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Cilla Black (1943-2015)

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Cilla Black
Cilla Black, a singing coat-check girl at Liverpool's Cavern Club when the Beatles were getting their start who went on to become one of Britain's most beloved female pop singers, died on Aug. 1 at her summer home in Spain. She was 72.

Despite being produced by George Martin, managed by Brian Epstein and helped along by pals John Lennon and Paul McCartney by giving her songs, Black was virtually unknown in the States. She had only three pop hits here, and all charted high in the double-digits. Part of the problem was that Epstein's efforts were divided among several  Liverpudlian acts in the States, including Gerry and the Pacemakers. She also became known as a cover artist of American hits, which limited her trajectory.

Perhaps most important, the American post-Beatles record market was largely driven by teenage girls. Among the handful of British female pop artists who made it onto the American charts were Petula Clark, Sandie Shaw and Dusty Springfield. Two were blonde and all were more mature looking. In fact, Petula was 35 when she recorded Downtown.

By contrast, Black's voice was higher and more girlish and shrill. Nevertheless, her charm rested in her vocal edginess, her vulnerability and her passionate delivery. Black was a home girl who best expressed the British female experience—not from the perspective of girls who had it easy with boys but from those who dreamed of love and soldiered on to find it.

What many fans admired most about Black was her determination and ability to power through difficult songs. Like Dionne Warwick, she had particular success with songs by Burt Bacharach and Hal David, which were hits for her in the U.K. Several years ago during an interview, Dionne seemed to resent having her vocal style copied. “If I had coughed on 'Anyone Who Had a Heart,' Cilla would have coughed, too," she told me. “I never forgave her for that."

For the American audience, there was too much anxiety and hysteria in Black's timbre and not enough sultry warmth. American girls who bought pop records tended to gravitate more toward the street-smart Ronettes, the glamorous Supremes and Leslie Gore—a teen who appeared to be trapped in her mother's suburban attire. Instead, Black was embraced in Britain, where she came off as the girl in the rowhouse next door. There was a working-class ambiance about her, but most appealing of all was her exasperated, big-build sound. In her songs, Black often sounded like as though she had been jilted by a boy who found someone else and was singing out the pain.

What I realized early on is that to be truly appreciated, Black's voice and attack needed to be considered through a Swinging London prism. When one imagined the tone and tempo of Britain in the mid-1960s, Black's appeal there was immediate and obvious. Black represented the free spirit of young women in Britain back then—carefree, quick-witted, tom-boyish and fashion forward without a care about what people thought or how magazines told women to look. What American ears failed to grasp became identifiable to British girls. Black was the voice of their struggles, which were different from those of female teens in the States. In Britain, Black sang for good girls who respected their parents and authority figures but still wanted to be wildly independent and outrageous.

Among Black's best known songs in the States was Alfie, which was recorded for the movie's U.K. release in early 1966. Burt Bacharach, who wrote the music, wanted Black to sing the title track after a conversation with her producer, George Martin. Black at first coyly insisted that Burt come over to London and write the orchestration, conduct and play piano on the session. She was actually hoping she had set the bar too high and that Burt would balk. He didn't.

The resulting recording session became an endurance test for Black, as Burt had her sing the song over and over. When I asked Burt why he had done that during an interview at his home in 2011, he said, “Control, I guess. I've always tried to get the best performance from everyone. And sure, sometimes I've gone way too far." He also told that me in many cases, the retake wasn't even Black's fault but a flaw he had heard in the orchestra. But once the movie was slated for released in the States, United Artists wanted Cher, its popular recording artist, to sing the song at the end for the American market, and that's whose voice you hear as the end credits roll.

Unfortunately, most Americans were never exposed to the full measure of Black's superb recordings, since they weren't released here. Listening to all of them yesterday, I was reminded how foreign the sound must have been to the American market back then. Context and location matter when it comes to music, and this was true of Black. Several years ago, I was in London in the back of a cab in the rain. At one point, Black's voice came on the radio singing Work Is a Four-Letter Word. As the rain came down, Black sang eagerly about balancing work and love. That's when I realized that Cilla Black could make you think the rain (or one's personal problems) would soon end and the sky was going to clear. To this day I regret not interviewing her and telling her how much I loved her voice.

JazzWax tracks: There are dozens of Cilla Black collections out there. But do yourself a favor and spring for Cilla Black: Completely Cilla, 1963-1973 here. It features five CDs and one DVD and provides a delicate, floral trip back to London in the '60s.

JazzWax clips: Here's Black singing Anyone Who Had a Heart in 1966 at the Savoy Hotel...

 

Here's Cilla in 1968 singing Step Inside Love...

 

Here's Black in 1969 singing You'll Never Get to Heaven...

 

Here's Black recording Alfie at Abby Road's Big No. 1 studio with Burt Bacharach conducting and playing piano...

 

Here's Black on Ed Sullivan in 1965 singing September in the Rain...

 

Here's Black singing Heatwave...

 

Here's Black and Burt singing a few of his hits...

 

And here's my favorite Cilla Black recording, Is It Love?, from the jukebox movie Ferry Cross the Mercy (1965). It's a shame the clip of Black singing it in the movie has been taken down. It's stunning...

 

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This story appears courtesy of JazzWax by Marc Myers.
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