JAZZ REVIEW : A Musical Tribute to Leonard Feather

Friends and family of Leonard Feather gathered at UCLA’s Schoenberg Hall on Monday night to celebrate the eminent music journalist’s life in jazz.

The memorial was short on testimonials and long on music. The inherently modest Feather would surely have liked that. And, equally fitting, the performers all had close professional and personal associations with Feather, who died Sept. 22 at age 80.

The program was hosted by KLON disc jockey Chuck Niles and included expressions of affection from Quincy Jones, Gerald Wilson and Benny Carter, as well as a taped message from George Shearing.

But it was the brief, powerful performances that best recalled Feather, who always preferred to put the music first.

Sue Raney, singing with pianist Alan Broadbent, provided one of the more unusual moments with a warm reading of “The Heart You Stole From Me,” a pop ballad written by Feather in the ‘30s. Pianist Gerald Wiggins, bassist John Clayton and drummer Sherman Ferguson followed with “My Buddy.”

Dick Hyman also performed Feather music--three quirky piano pieces (one, interestingly, in 5/4 meter) written in the late ‘50s for an instrumental jazz album. Toshiko Akiyoshi, who flew in from New York specifically to perform at the memorial, added a dark, somber rendering of her own “Farewell.”

The evening’s most dramatic moment arrived when Peggy Lee took the stage, in her wheelchair, to honor both Feather and his wife, Jane, who once was Lee’s roommate. Looking a bit frail, Lee sounded somewhat shaky as she began the initial phrases of “The Folks Who Live on the Hill.” Gathering strength as she continued, still singing with one of the unique vocal timbres in jazz, she finished to a hushed pause of silent sharing, followed by a roar of applause.

Perhaps appropriately, since Feather composed a large number of blues songs, the program concluded with a typically exuberant set of tunes from Joe Williams. Williams started with a delightful, gender-switched version of Feather’s well-known “Evil Gal Blues” (“Evil Man Blues” in this case). But it was his second number, “The Very Thought of You,” sung with a gorgeous, a cappella verse, that once again offered convincing testimony that he is probably the finest male singer in jazz today.

It was the kind of event that Feather would very likely have given a rave review. But, best of all, it was the perfect way to admire his accomplishments and respect his memory.