Cassandra Wilson at Wolf Trap 6/29/00

by Alan Greenblatt

Cassandra Wilson gestures more than any singer I've ever seen, even more than Bobby McFerrin, punctuating every syllable with a finger or her outstretched hand, the one not holding the microphone, dangling from the end of an arm with its elbow cocked in a vaguely threatening manner, like she's going to give you a little shove when you try to pass her on the subway escalator. She was a compelling presence in a red dress last Thursday at Wolf Trap. "Are my peeps in the house?" she asked.

Wilson may be the most popular jazz singer going; I can't think who else would get the crown. She bends notes and all that, but she manages to make just about every song sound the same -- usually pretty good, because her honeyed alto is such a pleasing instrument. But whether she's singing "Time After Time," the Cyndi Lauper hit, or "Seven Steps," she breaks everything down into short phrases, each of which she gives a lift to at the end, like she's asking a question.

Her opening act was Cesaria Evora, a singer from Cape Verde. Success has come late to Evora, but she gave no sign of enjoying it. She paddled on stage barefoot, and her feet seemed to cause her as much pain as the set given to the little mermaid in the children's story (not the Disney movie). Evora's no showman. She only looked happy when she sat down to smoke a cigarette and when she was leaving the stage. One of her ten musicians emerged from behind his drums to start clapping his hands over his head, and the crowd went crazy, so happy to get this signal that it was okay to enjoy the fine music, the groove going behind Evora's high, reedy, excellent vocals.

The next night I also saw a show that contrasted two performers, one musically excellent, the other a greater showman. The Columbia Festival for the Arts, housed in a good high school auditorium, presented two fine fiddlers, Mark O'Connor and Natalie MacMaster.

O'Connor was one of the most entertaining figures in "Small Wonders," the documentary about Roberta Guaspari, playing "Orange Blossom Special" with the kids. (I have no idea whether he appears in the Meryl Streep version of that story.) O'Connor has created his own subgenre, melding classical technique to old-timey fiddle and folk tunes. He played, unaccompanied, several of his own compositions, such as his popular "Appalachia Waltz."

O'Connor, who has lost his Kenny Loggins facial hair, appeared in a plain brown suit, smiling a little downturned smile in acknowledgement of applause. MacMaster, by contrast, played an amplified violin, had a backup band that included two synthesizer players, wore tight black clothes, danced around whether playing or not and yipped. From Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, she plays modified Celtic music and is an enormously engaging performer.

I have to admit that my enjoyment of her performance was greatly lessened by my seat, in the front row, with a violin/piano monitor blasting a couple feet from my head. MacMaster's band included a guitarist, but he might have been playing air guitar for all that I could hear him. MacMaster and O'Connor played a couple of duets to close out the show, and it was there that you could really tell what a superior musician he was, playing wonderful little variations while she sawed in quite the straightforward manner.

It was like watching someone walk in a straight line down the street, while someone beside them was dancing in circles around them. Who was really the mobile showman at that point?