Nat King Cole (1919-1965)
I almost began this piece by saying, that if Nat King Cole is remembered at all today, it is probably as Natalie Cole's father. But, then I realized that probably no one under the age of thirty would know who Natalie Cole is either. Be that as it may, Natalie Cole's father was an African-American band leader of the thirties and forties who was gradually able to make the transition to a career as a featured performer in his own right, primarily as a singer of pop tunes.
He did it by following in the footsteps of Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and a host of other male recording artists who were able to exploit the huge changes in the way people listened to music, coinciding with progressive improvements made to the modern microphone. Prior to that, singers developed fan bases by performing concerts and appearing in shows that almost always required them to project their voices, from the bottom of their diaphragms, forcefully enough to be heard from highest balconies. The premium was on strength, volubility and a little something called, "pep". Al Jolson, Eddie Cantor, George Jessel and a slew of singers who had made their way through vaudeville and the Broadway stage, tended to dominate the field until just about the end of the 1920s.
Then, Bing Crosby came along and with a series of recordings made with the Paul Whiteman band, showed how a singer could adapt a more intimate, romantic style by exploiting the microphone's capacity to make every expulsion of a singer's breath, no matter how nuanced, instantly audible to an audience - including those sitting alone at home and listening on the radio. The style quickly became known as "crooning", a compound of the words "crying" and "mooning" (to "moon" over someone was to have a crush on them, as in, "That lovesick fella's really mooning over that girl.")
Nat King Cole came along just as crooning had become firmly established as the standard singing style of the day, if you intended to reach female audiences and beyond. I'm convinced that part of his great success by the end of World War Two lie in the fact that many people didn't realize he was Black. His voice was as smooth as satin. He enunciated his words with precision. There was no mistaking him for Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong or Cab Calloway or even Billy Eckstine - he being the closest as a rival.
Then, in 1957 1954 NBC decided to gamble on having Cole host his own weekly television show. He would be the first African American to do so. This was at the height of popularity for the variety show, an extension of vaudeville. As it was first transformed by radio, it would again be transformed by television as American audiences were able, for the first time, to enjoy seeing as well as hearing the popular entertainers of the day from the comfort of their own homes.
"The Nat King Cole Show" proved to be very popular and held its own in the ratings for an entire year, but, was eventually cancelled because timid, white corporations would not risk alienating southern racists by sponsoring the program. Cole, however, continued to churn out hit songs until the end of his life in 1965. He was only 46.
I say this all as prelude to the fact that Mom was one of Nat King Cole's biggest fans. I still remember the day she arrived in our apartment in Brooklyn, heart-broken at the news reported in the afternoon papers (when New York had afternoon papers) that the singer had been diagnosed with cancer.
On Monday, I visited Mom and was able to download most of a BBC special that was hosted by Cole in 1962. The fidelity of the sound was magnificent. Her eyes opened almost immediately as his voice drifted softly into her good ear from across the pillow where I had placed my kindle. Soon, she was assuming "the pose", the the finger tips of one hand to her cheek, signifying that she was amidst "company" and partaking of an event, even though she couldn't actually see what it was.
Every once in a while I could see her lips movinng and I would move in close and tell her my name and ask how she was doing?
"All right for my age.", came one particular answer.
At another point, she asked whether I had eaten supper.
"Yes, Ma'am." I said, sort of truthily.
Her words started coming in between bouts of reflux, leading me to respond each time by wiping the thick sputum from her lips. She would grimace each time I did so, as I'm sure it necessitated some of it getting forced back into her mouth where it tasted bitter and sour on her tongue.
She was able to understand that my cousin Reva had said, "Hello" and was able to repeat that as well as the fact that "Reva is Down Home." A year or two ago this would have led to a conversation about where exactly we were speaking from, right now. But, the continual acid reflux seemed to make her flag a little faster and she was back resuming the pose.
At one point, a PA came in to change the plastic bag for her feeding. It was a female, the first I have seen attending Mom in a long time. Maybe, Mom will not object so mmuch when she reaches "down there" to connect her tube. Either way, I decided to leave before the PA returned.
The show was nearly over as I began saying my goodbyes, once to say I was getting ready to go, another to wish Mom a good night, and a third to plant a kiss on her forehead.
He did it by following in the footsteps of Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and a host of other male recording artists who were able to exploit the huge changes in the way people listened to music, coinciding with progressive improvements made to the modern microphone. Prior to that, singers developed fan bases by performing concerts and appearing in shows that almost always required them to project their voices, from the bottom of their diaphragms, forcefully enough to be heard from highest balconies. The premium was on strength, volubility and a little something called, "pep". Al Jolson, Eddie Cantor, George Jessel and a slew of singers who had made their way through vaudeville and the Broadway stage, tended to dominate the field until just about the end of the 1920s.
Then, Bing Crosby came along and with a series of recordings made with the Paul Whiteman band, showed how a singer could adapt a more intimate, romantic style by exploiting the microphone's capacity to make every expulsion of a singer's breath, no matter how nuanced, instantly audible to an audience - including those sitting alone at home and listening on the radio. The style quickly became known as "crooning", a compound of the words "crying" and "mooning" (to "moon" over someone was to have a crush on them, as in, "That lovesick fella's really mooning over that girl.")
Nat King Cole came along just as crooning had become firmly established as the standard singing style of the day, if you intended to reach female audiences and beyond. I'm convinced that part of his great success by the end of World War Two lie in the fact that many people didn't realize he was Black. His voice was as smooth as satin. He enunciated his words with precision. There was no mistaking him for Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong or Cab Calloway or even Billy Eckstine - he being the closest as a rival.
Then, in 1957 1954 NBC decided to gamble on having Cole host his own weekly television show. He would be the first African American to do so. This was at the height of popularity for the variety show, an extension of vaudeville. As it was first transformed by radio, it would again be transformed by television as American audiences were able, for the first time, to enjoy seeing as well as hearing the popular entertainers of the day from the comfort of their own homes.
"The Nat King Cole Show" proved to be very popular and held its own in the ratings for an entire year, but, was eventually cancelled because timid, white corporations would not risk alienating southern racists by sponsoring the program. Cole, however, continued to churn out hit songs until the end of his life in 1965. He was only 46.
I say this all as prelude to the fact that Mom was one of Nat King Cole's biggest fans. I still remember the day she arrived in our apartment in Brooklyn, heart-broken at the news reported in the afternoon papers (when New York had afternoon papers) that the singer had been diagnosed with cancer.
On Monday, I visited Mom and was able to download most of a BBC special that was hosted by Cole in 1962. The fidelity of the sound was magnificent. Her eyes opened almost immediately as his voice drifted softly into her good ear from across the pillow where I had placed my kindle. Soon, she was assuming "the pose", the the finger tips of one hand to her cheek, signifying that she was amidst "company" and partaking of an event, even though she couldn't actually see what it was.
Every once in a while I could see her lips movinng and I would move in close and tell her my name and ask how she was doing?
"All right for my age.", came one particular answer.
At another point, she asked whether I had eaten supper.
"Yes, Ma'am." I said, sort of truthily.
Her words started coming in between bouts of reflux, leading me to respond each time by wiping the thick sputum from her lips. She would grimace each time I did so, as I'm sure it necessitated some of it getting forced back into her mouth where it tasted bitter and sour on her tongue.
She was able to understand that my cousin Reva had said, "Hello" and was able to repeat that as well as the fact that "Reva is Down Home." A year or two ago this would have led to a conversation about where exactly we were speaking from, right now. But, the continual acid reflux seemed to make her flag a little faster and she was back resuming the pose.
At one point, a PA came in to change the plastic bag for her feeding. It was a female, the first I have seen attending Mom in a long time. Maybe, Mom will not object so mmuch when she reaches "down there" to connect her tube. Either way, I decided to leave before the PA returned.
The show was nearly over as I began saying my goodbyes, once to say I was getting ready to go, another to wish Mom a good night, and a third to plant a kiss on her forehead.
Click to view