Lainie

Saw my homegirl Lainie Kazan on TV for the first time in what must be at least two years (playing Fran Drescher's mother on the awful but worth watching for Ryan McPartlin and Ben Feldman Living With Fran). I'm perennially trying
to enlighten people about Lainie's goddess stature via her ineffably stunning late '60s work on MGM. Though she only released 5 albums at the time (along with a rare as hell limited edition live promo album recorded with William B. Williams at Mr. Kelly's in Chicago, which, when I offered it to her to sign, she asked "Where the fuck did you get this?" with a big smile), they're some of the most remarkable (and magnificently arranged) vocal LPs you'll ever find. From her monkey-worthy take on "Feeling Good" and combustibly storming version of "Black Black Black" to the utterly astonishing midriff-swinging "Flower Child" and her epic take on Bobbie Gentry's "An Angel Died," these discs are essential (due in no small part to Lainie's miraculous range and indefinable but radiant vocal intonation), and leave anyone I play them for reeling in staggered disbelief. I waited years to finally see her, and by odd coincidence did at last on the day that Susan Strasberg died. So Lainie was distraught, but still provided a genius (albeit heavy on Borscht Belt double-entendre) set.

As if the Susan Strasberg connection wasn't bizarre enough, Michele Lee (another friend of Lainie) happened to be in the house that night. I love Michele as well (for her pony-worthy "L. David Sloane," and her stilted but gutbusting take on Jackie Susann), so went up to praise her after the show. At first she sized me up with a distrustful "who the fuck is this hoodlum kid bugging me" stare, but as soon as I mentioned "L. David" she melted. After a brief but lovely conversation, I started to walk away, and she bellowed after me. When I turned around, she asked if I'd come if she ever sang again, and I said "hell yes," which was absolutely true, but as it happened the only time that she's performed since was in fucking Orange County and I had no way to get there, but I digress...

I also had another Lainie encounter in the unlikeliest of places, tired-ass Ripples (where I used to DJ) in LBC. At the time they were testing out a jazz night (that didn't last long), with a lovely soul/jazz girl named Jessica Williams (not the JW you might be thinking of). One of the few nights that I went to see her, she announced that a friend of hers was in the house – who she'd used to sing backup for at the Playboy Club. Back in the day (early '70s), Lainie had a lounge in all of the Playboy Clubs simply called Lainie's Room. (After her stint as unofficial hostess/sidekick on the Dean Martin Show and her surreal table dance in the Sinatra-as-Tony-Rome film Lady in Cement). Sure enough, turned and sitting in the middle of sad-ass Ripples was Lainie. I ran home to get my MGM discs like the faggot I am (fortunately I was living two blocks away), ran back, and got 'em all signed. She was sweet, if not abundantly radiating warmth.

The point of all of this was that it was nice to see her again, even if she was doing her perennial Jewish mother bit, and if it wasn't nearly as genius as her tenure as the giant-bouffant-sporting Aunt Frieda on The Nanny (where she once did a medley of "Mr. Sandman" and "Rose's Turn" that was cut short by her craving for a 17-pound turkey, and chased by a reference to her fictional tribute to Chaka Khan (would love to fucking see that...). GOD THIS HAS BEEN A FAGGY POST... but it has a moral: seek out the Lainie MGM albums if you dig peerlessly magnificent Now Sound vocals.