the digital light of day.

Blessedly, in the last two years, the situation has brightened immensely. MCA UK has given us two "two-fers," with a third rumored to be on its way. And now, GRP has released in the United States the subject of this review.

The Very Thought of You is as elegant an introduction to a remarkable singer’s work as one could ask. Glowingly remastered (Decca’s historically bad LP pressings often camouflaged first-rate audio quality), the sound is generally as silken as Southern’s voice. Co-produced by the veteran jazz writer, Orrin Keepnews, and Southern’s daughter, Kathryn King – herself a well regarded record producer – the 21-track disc is comprised of material chosen knowledgeably and lovingly.

In addition, at a time when "liner notes" are increasingly skimpy, poorly conceived, or altogether absent, this release provides three fine offerings: a rumination on the music world of the day by Keepnews; a reminiscence of Jeri Southern by her friend, jazz-writer and lyricist Gene Lees; and best of all, a touching tribute to her mother from King. These notes offer a compelling portrait of a profoundly intelligent, gifted musician who was ill-equipped, in both temperament and inclination, for the demands of a career in show business.

Born Genevieve Haring, in Royal Nebraska, Southern initially pursued a career as a classical pianist and singer, until falling under the sway of jazz as a student at the University of Nebraska. She made her debut as a solo pianist at an Omaha hotel in 1944. By the late 1940s she had become a singer-pianist, and attracted much attention in Chicago.

In 1951, she was signed to Decca. Clearly the intent was to build her as a commercial singing attraction, and many of the early singles (compiled in Southern’s first Decca LP), were clearly targeted at jukebox and radio airplay. Decca, however, much like Capitol Records, never quite got the hang of producing true "lowest common denominator" pop novelties in the manner "best" exemplified by producer Mitch Miller at Columbia Records.

Subsequently, the song You Better Go Now, Southern’s initial release and an instant hit, was an unlikely choice for catapulting a new talent to the record-sales charts. Sole surviving song from the modestly successful revue, New Faces of 1936, the song endured mainly through the efforts of Mabel Mercer and Billie Holiday, who had recorded it in 1938 and 1942, respectively.

The six 12" albums from which this CD is drawn (at least two were issued first as 10" records, then expanded for re-release), were distinct from each other in choice of background accompaniment (two with Southern and a trio, three with full orchestra, and one with bright band arrangements by Ralph Burns). The choice of song material on all of these was exceptional, spanning the best offerings of Tin Pan Alley, Broadway and Hollywood.

The Very Thought of You, for whatever reason, focuses somewhat on the more familiar material Southern recorded, although the use of such a term is relative. Not present are some of the little known gems and, occasionally, flat-out obscure songs Southern chose and (remarkably) was allowed to record. But a small quibble indeed. We can be grateful for the inclusion of Southern’s delicious version of An Occasional Man, not originally released in long-playing form. Every song on this collection is splendid within itself, and, the Fates and MCA UK willing, the remaining two Decca LPs will show up as a two-fer, so that we’ll finally have her entire LP oeuvre on CD.

What is it that sets Jeri Southern apart from her peers of the time? A number of singers were recording very good songs, and singing them well, although most of the singers with repertoires of Southern’s caliber were not on major labels. Betty Bennett, Barbara Lea, Lucy Reed, and some others, were "niche" singers, on smaller, jazz-oriented labels, and were certainly not expecting to be packaged and promoted as national "star" acts.

Perhaps Jo Stafford, on Capitol and Columbia, comes closest, yet Stafford suffered through the second and third-rate material she was periodically asked to do with distinctly more grace than Southern. A number of Southern’s "pop" singles find her singing with undisguised boredom and disdain, which cannot have endeared her to the label’s Artists and Repertoire staff, and certainly deterred her commercial material from leaping to the charts.

Southern was, by all reports (and as clearly demonstrated in her singing), a woman of great intellect. This is hardly to suggest that her peers were not, but Southern consistently let it show. Doris Day, for example, could sing When I Fall in Love to great effect, sweetly and wistfully coasting over the surface of a not-very-profound song. Southern sounds equally sweet and wistful... but something’s different. It’s as though she gave the matter some thought, and her internal response to When I Fall in Love was, "Maybe I won’t." The song may have been little more than cotton candy... but Southern found a slightly "off" flavor. It’s a compelling characteristic of the majority of her work.

There’s something else about Southern that was different. To risk generalization, most singers, good, bad, or indifferent, feel compelled to sing. By most accounts, Southern began singing for practical reasons: It made her more employable, and paid better money than simply being a piano-player in a club. By the late 1940s, she had a snowballing career, and a young daughter to raise, so sing she did. And she brought to her singing every ounce of hard work, craft, and respect for quality music that she had within her.

Rarely, however, does she sound as though she’s having much fun. (Certain exceptions proving the rule – much of the Ralph Burns session is uncharacteristically light-hearted.) As a result, even up-tempo, fairly breezy numbers move under a slight cloud of ambivalence. Never does she "sell" either the song or herself. There’s a sense of dignity and seriousness to her work which must have been utterly baffling to all those club owners and show-biz entrepreneurs expecting just another big blond girl singer.

Yet, the public seemed to "get it." As many record collectors can vouch, Southern’s Decca LPs are not all common on the used market, and are oft-times very tellingly tired and worn.

After her contract with Decca ended, Southern moved to Roulette. The resulting three LPs should, perhaps, have been better than they are; a typical collection of first-rate and not overly familiar songs; slightly more sophisticated orchestral arrangers than she’d had at Decca (in this case, Marty Paich and Lennie Hayton); and another trio setting (with Johnny Smith). Alas, the silkiness of voice and approach is growing a little forced, and the Johnny Smith album finds Southern sounding as if she were under heavy sedation. Her final two Capitol records fared a little better, but that label was always noted for providing a nurturing and musical environment for its artists.

Things were clearly going wrong for Southern. Never noted for being a particularly enthralling "stand-up" performer, the trade publications toward the end of her career were reporting, with disturbing frequency, professional disquiet and interrupted nightclub engagements due to "nervous collapse."

In 1962, she packed it in, leading a relatively secluded life, taking the occasional student (singers Charlie Cochran and Joan Steele among them). After a fairly tumultuous personal life on the road, she settled into a comfortable relationship with the legendary Hollywood producer, Hugo Friedhoffer. In the 1970s, pop-poet Rod McKuen tried, to no avail, to bring her back into the studio under the auspices of his Stanyan label.

Southern died in 1991, one day short of her 65^th birthday. This release is a fine tribute to a brief but unforgettable career in American Popular Music.

Jeri Southern tribute page

GRP Records / Verve Music Group

Read the liner notes