What Happened to Harry?

Harry Connick Jr. and I fell out after high school. I can’t say why. In the late days of high school (and early University), he was the cat’s pajamas, playing exactly to the kind of sound that I was looking for. These were the days that I was discovering and doing back-flips for anything that sounded remotely Sinatra. Swing was the thing, and Harry Connick Jr. was the only one trying to update the sound (note: in this example of updating, I really mean doing nothing new at all.) Sure, it was always clear that he wasn’t really in Sinatra’s league but he made a damn fine show of it all the same. And he was cranking out new music, which gave him a significant leg up. I pretty much wore out his early albums and was convinced that I was onto a sound that was reserved for me alone.

Then I went away to school and sorted of drifted off the path. I got really into funk and soul. And by no small irony, this seems to be the direction that Connick followed too.

[This is where the blog gets really bloody, so forgive me. And Patty, I know you have some affection for these CDs so please avert your eyes if you’re reading. Nothing good follows...]

Harry Connick Jr’s departure from swing might be the lowest point that I’ve reached in this or any other blitz. In fact, if I wasn’t certain that the horror would end, I might have had to pull the cord on the Ol’ Blitzeroo. She …was simply terrible. Beyond terrible. I’m going on a hunt for words now: Embarrassing. Ridiculous. Self-important. Ill-thought. Career-killing. Vomitous (In my excitement, I made that last one up.) I can’t even begin to list the things that bothered me about the record. But I will say that the Bob George poetry and funky 90’s instrumentals would be near the top of that list.

She was such a nightmare for me, that I was genuinely concerned about tainting my impression of the rest of Connick’s catalogue. In other words, now that I’d seen the dark side, I was no longer sure I could ever enjoy anything else – even the stuff that I loved in the past. The finger snapping was gone for me. Kind of like the way food poisoning will turn you off a food forever.

Mercifully She didn’t last long enough to kill me. And the record that followed (To See You) was fine, albeit filtered through some growing contempt for Harry Connick Jr. (if it wasn’t forced to follow She, I suspect I would’ve liked it.)

But there’s good news too. Before we count out Harry Connick Jr., I want you to know that I did get back into the swing through Come By Me. In fact, by the time I got to Charade (track 3, I believe – but I’m too lazy to check), I was almost ready to forgive him for She. And now that I’ve poured my pain into writing this post, I think I am ready to forgive him. Come By Me was just such a marvelous return to form. All sins were erased.

In the end, I think it must’ve been the music gods guiding me off the Harry Connick Jr path in the early 90’s, sparing me the grief of picking up She when it was current. [Funny, as I was listening to it, all I could imagine was a crew-cut and cocky Connick performing the songs alongside Michael Wolff on the Arsenio Hall show; and if that doesn’t explain the vibe and distaste I got from the record, nothing will.] But what struck me as most interesting listening to this run of (select) Connick CD’s was the meticulous symmetry of the experience. Let’s review because it's fun:

20
(Mostly) solo piano and low-key vocals; a little dull but nice background music

When Harry Met Sally
We Are In Love
Fun, big, brassy, toe-tapping swing; great standards and inspired interpretations

She
Purgatory; hell; broken bones; bloody noses

To See You
Low key trio music; nice but a little long

Come By Me
Songs I Heard
Fun, big, brassy, silly, toe-tapping swing; more standards and inspired interpretations

30
(Mostly) solo piano and low-key vocals; again, a little dull but nice background music nonetheless

For my money, I’ll stick to the fun, big, brassy, toe-tapping swing. Sorry Harry. I need you to wear this label and lie down in the box. I’m not interested in the experiments. I’m not interested in your growth as an artist. I’m not even that interested in your traditional jazz records even if they lend credibility to your position in the Jazz bunk at HMV.

I just want the horn blasts and the big beats. Please.

[By the way, on the subject of horn blasts and big beats, you might really enjoy Blue Light Red Light which is one of my favorite Harry Connick Jr records. It followed We Are In Love and was even more confident. And maybe more fun.]