For someone whose entire career seems to be built on the success of one hit single, 13 years ago, Macy Gray still manages to exude a certain star quality. Tonight she's a mere guest in saxophonist David Murray's show. But as Gray teeters out in impossibly high heels, wiggling like a Robert Crumb cartoon character and wearing the first of four flamboyant outfits, there's no question as to who's the main attraction.
Once upon a time, some people thought her Marge Simpson-does-Donald Duck shtick made Macy Gray the new Billie Holiday. It doesn't. Gray can't improvise, has little range, poor diction, dreadful mic technique and requires a lyric sheet for each song – yet these drawbacks aren't always a problem. Her croaky whisper is an effective instrument on the big-band funk of Murray's Be My Monster Love and a Willie Dixon blues called Dead Presidents. She bumbles amiably through Arcade Fire's Wake Up and Kanye West's Love Lockdown (both choices on her recent covers album).
Generally, though, what carries the show is the musicianship. Support act Jay Phelps and his tidy hard-bop quartet are good, but they are blown away by Murray's Anglo-American 15-piece band, who marry Ellingtonian textures with a sensationally funky rhythm section and the freakier worlds of Albert Ayler. Murray's relentless solos – a seamless montage of bluesy squawks, shrieks and false registers – are often compelling.
If there's a problem, it's that Murray's rather aimless original material rarely does his band justice. Even Gray's own lightweight songs – such as an early album track that greets her arrival – serve as a timely reminder that even the greatest jazz musicians can learn a lot about songwriting from pop.
