Jimmy Scott

If there are no second acts in American lives, as F. Scott Fitzgerald said, for some musicians, at least there's a second take. After famed recording sessions in the late 1950s that made him immediately popular, Jimmy Scott's unique vocal style was not heard on recording for some thirty years. But, in the 1990s, Scott returned to the studio to once again record his individual style of jazz ballads and acquire a new generation of devoted fans. 

Scott's career started out all right. Like many performers of the pre-war era, he left his hometown, Cleveland, at a young age, seventeen, and traveled the “chitlin' circuit” of mainly African-American theaters that dotted the southern United States. Scott toured this circuit for years honing his singing skills in the company of performers who did everything from burlesque to Shakespeare, all set to jazz and blues.

But then, in the post-war, pop-culture hey-day of the late 50s, an unscrupulous record company owner signed Scott to an exploitative contract. Scott would not release a new recording again until 1992.

Now, at age 77, with regular tours in the U.S., Europe and Asia, he's as in-demand as any jazz singer. The high register of his voice, (the result of a hormonal deficiency called Kallman's Syndrome), exudes an old-time charisma seasoned with experience. Over the past ten years, he has sang front of an amazing roster of jazz musicians who respond, like his crowds, to his emotional richness and unique sense of phrasing.

Far from the bitterness one might expect after a 30-year detour, though, Scott's personality, like his singing, radiates warmth. He took time last weekend in his hotel room in Shinjuku to share his insights on the art and history of jazz vocals.

Your voice is so captivating. How do you get that sound?

I sang this way all my life. My mom used to say, because I was behind the beat all the time, she'd say, “catch up, boy!” until she realized that I knew what I was doing by laying back like that. She just wanted me to make the time. It's always been that way, baby.

It's behind the beat, but it's also above it and around it.

It is on time--my time. You see, being in church helped that a lot, singing them gospels, and things like that. A lot of singers go out and don't take value on all types of music. There's all kind of music going on around you. So, you learn something from it. Either you love it or you don't.

You said before that in the past many record company executives were just chasing after money?

Right, it disappoints me because show business is such a wonderful business if done right. See that sharing era, when we had those old-timers share things with us, these youngsters didn't have that. Some of them pay attention, but often they don't get into it that deep. So, I always say, there's a great dignity in show business, if it's utilized.

So, you still feel bitter about the past?

Well, I say it like this, they lost more, in a sense, than I did. Some of them were just greedy men. It was better to back off, if you don't have good people to work with.

Who did you learn most from?

The person I learned most from was Stella [Estelle Young, who Scott went on tour with in 1942]. She was a contortion dancer. She had the most beautiful body, for her age, so when she did her forms and figures, it was a beauty to look at. But, buddy, you go on her stage, and say you're playing trumpet behind her, and you hit a wrong note. She would turn around and wouldn't say one word, but she'd come right back to you, and crook her finger, and take you right down off that stage. Seen her do it a hundred times.

But now, you have great backing musicians, arrangements, tours.

You have to fight for it.

How do you pick your stuff?

I hear something and I check the lyric, so it has to have a story in it. You're supposed to be a story-teller in song. And if this story has a depth to it, or a meaning to it, then I tell that story. I like the idea of taking the lyric, and telling a story. I took John Lennon's “Jealous Guy” and I brought it down to a nice tempo.

When you put it in a slower tempo and ballad form it feels more comfortable?

Well, it's more dramatic. You're not rushing through it. You're reading a story with interest. And you learn, you learn something through it.

I saw you before and you just had the crowd in the palm of your hand. They were yours.

I grew up with that. Why? I was fortunate. I came up in an era when those experiences you shared. It was so different back then. They were interested in keeping it a good thing, instead of slutting and slumming. I've seen so many beautiful things happen out of it, seen some bad things, too. The beauty of what certain people did, you ignored the stupid little things. I wouldn't trade it for nothing.

(Originally published in The Japan Times November 2002)