Elegy for a Songbird: Thoughts About Rebecca Kilgore

Early in the morning of January 8th, I opened my phone and found a text message from Rebecca Kilgore’s loving husband, Dick Titterington. I suspected what his news might be. Rebecca had passed away the previous evening at 9:00 pm (PST). For the past few years, she had been afflicted with a form of Lewy Body Dementia.

Since then, my mind has been flooded with all kinds of memories.

I first heard Becky’s sublime singing second-hand, as it were. In the late 1990s, I found myself in the backseat of Mat Domber’s car. The late Mat Domber was the founder and president of Arbors Records. His label—with the support of his wife Rachel and the caring staff at Arbors—gave new life (and for many, career boosts) to scores of traditional and swing-minded jazz musicians. (The label, under Rachel’s guidance, continues to record talented and deserving musicians.)

So, there I was in the back seat. Mat was driving, and the inimitable pianist, composer, and singer Dave Frishberg was riding shotgun. I was on a tour of Florida for a couple of weeks with Dave, the magical cornetist Jim Goodwin, and another pianist (and fine arranger), John Sheridan. (Jim and John were riding separately).

The previous evening, at whatever bar we’d all wound up, I had been slightly “overserved,” and was feeling a tad rocky. Dave turned our way, and said, “I’d like to play you a recording I just made in Portland, Oregon, with a singer I like. Her name is Rebecca Kilgore.”

With that unadorned preamble, Dave stuck a cassette tape (yes, it was that long ago) in Mat’s automobile’s cassette player. (Yes, it was that long ago). Now, you must understand that most of the female singers I treasure were—are—no longer with us: Billie, Ella, Maxine Sullivan, Lee Wiley, Mildred Bailey, Rosemary Clooney, Ivie Anderson, Ethel Waters, Connee Boswell, Vera Lynn, Helen Forrest, Doris Day, and others of their time were long departed. (Sorry if I failed to mention your own favorite. The list is a long one).

It’s not that I held any disdain for contemporary singers…OK, I guess I did. The newer crop of singers just didn’t possess whatever those indefinable elements are that make me prefer the earlier ones. The closest I can come to pinning it down would be: a true emotional quality in their respective styles; that is, a way music (and jazz singing) was thought of and felt back then. The cassette began to play.

“Great,” I thought. “Here I am, riding for hours in a hot back seat in the middle of Florida. Now, I’m forced to listen to some chick singer…”

I think Brazil was the first number. As much as I wanted to ignore it all and go to sleep, I looked out the window and couldn’t help but listen. When Dave Frishberg played piano, one listened.

After Dave’s brilliant introduction, a voice came in singing Ary Barroso’s engaging song. “Hey,” I thought. “She sings in tune!” I listened some more. “Man, she has a pretty voice,” I thought. More listening. Then full concentration.

I think it was two more tunes that played, and I thought, “I must have had more to drink last night than I thought. She can’t be singing as well as I think she is…”

Another tune—it may have been the old Louis Prima hit, “Robin Hood”—confirmed that this singer, Rebecca Kilgore, was indeed singing as well as I’d thought. And I thought she was fantastic! We listened to the whole album. Just the two of them. It was released as Looking at You: Rebecca Kilgore and Dave Frishberg, on the PHD label. It’s among my favorite recordings of both of those remarkable musicians. By the end of the car ride, I was feeling better, and waxed enthusiastic about Rebecca’s singing.

“Really?” Mat Domber said. “I don’t hear anything that special…”

(Yes, that was Mat’s initial reaction. However, Mat soon learned to appreciate the subtlety of Rebecca’s art, and eventually grew to love her and her singing as much as the rest of us).

Dave looked around at me. I rushed to Becky’s defense. I’d never even met her, but based on that cassette, I figured she was probably my new favorite singer. I strongly suggested that Mat get her into a studio as soon as possible. I went on, saying I thought a group reminiscent of the old John Kirby Sextet would suit Rebecca’s voice and style. If Mat did that, I promised, “I’ll write the arrangements for free.”

I think my willingness to do this, and my sheer enthusiasm, won Mat over. He agreed to record Rebecca for Arbors Records. That was the first of many albums Becky made for that small but important label.

Not long after, I spoke with Becky on the phone. We discussed the songs she would record, keys, and other musical details. She sounded delightful. She was often funny, and easy to talk to. The session was issued on Arbors as I Saw Stars: Rebecca Kilgore and her Celestial Six.

The reception to it was such that Becky went on to record:

♫ several more CDs for Arbors;

♫ a few with John Sheridan;

♫ a couple more with Dave Frishberg;

♫ a couple with the wonderful Australian singer and bassist Nicki Parrott (who loved Rebecca too), and a CD called Night Owl featuring the little-known trumpet player Bryan Shaw. In addition to Bryan’s exceptional playing, Becky sings a few songs on that CD that are well worth seeking it out. I’m proud to have been involved in several of these recordings.

♫ A few on Joe Boughton’s Jump label.

Rebecca also performed at Carnegie Hall; twice, that I know of. Once was at the invitation of pianist Rossano Sportiello, who asked Becky and me to perform with a fantastic band for several hundred of “Mr. Bulgari’s” employees. (Yes, THAT Bulgari. He had booked one of the Carnegie’s performance halls for the occasion. It was an unforgettable night.)

The other time, Rebecca and pianist John Sheridan performed there at the behest of Michael Feinstein, another fan and supporter of Rebecca’s. Rebecca went on to sing at Feinstein’s at the Regency several times.

Those recordings I mentioned were not Becky’s first. As a younger lady, she performed and recorded with a good local band—a small swing group–in Portland called Wholly Cats. Becky was the band’s rhythm guitarist; her singing was almost incidental. (Becky played superb, swinging rhythm guitar. One of her fans was the great Bucky Pizzarelli.)

Shortly after that, my longtime friend and colleague (and an exceptional drummer and writer) Hal Smith invited Rebecca to perform and record (again, as a guitarist and singer) with his quintet, The Road Runners. Hal should be acknowledged as an early champion of Becky’s talent. He did a lot for her in those early days.

After the Arbors recordings got around, Rebecca soon found herself being invited to various jazz parties around the country, and also found a new audience and new musical friends and colleagues in Europe and the United Kingdom. Our many mutual friends in Germany, the Netherlands, France, Belgium, England, and Spain all flipped when they heard her, and loved her when they found out what a charming and gracious person she was. She was a welcome guest at European and UK Festivals, and on many jazz cruises. She also had a loyal following in Australia, where BED performed on a few occasions. (More about BED later).

Rebecca and I shared a special time in our lives when we would annually visit Ascona, on the Swiss-Italian border. (I think it was there that we met bassist, writer, and all-around bon vivant Alyn Shipton; I’m happy and lucky for that). The Ascona festival in those early days was a nonstop party, and Rebecca was the Belle of the Ball. (Dutch saxophonist and friend Frank Roberscheuten got that Ball rolling for us.)

Some time later, a couple of other close friends—Barry and Terry, from Tulsa, Oklahoma—announced their plans to get married. They loved Rebecca, seemed to tolerate me, and invited us both to play for their wedding and reception. By then, Becky had met Eddie Erickson, a great banjoist and guitarist, and another favorite singer. We added him to the mix. Becky quickly dubbed the trio BED: Becky, Eddie, & Dan. You dig?

With the addition of bassist Joel Forbes, we worked as a quartet and recorded four or five CDs for the Blue Swing label. They’re hard to find these days.

Yet another memory that stands out is of a performance in Upton-Upon-Severn (in England, don’t you know). Don’t ask me the year. Early 2000s, I suppose. The legendary pianist Brian Lemon was added to our normally pianoless quartet. (Joel was not able to make that trip). Brian played with us as though he were a charter member of the band! I especially remember a version of the Bob Wills “western swing” number “Deep Water,” which Becky loved to sing and we loved to play. Brian played it as though he was born in Texas, and grew up with horses, cowboys, lariats, and beans on the campfire. Just great!

It may have been on that same tour that Becky, Eddie, and I went to hear Humphrey Lyttleton and his band. We were quite surprised and honored indeed when Sir Humphrey invited us to sit in! He too knew of Rebecca through her recordings and was very obviously a fan. I wish I could remember the kind things he said about Becky to the receptive audience. I know I had not heard such eloquence that often in my life. Then again, I’m from the Colonies.

Traveling back to Portland, Oregon, I’ll say that special mention should be made of Rebecca’s husband, Dick Titterington. Dick is a superb trumpet player, who plays very good jazz, but is perhaps better known for his ability to sightread anything you can put in front of him. (He’d probably struggle a bit with Proust in the original French). Seriously, he’s a great lead player, in demand for big bands, shows, and concerts up and down the west coast of the USA.

Becky had just emerged from a failed marriage. We all wondered who this cat Titterington was, and what he was like. More importantly, we hoped he would be good to Becky. If not,there might be consequences. It’s probably enough to say that toward the end of her life, when Becky was in a care facility, Dick would visit her every day. Again, every day, regardless of whether she knew he was there. I think this tells you more about this man than could any other thousand words.

I’ll close by recalling a car ride—again, in Florida—with my friend Jeff Hamilton, trumpeter Jon-Erik Kellso, and Rebecca. Our short-lived band Blue Swing was there to play at Mat Domber’s now-legendary event, the March of Jazz in Clearwater Beach. We had an afternoon off and decided to go out for a bit. Jeff was driving, with Kellso next to him in front. Becky and I were in the back seat. (Incidentally, the “Jeff Hamilton” towhom I refer is not the fantastic drummer who played and recorded with Ray Brown, and led his own trio. This Jeff du jour is also a highly regarded drummer, who learned from Cie Frazier and the old New Orleans masters. More recently, he’s been playing wonderfully swinging, Earl-Hinesian piano aroundhis home near San Francisco.)

Jeff, Jon-Erik, and I began talking about…stuff. I don’t know; baseball, or politics, or how great Louis Armstrong was. Rebecca was not really tuned in with us (although I know she felt the same way about Louis!). She quietly watched the scenery go by, and then began singing very softly, to herself. One by one, we all shut up. After she finished the song, she sat quietly, still looking out the window. No one made a sound. Then she turned, realizing we had all been listening to her. She actually blushed, and began apologizing.

We gently asked her to sing another song for us.