Some Unsung Singers and a Fella Named Connick

Jazz is an elusive and mysterious art. The obligation to spring off the solid cliff of written music into the airy space of improvisation, sustained only by the wings of harmony and rhythm, can be an extraordinarily daunting experience.

Yet its appeal for generation after generation of instrumentalists, the sheer exhilaration of that leap into a world of instant invention is undeniable.

So it’s not surprising that singers too are drawn to the experience, attracted by the possibility of looking beyond the repetitious elements of the pop music vocabulary.

The appeal, in fact, seems to be so strong that the flow of jazz vocal recordings has been increasing with each passing month. And that has to be considered a remarkable development, given that--beyond the Diana Kralls, Cassandra Wilsons and Tony Bennetts--the potential financial rewards are modest, at best.

A singer such as Rene Marie, however, has been drawn to the music for something far more important to her than material success: the opportunity to express a burning, inner creativity. It took her decades, through marriage, motherhood and divorce, into her 40s, before she could begin to reach that goal.

But the experience of the journey, combined with what appears to be a remarkably innate musicality, has resulted in astonishingly mature artistry.

“Vertigo” (* * * 1/2, Maxjazz) is the still too little-known Marie’s second release, and it is a step up from the impressive accomplishments of her first CD. This time out, the album is considerably more colored by the emotional intimacy of her live performances. The best example is a hauntingly memorable medley combining the martial Confederate strains of “Dixie” with the disturbing images of “Strange Fruit.”

There’s much more. Working with a solid ensemble that includes pianist Mulgrew Miller, saxophonist Chris Potter, bassist Robert Hurst and drummer Jeff “Tain” Watts, Marie offers a playfully sensual reading of “Surrey With the Fringe on Top”; romps through “Them There Eyes” with bass and drum accompaniment (successfully overcoming the risk of comparison with Billie Holiday); sings “I Only Have Eyes for You” over simmering Latin rhythms; duets with Potter’s bass clarinet on “It’s All Right With Me,” steering clear of the up-tempos usually associated with the tune; and winds up with a quirky look at Lennon & McCartney’s “Blackbird.” Curiously, Marie’s own title track is the only track that eludes her creative grasp.

“Turning a song inside out, taking it to the edge and back--that’s how I make it my own,” Marie writes in the CD’s liner notes. One couldn’t ask for a better capsule description of this outstanding new release. (Marie opens a six-night run at Culver City’s Jazz Bakery on Dec. 11.)

Andy Bey’s relative unfamiliarity to a wider jazz audience may well trace to his spending more than two decades (from the mid-’70s to the mid-’90s) without recording as a leader. In fact, although he has appeared frequently with the likes of Eddie Harris, Horace Silver and Max Roach, as well as his sisters, Geraldine and Salome, his recorded output, in situations in which he is front and center, has been relatively modest.

Despite his unsung status, Bey possesses one of the finest, most instantly recognizable sounds in the vocal jazz genre, its dark, embracing timbres pulling the listener irresistibly into the music. His new album, “Tuesdays in Chinatown” (* * * 1/2, N-Coded Music), brilliantly displays that sound, as well as his gripping phrasing and his idiosyncratic piano accompaniment, in a selection of tunes illustrating the range of his musical interests.

Bey sings Sting’s “Fragile” with a complete grasp of its subtle emotional currents, superbly examines two Milton Nascimento pieces (“Bridges” and “Saidas E Bandeiras”), and probes into the dark emotional subtleties of “Little Girl Blue.”

As an added attraction, he offers a wordless interpretation of Bix Beiderbecke’s “In a Mist.” There’s not a false note on the album, all of it the product of one of the jazz vocal world’s rare male musical masters.

One might argue that Harry Connick Jr., unlike Bey, has flown off in too many directions to give his career the complete, central focus required for the drive to superstardom. But he hasn’t exactly done badly as a singer, pianist or actor, so go figure.

It’s unclear whether he intended “Songs I Heard” (* * * , Columbia) as a children’s record (as the liner notes suggest), or as his take on movie songs he saw and heard as a child (as the publicity material indicates).

What really matters, though, is that the project is yet another example of his uncommon versatility--a set of vocals on songs such as “Ding, Dong, the Witch Is Dead,” “A Spoonful of Sugar” and “Over the Rainbow,” along with somewhat less familiar items such as “Maybe” (from “Annie”), “The Lonely Goatherd” (from “The Sound of Music”) and “Stay Awake” (from “Mary Poppins”) delivered with style, imagination and a wonderful feel for the interaction of lyrics and music.

That would be enough for most singers, but Connick adds his own orchestrations and arrangements for groups ranging from New Orleans small combos to big bands to string orchestras, tossing in his unique piano playing, as well. (Listen to the gorgeous re-harmonization he applies to “Over the Rainbow.”)

The result is an album filled with fun, high jinks and soul, as well as a window into the effect that this music had on Connick’s own burgeoning creativity.

San Francisco-based Kitty Margolis, like Bey, is a singer as determined to follow her own path as to explore whatever music interests her, regardless of its source. “Left Coast Life” (* * 1/2, Mad-Kat Records), for example, roves from Frank Loesser (“Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year”) and Vincent Youmans (“Without a Song”) to Tom Waits (“Take It With Me”) and Randy Newman (“Lonely at the Top”).

Margolis’ fluidly mobile style--in which she slips and slides through phrases, leaping across octaves with ease, grooving with the rhythm--adapts comfortably to the songs’ shifting demands. She captures the arch ironies of “Lonely at the Top” in a loose ragtime setting; in “Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year,” she produces a sound tinged with tenor saxophone qualities, her phrasing enhanced by the elegant guitar and cello accompaniment of Steve Erquiaga and Jamie Sieber. On some tunes--Bob Dorough’s “Devil May Care,” Cy Coleman and Carolyn Leigh’s “The Best Is Yet to Come,” her voice intermittently becomes part of boppish horn-driven passages.

The album’s only real failing is Margolis’ tendency to allow her otherwise attractive sound to become a bit abrasive, pushing instead of floating, trying to make things happen instead of simply allowing her very real talents to find their own level.

Carol Duboc’s name is even less familiar than Rene Marie’s. But she too is a talent to track. Her debut solo album, “With All That I Am” (* * 1/2, Gold Note Music), offers an impressive display of versatility: All of the tunes have been co-written by Duboc, she has assembled most of the arrangements and she sings all vocals--lead and backup.

It would be easy for this sort of album to have the feel of a songwriter’s demo. And there’s no question that singers looking for new material may well find something useful in this high-quality collection.

But the album also stands well on its own. Duboc’s singing is articulate and precise (although her voice would benefit from a broader range of color and tone), she has a good feel for urban-style jazz rhythms, and she wisely has chosen to surround herself with, among others, such first-rate players as Hubert Laws, Gerald Albright and Tony Dumas (who also wrote one of the songs). (Duboc is heard frequently in the Southland; her next scheduled appearances are Dec. 15 and 21 at the Warehouse Restaurant in Marina del Rey.)