Alex Pangman’s new CD, titled 33, begins at speeding ticket tempo with I Found a New Baby and it sits comfortably in memories of the instrumental 1937 Teddy Wilson Orchestra recording. After all, Pangman’s band, the Alleycats, are an ace jazz unit whose irresistible swing, catchy idiosyncratic solos, and rhythmic daring are all effortless, musically fresh, and cause for celebration no matter where you hang your hat musically.
These guys constantly play rhythms against the prevailing rhythm, solo with an unsettling knack for aptness, and on repeated listens sound absolutely new each time.
Yet, albeit the musical riches from her instrumental friends, this is without question Pangman’s recording, a splendid collection of eleven vocals, ten songs of which were popular in 1933, and, in her idiom of choice, Canada’s Sweetheart of Swing is as good as this music gets. The stylists who inspired her would be pleased since, if she is definitely one of them, she is also a stylist who is distinctly her own person. She doesn’t simply sing a style of long ago; she lives the style and, just like her band, is repeatedly a first time experience of songs very familiar or unknown. As you might guess, without fail, she sings with the smarts of an instrumentalist.
Pangman’s musical personality is one of a delicious ambiguity, one that incorporates both womanly sophistication and a sexually delighted girlishness, both spiked with hints of unspoken intimacy that, teasingly, she won’t quite reveal. A caressed memory here, a sassy suggestion of womanly savvy there, then a brief peek at sensuality, then a dose of naughty innocence, then a burst of good-natured ecstasy -these all suggest past and present pleasures she has known. Nothing blatant here, however, just personal magic that is comfortable in subtlety.
Also, the singer’s heart acts as a guiding influence in her voice, with its longing and resolution and wistful sighs, but who is she, this singer whose every word implies a story? We almost know, almost, and that is part of Pangman’s persona’s magic. We have joy, we have life’s bruises, but the singer maintains an air of modest mystery that engages us without fail. But the key to the singer’s heart is, above all, the prevailing air of gratitude for love in her voice. For Pangman, love is the place to be, perhaps the only place in the world, and she can’t help telling us so.
It’s hard to nail tonal values in overdrive tempo, but Pangman does so in her snappy account of I Found a New Baby. Her diction in overdrive seems crazy with joy. In Ain’t Cha Glad, the slightly nasal echo in her voice, used discreetly, is full of friendly charm that welcomes the listener. In A Hundred Years From Now, her solidly declarative stance is romantically packaged in reassuring vocal caresses as she displays, as always, an astonishing vocal palette. To sing of love with such grateful enthusiasm and gentle savvy, one must know the turf well and Pangman certainly suggests she does in Thanks. Here her elongated, and experience-revealing phrases give touching results.
In Honeysuckle Rose, Pangman takes an imaginative instrumentalist’s liberties with phrasing and certainly sounds like there’s no place on earth she’d rather be than in this Waller classic. It’s Calypso country with the cozy, peppy sexiness of Happy as the Day is Long and then Shine, another classic. Here we have a fast toe-tapping beat that Pangman inhabits with ease, since an enthusiastic joie de vivre is in her bones –and I dare you not to get up and dance. I Surrender Dear shows Pangman at her narrative best, infusing each phrase with deeply felt memory, as does duet partner Ron Sexsmith whose crooning feels very human, very natural, and deeply rooted. We have a very evocative duo in this one.
As Lovely Lovers Do opens with a suggestive reedy tenor sax and in turn shows Pangman in voice that, as always, speaks directly with undeniable sincerity to the listener, this time through a romantic partner implied in the lyrics. This approach puts the singer up close, which makes sense since she penned the song. Hummin’ to Myself shows Pangman again making the music a second nature as she hits the beat assertively or stretches out over it, chat-singing or scat-singing as the music tells her to do.
A breathy urgency informs You Brought a New Kind of Love which creates a musical process of realization of love’s joys. Denzal Sinclaire, with his happily satisfied voice that almost smiles, makes an ideal duet partner, and we as listeners feel good about the world where love like this has a chance. Indeed, the two duets on this disc make one wish for more Pangman and partner recordings, since the lady in question does interesting relationships when vocally mated.
The reasons Alex Pangman belongs among her musical mentors -on record, of course, since she’s only thirty-three- are manifold. She has thoroughly internalized an encyclopedia of idiomatic resources that allow her to take whatever chances she wants musically and to do so in service of the character singing and her romantic reality. Her performances, detailed as they are in musical and psychological touches that constantly pop out and delight, always suggest a depth of musicality in reserve.
Among so much else, Pangman offers a solid and subtly shaped tone and refreshingly playful phrasing. Her knack for delicately concealed innuendo might one day get her arrested or be great stuff for a bio, but here it suggests, over and over, a shared experience to be treasured in quiet moments together. She is a discriminating singer with an inherent sense of style that leads her to say just enough. Her enthusiasm is most infectious and puts her three steps ahead of the listener who, in turn, is always just keeping up, always glad to be along for the ride.
Pangman, through declaration and implication, is also a natural storyteller. In fact, one listener told me that each song Pangman sings on this disc is like an invitation to a journey of some kind. She shapes each word into its most affecting emotional value and always implies that human narrative guides her phrasing. Her ability to inhabit lyrics as their emotional vehicle makes her use of old lyrics decidedly present tense.
Pangman can move with uncanny ease from conversational whisper to elegant vibrato to girlish enthusiasm with a barely suppressed squeal of happiness, and we always sense some new level of personality in her. She achieves character through spontaneous use of idiomatic devices that seem not at all contrived but as natural as breathing, for this is a recording that is genuinely alive to the max. It’s a recording that invites us to come along and celebrate, with our hearts, the moon and stars and that very special love we are so lucky to have for as long as time will allow.