Music

With sales of guitars reportedly going through the roof in the last few years, you might be forgiven for thinking that everyone under the age of 25 wants to be in the next Arctic Monkeys. But, it would appear, there seems to be almost as many people of a similar age who want to sing showtunes and jazz standards written 50 years before they were born. Pick any date at random from Time Out’s music listings, and you might find around 20 indie bands playing around London, but also more than half that number of jazz singers plying their trade on the same night. You’ll also find several long-running ‘singers nights’ – where hopeful punters come and croon, with accompaniment provided by an in-house piano trio.

So what the hell is going on? How did singing standards in the impoverished world of jazz become perceived as a ‘Pop Idol’-like shortcut to success? Some point to the success of Jamie Cullum, Canadian crooner Michael Bublé or Americana-tinged jazz diva Norah Jones who, between them, have shifted more than 30 million albums. But a more crucial precursor to the whole boom might be Diana Krall, the Canadian pianist and singer who releases her eleventh album this week. Feature continues

When Krall burst onto the scene ten years ago, she was not only half a century younger than legends like Betty Carter but, unlike them, she also eschewed the usual jazz practice of using standards as a vehicle for improvisation. Instead of turning each song inside out, she employed a back-to-basics approach, performing sensual, swinging, beautifully understated versions of classic songs, and succeeded in connecting with the public. She became a proper star complete with celebrity fans (Bill Clinton, Clint Eastwood) and a famous husband (Elvis Costello, with whom she’s expecting a child later this year). With worldwide sales of nearly 15 million, she’s become a global brand: you can buy yourself a Diana Krall karaoke CD in US supermarkets, and you’ll even find her calendars hanging next to Justin Timberlake’s in such unlikely outlets as Singapore Airport.

Krall’s lucky break was to tap into a seemingly vast appetite for the familiar, and her new album ‘From This Moment On’ is the sort of gently swinging, snoozy stroll through the Great American Songbook that Parky loves and you suspect Krall could cut in her sleep. But what’s mystifying is why Krall has chosen to play it so safe. Her last album, ‘Girl In The Corner’ largely comprised original material co-written with hubby Costello and was a deeper, bleaker affair that had the critics purring and suggested a more interesting artist. Despite being critically acclaimed and selling well – reaching Number 3 in the UK album chart and selling 180,000 in the UK alone – word is that her record company weren’t too enamoured of her new darker sound. ‘What we wanted was another “The Look Of Love”,’ said one executive, referring to her massively successful 2001 album of jazz standards. ‘What we got was a fucking miserable Elvis Costello album.’

Its successor, ‘From This Moment On’, isn’t a bad album. Her languid, sensual version of ‘Little Girl Blue’ is sublime – with every nuance, shrug and phrase counting for something – it’s just that the record seems so limited in its stylistic aspirations. And this narrowness has filtered down to other young singers who seem reluctant to move beyond the Krall-authorised blueprint. Even pop kitten Christina Aguilera has has started impudently namechecking jazz divas in an attempt to add her herself to a lineage that might include Billie and Ella. Likewise, retro London trio The Puppini Sisters mine the same jazz nostalgia seam with their oh-so-ironic update on The Andrews Sisters.