Ella

Here to Stay: The Triumph of Ella Fitzgerald
by Misha Berson

In 1934, a homeless, nearly destitute teenager entered her name in a lottery for the popular talent contest at Harlem's Apollo Theatre.

When her name was picked, she at first planned to go onstage and do what she loved best: dance. But at the rehearsal for the show, she learned a well-known dance team, The Edwards Sisters, was also on the bill. Her rivals dressed in sequins; she had only ill-fitting second-hand clothes and men's shoes to wear.

So the show business neophyte worked up the courage to sing instead. And on Nov. 21, 1934 a young, shabby, very nervous Ella Fitzgerald sang her first public notes. In an innately sweet, swinging, girlish voice, she delivered two tunes made famous by pop vocalist Connee Boswell: "The Object of My Affection" and "Judy."

This true story ends with Ella winning first prize at the Apollo, and scoring an audition with famed big band leader Fletcher Henderson.

It's quite the Cinderella fable. But it wasn't just magic, luck or even talent that would transform this gawky adolescent born out of wedlock in Newport News, Virginia, this feisty runaway from a brutal reform school where she was sent after her mother's death, into a jazz legend.

Pluck, determination and endurance also fueled Ella Fitzgerald's career. And her sublime artistry left us with a rich trove of recordings no popular singer (and precious few instrumentalists) has ever matched in breadth or lasting appeal.

The Ella Fitzgerald most of us know today is the one we hear on radios, I-Pods, and in restaurants: the 1950s and '60s jazz thrush in her velvet-voiced prime. This Ella had a voice like the smoothest five-star French cognac, which caressed ballads by the Gershwins, Cole Porter, Harold Arlen, Duke Ellington and other songsmiths, in a series of classic "songbook" albums. This Ella had impeccable diction, sublime phrasing, an unshakeable sense of swing, and the improvisational chops of a virtuoso sax player.

Periodically, Ella's critics have engaged in the absurd exercise of measuring her against such singers as Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan and Peggy Lee, and finding her blander and less emotive than her peers.

What they miss is the subtle but deep, indigo well of bluesy feeling beneath the surface of her seamless sound. Ella did not need to dramatize songs to move listeners. She did so musically, with exquisite sonic tenderness.

A dedicated musician, she perfected her technique over several career phases. Though she failed to impress Fletcher Henderson in that 1934 audition, Ella was soon hired to sing with drummer Chick Webb's dance band at a salary of $12.50 a week.

Webb became her legal guardian (so she could work as a minor) and musical tutor. He gave her invaluable on-the-job training, encouraging her to approach singing as an instrumentalist. She soon gained the poise and confidence to win over discerning crowds at such hot venues as Harlem's Savoy Ballroom.

Ella's early records with the Chick Webb Band (now readily available) capture her light, airy '30s sound on ballads like "My Melancholy Baby" and such up-tempo signature tunes as the jazzed-up nursery rhyme, "A-Tisket, A-Tasket."

In 1937, Ella won the first of many honors as the top female vocalist in the Down Beat Magazine poll. And in 1939, after Webb's sudden death, she took over her mentor's band - a bold step for a shy 20-year old.

With the band, and later on her own, Ella's star ascended rapidly in the early 1940s. Her career stalled during World War II, like that of many musicians. But she kept growing musically by working with such jazz giants as Duke Ellington and be-bop prince Dizzy Gillespie. And she perfected her gift for scatting, the style of wordless jazz vocal improvisation pioneered by her idol Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong.

In the 1950s the swing era began to phase out, and star singers began to dominate the pop charts. Like her fan Frank Sinatra, Ella prospered. Despite ongoing racial segregation, she was among the few black entertainers to appear often on top TV variety shows. And thanks to her undeniable talent and warm, joyous stage presence, the heavy-set, broad-featured vocalist defied the unspoken rule that "chick singers" had to be svelte glamour girls.

In the mid-1950s, guided by manager Norman Granz, Ella began recording her great series of songbooks by America's leading popular composers. The first, "The Cole Porter Songbook," sold 100,000 within a month of its 1956 release - a huge tally at that time.

But Ella's discography from the '50s onward was prolific and varied. Along with the songbooks, she recorded such gems as "Ella and Louis," a marvelous set of duets with Satchmo. And in the '60s, the limpid beauty and fluid flexibility of her voice undiminished,

she committed to vinyl Bossa Nova tunes, modern pop hits and such memorable live concert sessions as "Ella in Berlin" - along with the terrific holiday disc, "Ella Wishes You a Swinging Christmas."

By the 1970s, decades of overwork, constant travel and excess weight began to take a toll on Ella's voice and general health. Despite her celebrity, her private life was lonely. Her romances were often short-lived, including a marriage to the superb jazz bassist Ray Brown. And though she adopted a son with Brown, Ella had no experience of a stable home-life herself, and often left the child in the care of others when on tour.

Her comfort zone was being onstage, singing for adoring throngs. And work remained her constant passion and addiction, even after she developed heart problems and diabetes in later life.

Anyone who caught Ella in concert in the 1980s or '90s, or on her intimate Verve recordings of the period with guitarist Joe Pass and other greats, did not hear the unearthly sonic purity of vintage Ella. But they did experience, with gratitude, the sublime musicianship and elegant song-sculpting of a true master.

In 1993 her health simply gave out, and she died at age 76 of natural causes. Tributes from fans and peers poured in.

But as long as music is shared and cherished, this singer's genius endures. To paraphrase a Gershwin standard she loved: the Rockies may tumble, Gibraltar may crumble - they're only made of clay. But the music of Ella Fitzgerald is surely here to stay.

Misha Berson is the theater critic for the Seattle Times, and a jazz aficionado.

Ella