This week In Singing Ladies 02/52
Shirley Bassey, Lizz Wright, Katie Melua, Julie Andrews, Céline Dion, Joan Baez, Laura Marling, Kandace Springs, Mary J. Blige, Carly Simon, Pat Benatar, Nina Hagen
They are the 12 Singing Ladies selected among the 280 Posts we publish this week.
Here, they are reunited in one glorious playlist. Enjoy!
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Tracklist
![]() 1 . Shirley Bassey . I [Who Have Nothing]Released in 1963, Shirley Bassey’s “I (Who Have Nothing)” carries the weight of unrequited love with a theatrical flourish that’s as spellbinding as it is heart-wrenching. Bassey’s rendition—produced by the legendary George Martin—melds her powerhouse vocals with a lush orchestral arrangement that swells and recedes like a tempest threatening to drown its helpless protagonist. The song’s roots trace back to the Italian original, “Uno Dei Tanti,” reimagined with English lyrics by the iconic duo Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, adding an extra layer of transatlantic intrigue. Charting at #6 in the UK, its commercial success is dwarfed only by its longevity in Bassey’s repertoire, making near-obligatory appearances in her live performances for decades. What makes this song hit so hard isn’t just the stark narrative of a love hopelessly out of reach but the sheer force with which Bassey embodies its yearning. Her voice soars, pleads, and ultimately resigns itself to sorrow, all while swirling violins keep up the elegant facade of a doomed romance. Still, there’s an almost operatic indulgence here—a drama so heightened it borders on the absurd, yet it’s that very excess that turns it into theatrical gold. It’s less a song and more a tormented monologue from a velvet-curtained stage, positioning Bassey as a performer who doesn’t just sing but utterly inhabits her music. In a pop landscape where understatement is often king, “I (Who Have Nothing)” screams its anguish unapologetically, refusing to shrink into the background. ![]() Happy Birthday Shirley Bassey. ‘Dame Shirley, You Are Forever’ |
![]() 2 . Lizz Wright . Speak Your Heart“Speak Your Heart” by Lizz Wright feels like an intimate conversation delivered through a blend of jazz, folk, gospel, and R&B. Released in 2005 as part of her album *Dreaming Wide Awake*, its delicate instrumentation and understated production by Craig Street allow Wright’s undeniable vocal power to shine. A Billboard Contemporary Jazz Albums chart-topper, the track amplifies themes of vulnerability and communication, offering a meditation on emotional authenticity without veering into saccharine territory. The lyrics carry the weight of Wright’s Southern upbringing, echoing the simplicity yet depth of her gospel roots. The essence of the song is a quiet urgency, subtly urging us to strip away pretenses and bare our truths in relationships—not an easy ask, but here it’s delivered with a calm assurance. While no official music video complements the track, her NPR performance in 2009 stripped the song down further, showcasing its emotive core in an acoustic setting that left no space for artifice. Wright’s ability to evoke effortless warmth without overindulging in vocal theatrics is a hallmark of her style, and this song exemplifies why she was never merely confined to jazz-bound archetypes. ![]() |
![]() 3 . Katie Melua . The Closest Thing to CrazyKatie Melua’s “The Closest Thing to Crazy” arrives as a potent concoction of jazzy elegance and pop sensibility, wrapped in the soft melancholia of love’s perplexing dichotomies. Released in 2003 as the cornerstone of her debut album “Call Off the Search,” the song carves a delicate space between theatrical longing and confessional sincerity. Its production, helmed by Mike Batt, feels restrained but deliberate, allowing Melua’s velvety vocals to float effortlessly atop subtle arrangements of piano and strings. Thematically, it’s a meditation on the bewildering emotions that oscillate between elation and vulnerability, capturing the essence of romantic turbulence without drowning in melodrama. Initially, airwaves resisted its charms until BBC Radio 2’s Terry Wogan gave it a well-placed nudge, propelling it into the upper reaches of the UK Singles Chart, where it peaked at number 10. Its journey didn’t end there, earning a nomination for ITV1’s Record of the Year prize in 2004 and cementing Melua’s arrival as an artist worth watching—or listening to. The song’s origin adds an intriguing layer: it was first penned for a forgotten musical, “Men Who March Away,” almost a decade earlier, proving that even castoff ideas can find timeless resonance in the right hands. Visually, the accompanying video offsets its musical tenderness with dramatic, theater-like settings, placing Melua amidst an aura of understated grandeur, though it avoids tipping into kitsch. Interestingly, its tension lies in its simplicity—a straightforward arrangement that neither dazzles with innovation nor tires with complexity but instead settles into a middle ground of wistful charm. For all its loveliness, the track doesn’t fire on every cylinder—it’s almost too polite, lacking the boldness to reposition the jazz-pop hybrid as something sharper or more contemporary. Still, as a vehicle for introducing the world to Melua’s voice, which sounds like it’s seen far more than the singer’s years should imply, “The Closest Thing to Crazy” is an undeniably impactful choice. ![]() |
![]() 4 . Julie Andrews . On A Clear Day [On A Clear Day You Can See Forever]“On a Clear Day (You Can See Forever)” is a song that thrives on theatrical flair and unwavering optimism, yet its history is tangled with misattribution and reinvention. While often linked to Julie Andrews, her association with the song is more performative nostalgia than rooted in its original production. Born from the creative synergy of composer Burton Lane and lyricist Alan Jay Lerner, the song was first introduced on the Broadway stage in 1965, performed by John Cullum, before finding cinematic immortality in the 1970 film adaptation with Barbra Streisand delivering a rendition that teeters between ethereal and calculated showmanship. Julie Andrews’ connection comes more from live performances and iconic legacy than ownership, a testament to how songs can transcend their source material to become cultural artifacts. At its core, the track straddles the line between jazz-inflected musical theater and traditional pop stylings, a reflection of its era’s appetite for lush arrangements and hopeful crescendos. Despite a relatively modest Billboard chart presence, its impact has endured, bolstered by its sensation of boundless clarity and potential—qualities emphasized in the film’s sweeping visuals and delicate orchestration. The playful trivia surrounding it only adds layers, whether it’s Yves Montand’s brief encounter with the melody in the film or the lush West Hollywood recording sessions at Samuel Goldwyn Studios. Balancing grandeur and simplicity, the song invites interpretations that swing between reverence and reinvention, reminding us that musical theater standards are often as elastic as they are timeless. ![]() |
![]() 5 . Céline Dion . Ne me quitte pasCéline Dion’s rendition of “Ne me quitte pas” is a performance steeped in solemnity and theatrical despair—one might imagine a velvet-curtained stage drowning in smoke for effect. This 1994 cover of Jacques Brel’s 1959 chanson isn’t evolutionary but is instead a reverent homage, leaning heavily into the melodrama without reinventing the wheel. Vocally, Dion takes the song’s emotional desperation and amplifies it, wrapping her powerhouse delivery around lyrics that beg for a second chance in love as though the apocalypse looms were the answer a “no.” Brel’s original subtlety gives way to Dion’s trademark vocal steamrolling; tasteful minimalism isn’t on the menu here. The song fits snugly within Dion’s extensive repertoire of French-language ballads, appearing on her album “Sans attendre” in 2012, though live renditions from her Las Vegas residency arguably gained more attention than the studio version. Despite not charting as a single, it serves as a nod to her Québécois roots and Brel’s enduring influence on chanson music. There’s a meticulousness in the orchestration, which feels polished to a gleaming finish, but purists may find it lacks the raw vulnerability of the original. Brel wrote this song for his mistress, and it’s laced with almost uncomfortable intensity—an emotional masochism that Dion approaches with the devotion of someone singing at a cathartic therapy session. Her dramatic flairs suit the narrative well, though the inherent pleading feels somewhat glazed with Hollywood sheen, as if a cinematic lens was applied to capture what was once a deeply personal lament. ![]() |
![]() 6 . Joan Baez . Diamonds And RustJoan Baez’s *“Diamonds And Rust”* feels like opening an old photo album only to discover a bittersweet Polaroid tucked away. Written in 1974 and released a year later, it’s as much a tribute as it is a gentle roast, rumored to cast a longing glance at none other than Bob Dylan, her old flame. Set to haunting folk arrangements that tread the line between tender and cutting, it’s a tapestry of nostalgia with all its sharp edges intact. Produced by David Kershenbaum and nestled on the album of the same name, the track managed to hit No. 35 on the Billboard Hot 100—a testament to its accessible melancholy. Lyrically, Baez muses on fleeting memories, slipping in a mention of hotel rooms and unpaid bills with the kind of poetic bluntness that makes you smirk through the ache. It’s an entire relationship condensed into 4 minutes: poignant, wistful, and acerbic enough to sting. The verse that references a surprise phone call is particularly evocative, pulling listeners into a moment suspended between love and regret. And, no, the song doesn’t just linger in folklore; Judas Priest’s cover crashes through with metal drama, proving that Baez’s balladry can hold its own in vastly different genres. Folk cornerstone or relic of a storied romance? Perhaps both. ![]() |
![]() 7 . Laura Marling . Wild FireLaura Marling’s “Wild Fire” is a quiet yet intense reflection wrapped in a minimalist folk aesthetic that never tries too hard to impress, which is fitting since the song feels like a conversation overheard rather than a performance staged for effect. Produced by Blake Mills and sitting as part of her 2017 album *Semper Femina*—a record that reached number 6 on the UK Albums Chart—the track is steeped in the intimate nuances Marling is known for, blending observational storytelling with a warm, pared-down production style. The lyrical focus is on a friend described with vivid yet disarming detail: a pen perpetually tucked behind her ear, notebooks filled with thoughts perhaps too raw to share, and a presence that feels both endearingly grounded and maddeningly enigmatic. The folk genre framework is deceptively simple, yet Marling’s ability to layer emotional complexity into every note and phrase creates a rich atmosphere of introspection. The video, a lyric-driven visual, complements the understated tone rather than detracting from it. “Wild Fire” finds its power in restraint, mirroring Marling’s career-long resistance to mainstream gloss in favor of lyrical precision and emotional honesty. There’s a tension here—personal recognition of flaws mingling with admiration for the messy yet authentic human experience that she perceives in others. The song feels like reading over someone’s shoulder, captivated by the partially concealed truths they scribble down—an exercise in curiosity as much about them as about ourselves. It’s Marling doing what she does best: delivering complex emotional geography with disarming simplicity, leaving the listener thinking long after the final chord fades. ![]() |
![]() 8 . Kandace Springs . Novocaine HeartKandace Springs’ “Novocaine Heart” from her 2016 debut album *Soul Eyes* is less a song and more a feeling—a hazy, jazz-soaked reflection on emotional numbness. The title cleverly evokes both physical and emotional anesthesia, setting the tone for a track that feels like it’s been dipped in liquid midnight. Springs uses her signature lush vocals and minimalist piano arrangements to explore a theme as old as heartbreak itself: the ways people cope with—or avoid—pain. While it’s rooted in jazz, the track borrows textures from soul, creating a timeless but intimate atmosphere that feels closer to the quiet solitude of a dimly lit bar than the grandiosity of a concert hall. If Norah Jones and Nina Simone had a conversation about modern heartbreak, “Novocaine Heart” might be the soundtrack. It’s worth noting that this track didn’t aim for chart dominance, sidestepping commercial hooks for something more introspective and quietly powerful. It encapsulates Springs’ ability to blend classic influences with a contemporary edge, even if its muted tempo and melancholic themes may not appeal to all. ![]() |
![]() 9 . Mary J. Blige . I AmMary J. Blige’s “I Am” comes across as both a personal anthem and a love letter, confidently laying claim to the listener’s emotional center with the velvet glove of R&B refinement. Released as part of her 2009 album *Stronger with Each Tear*, the track was crafted under the meticulous hands of Stargate, blending their trademark polished production with Blige’s emotive delivery. Thematically, the song is an unwavering declaration of self-assured love, delivered with the kind of unapologetic confidence only Blige can muster. The lyrics weave through notions of self-worth and devotion, sidestepping the saccharine trap to maintain a balance of vulnerability and empowerment. Musically, it leans into a mid-tempo, radio-friendly groove, never straying too far from the genre’s familiar bounds but achieving an undeniable intimacy through Blige’s textured vocal interpretation. Its release, strategically tied to the international edition of the album in late 2009, carried a dual-purpose narrative—standing as both a celebration of resilience and a soft reminder of Blige’s knack for creating relatable, feel-good tracks with just enough grit. The accompanying music video takes the narrative a step further, wrapping the singer’s self-assured performance in a visual language that oscillates between introspection and quiet grandeur. As far as charts go, a #55 peak on the US Billboard Hot 100 might seem modest, but the song feels less engineered for chart dominance than for quietly whispering truths that linger beyond their runtime. ![]() |
![]() 10 . Carly Simon . MockingbirdFor a song that borrows heavily from a classic lullaby, Carly Simon’s *Mockingbird* doesn’t lull so much as it struts. A duet with then-husband James Taylor, this 1974 reinterpretation of “Hush Little Baby” sheds its gentle roots and reimagines them in pop-folk technicolor. With Richard Perry at the helm as producer, it’s a polished mix of playful vocals and robust instrumentation, including standout contributions like Dr. John’s keyboard flair and a spirited saxophone solo by Michael Brecker. The hit achieved commercial success, reaching #5 on the US Billboard Pop chart and earning a Gold certification, proving that reinvention, when done right, resonates widely. Yet there’s a charming informality to the track, as Simon and Taylor volley verses with an almost competitive glee, blurring the lines between performance and personal banter. This boisterous energy translated beautifully to live settings, from their 1975 tour performances to the No Nukes concert in 1979, where Simon confronted her stage fright with notable tenacity. The song also found a peculiar afterlife decades later, through an unlikely duet with Stephen Colbert on *The Late Show*, proving its enduring appeal—and sense of humor. While some might argue its saccharine nursery rhyme roots keep things light, there’s no denying the track’s swagger, amplified by the palpable chemistry between its performers. ![]() |
![]() 11 . Pat Benatar . Promises In The DarkPat Benatar’s “Promises in the Dark” might just be the sonic equivalent of composing a love letter on turbulence-plagued airplane rides—true story, by the way—where emotional upheaval demands a steady hand. Released in 1981 as part of *Precious Time*, an album that somehow managed to sell millions despite critics collectively shrugging, the song sits comfortably in that edgy nexus where rock and emotion collide. Its verses unravel themes of vulnerability and the shadow of past relationships looming over a present one, but let’s not mistake this for your run-of-the-mill heartbreak anthem. This is rock, after all, with Neil Giraldo’s razor-sharp guitar taking its place alongside Benatar’s powerhouse vocals. In true dramatic fashion, the official live video showcases Pat performing like she’s staring straight into the existential abyss—intense, passionate, and, dare we say, theatrical. A little melodrama never hurt anybody, right? Commercially, the song’s Billboard Hot 100 peak at #38 might seem underwhelming for an artist of her stature, but it fared better on Mainstream Rock charts and even made some noise in France, proving that angst translates. Fun trivia for the diehards: this was a real joint effort, conceived mid-flight by Benatar and later refined by Giraldo, who also contributed that signature guitar riff. If this is how tensions sound when transformed into melodies, maybe more artists should tackle turbulence head-on. ![]() |
![]() 12 . Nina Hagen . My WayNina Hagen’s rendition of “My Way” is an unapologetic punk deconstruction of Frank Sinatra’s iconic anthem of self-determination. Originally recorded in 1979 and later featured on her 1980 EP *Unbehagen* and 1985’s *Nina Hagen in Ekstasy*, this track defies subtlety entirely. Hagen twists the stately Sinatra ode into a theatrical frenzy, applying her vocal acrobatics with an anarchic flair that feels both confrontational and oddly celebratory. The production, overseen by Mike Thorne and later Adam Kidron, lends a gritty yet expansive backdrop, allowing Hagen’s voice to oscillate between operatic precision and primal screams. Performed live in legendary settings like Rock in Rio and Roskilde, her interpretation thrilled and baffled audiences in equal measures, making it a signature moment in her live sets. The punk and new wave influences remain unmistakable, with the genre shift breathing chaos into the track’s message of individuality. The accompanying video leaned into her theatrical tendencies, capturing her wild charisma and penchant for subverting expectations. Compared to the original, Hagen’s version is less about stately resignation and more a riotous middle finger aimed squarely at societal norms. ![]() |
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