^ Songscape) Cry Me a River Piers Ford explores how certain songs stand up to reinterpretation by different singers rthur Hamilton's timeless standard 'Cry Me a River' crystal- lises that thrilling moment when a mistreated lover finally Apasses through the pain barrier and achieves a glacial objectivity. This dish of revenge is served on ice. The time for feel- ing is past. The drama is in the understatement. That, at least, is the legacy left by the song's most definitive interpreter Julie London. Her rendition in the 1955 film The Girl Can't Help It, and its subsequent release as a single, gave her a major international hit. Her spare, almost laconic delivery leaves many subsequent versions foundering on pale imitation or misguided attempts to over-dramatise the studied sophistication of the lyric. Like so many songwriters, Hamilton was forced to fight for the integrity of that lyric. The song was initially offered not to London, but to her film-director first husband Jack Webb as a possible number for Ella Fitzgerald. Webb disliked the use of the word 'plebeian' - intrinsic to the song's maturity and surely a lyrical trick that Cole Porter would have been proud of - but Hamilton stuck to his guns. When Ella demurred, Arthur's old school chum Julie asked if she might sing it herself and, sardonic in strapless satin, she sang it in the 1955 film, The Girl Can't Help It. The 1957 recording that followed was produced by London's second husband Bobby Troup and featured a Spartan backing from guitarist Barry Kessel and bass player Ray Leatherwood. It was an inspired move that, according to Hamilton, left the singer and the song totally in the clear'. He says the impact was immediate: There was that wonderful thing the mind does when it hears something that matters to it and it repeats the song in the head after the record ends. Somehow, it becomes a memory.' As he suggests, it must also be fun and satisfying to sing as, to date, there have been more than 700 recordings of it. The impact of 'Cry Me a River' on London's own career can hardly be underestimated. Her fortuitous request to try the number herself resulted in one of those iconic singer/song pairings that shine like beacons across the history of popular music. Her contemporaries were quick to spot a good thing; nobody more than that awesome Queen of the Blues, Dinah Washington, whose extemporisations make the song's take on revenge sound, frankly, horny. In both the London and Washington versions, the torch-song potential of 'Cry Me a River' is underpinned by a neat irony. Once the song is over, you feel the torch will be flung away. Other artists have preferred to take a more traditional torch-singer's angle and writhe in the agonies of love gone wrong. The song can certainly take it. A young and audacious Barbra Streisand wrung every ounce of anguish from it on her classic first album; it's strong, angry stuff. Ironically, she would later claim an aversion to 'victim' songs and if she ever records it again, it will be interesting to hear the effect of life and experience on a mature interpretation. Others have followed the belt route less effectively including, predictably, Shirley Bassey and Elaine Paige. Alison Moyet's disappointingly overwrought rendition didn't do justice to her estimable vocal gifts. Its appeal hasn't been exclusively female. Ray Charles and Joe Cocker are among the men who have found a new perspective. Cocker, in particular, introduced a splendidly desolate sense of waste. And Aerosmith gave it the outrageous braggadocio of heavy metal. But ultimately, all roads lead back to Julie London. Two performers stand apart for a respectful nod in her direction, which complements rather than diminishes the intelligence and sensitivity behind their individual recordings. For Mari Wilson, it proved an excellent bridge between a pop career and more meaningful success as one of Britain's most respected and versatile vocalists. For Diana Krall, it was further evidence of a great jazz singer at her consistent best. As Arthur Hamilton says: 'When great singers such as Mari Wilson, Diana Krall and Barbra Streisand sing a song, they re-experience it, and bring to it all the underlying drives and passions of their own lives. They personalise their version and make it their own statement. I've been constantly amazed to find new interpretations of the song each year by new contemporary singers.'

Three of the best: Julie London, The Liberty Years, Liberty Still the coolest, after all these years Mari Wilson, The Rhythm Romance, Select A soulful reinvention but the stiletto is there, concealed under layers of black velvet Diana Krall, The Look of Love, Verve A smooth, tellingly jazz-flavoured version for the 21st century

April/May 2004 The Singer 27