Mel Tormé had more talent than any one person should be allowed to have. He was a successful composer, actor, author, arranger, drummer — and oh yes, a singer.
When it comes to great singers, we often mention groups of threes: Ella, Sarah, and Billie. Frank, Tony, and Mel. All of these legends began their professional careers at a young age, but not as young as Mel. He was playing drums shortly out of his diapers.
To better appreciate his extraordinary professional career, you’ve gotta understand a few things. At 15, he wrote a song, “Lament to Love,” that became a modest hit for trumpeter-bandleader Harry James (with a vocal by Dick Haymes); he also auditioned for James, and almost landed the gig, but child labor laws got in the way. Next came the Chico Marx Orchestra, for which he sang, played drums and arranged, and a small role in the RKO musical film Higher and Higher, a star vehicle for his fellow band singer Frank Sinatra. (Mel was all of 17 at the time; Sinatra was 29.)
Mel’s next venture came when he took over a vocal group from the Los Angeles City College known as "The Schoolkids.” They were a four-voice group that modeled themselves after The Pied Pipers and The Modernaires. Mel really thought the group needed a fifth voice, and began writing arrangements, inspired by the blend of a big band saxophone section; under his leadership, they became The Mel-Tones. It was with this group that Tormé made his first recording date in 1944, with a song about Christmas. No, not the one he composed about chestnuts roasting — that would come a few years later — but rather, Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas.” It was a one-off recorded for the Jewel label, before the group shifted over to Decca in 1945.
The freewheeling bebop era in the second half of the ‘40s caught Mel’s attention. His high-flying version of “Night and Day” was filled with reckless abandon that included a few choruses of crazy scatting and a high-pitched squeal before things settled down. So, what’s next? Well, he signed on with Capitol Records, and a few hits happened – not jazz, but pop: “Careless Hands,” “Blue Moon.”
But Mel was restless. He needed someone to give him a “sound” that complemented his nickname, The Velvet Fog, given to him by New York disc jockey Fred Robbins. Mel didn’t really relish it, but it stuck. Anyhow, enter Marty Paich, a well-respected jazz-flavored arranger who was best known in the ‘50s for his Dek-tette. It was somewhat modeled after the Gerry Mulligan/Miles Davis “Birth of the Cool” group from 1949. This was West Coast cool with a velvet fog. The 1957 album simply titled Mel Tormé with the Marty Paich Dek-tette opened with a pumping tuba and Mel stating, “You heard about Margie, you heard about Dinah,” etc., and eventually the song’s star, Lulu, who is back in town. And Mel’s back into the swing of things.
Other fine recordings with Mel and Marty would make their way into the ‘60s. Ah, the 1960s. How’s Mel going to fit in with the times that were a-changing? He spent a few years in England and made some recordings. Back in the states, “Comin’ Home Baby,” the funky, twisty Bob Dorough song, found Mel with a hit in 1962. But it really wasn’t true Mel. Interestingly, the album Comin’ Home Baby included the jazz hits “Moanin’” and “Walkin’.” But I think those who bought the album were disappointed, and so was Mel.
Then along came the ‘70s, and a booking at the Maisonette in New York City. Mel was in his element: a fine band with great charts, solid confidence and an enthusiastic audience. It was a winner. He also appeared to sold-out crowds nightly at a place on Third Avenue in New York known as Marty’s, and many other venues around the world, not to mention recordings here and in England.
Why this renewed interest in a singer who hadn’t had a hit in over 15 years? In the early ‘80s, Mel found a couple of record companies that would be his home for the rest of his career. One was Concord Records, the other Telarc. Concord had the good sense to pair Mel with George Shearing. They made several albums together where they really complemented each other.
Mel was sounding better than ever as he entered his 60s – he swung with ease; his ballad singing was impeccable; his phrasing and breath control were peerless. Just check out his version of “Folks Who Live on the Hill.” Add to all this, the popular TV show Night Court, which debuted in 1984 and starred Harry Anderson as Judge Harry T. Stone — a diehard and unapologetic Tormé fan. So this meant a whole new audience that began to search out his recordings.
Also, there was a memorable TV ad campaign for Mountain Dew in 1995, with Mel singing, “I get no kick being thrown from a plane” — a play on the title of the Cole Porter standard “I Get a Kick Out of You.”
Mel was indeed flying high. I saw him in concert in the 1980s at the Academy of Music here in Philadelphia, in a show that featured some of the recordings he was doing at the time. Like Frank and Tony, Mel had a signature song, but it was “The Christmas Song.” However, he always managed to work it in, regardless of the season. And then a bit of trivia here: He didn’t record an actual Christmas album until 1992.
I met Mel once back in the ‘80s in my office when I was working at WMGK-WPEN here in Philly. Cordial, casual chat. We were all set to snap a photo, but, wouldn’tcha know it, the camera wouldn’t work. So here we are, honoring his centennial. Mel passed away at age 73 in Los Angeles on June 5, 1999. His last recording came from a live performance a few years earlier at the Disney Institute in Orlando, two weeks before he suffered a debilitating stroke. His swan song? ”Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye.”
