Sarah Vaughan

Sarah Vaughan, the jazz and pop singer whose extraordinary vocal prowess earned her the sobriquet "the Divine One," died Tuesday night of lung cancer at her home in the Los Angeles suburb of Hidden Hills. Vaughan, 66, had been admitted to Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles on March 31, but was released earlier Tuesday, a hospital spokeswoman said. She had been active in show business since 1942, when her rendition of "Body and Soul" took first prize at an amateur-night contest at the Apollo Theater in Harlem, and was a singer whom other female vocalists of her generation openly envied.

Stan Getz and Sarah Vaughan attracted very nearly a full house to their Mellon Jazzfest double bill at the Academy of Music Saturday night, and their demonstrative fans clearly got their money's worth - and perhaps more. Not only did the Philadelphia-born Getz play his honey-hued tenor saxophone with the usual master's touch - nigh to perfection in every respect - he presented a physical conformation of neo-corpulent dimensions, an observation confirmed by the reviewer via a backstage glimpse of the artist in his shirt sleeves.

Re Frances Davis' response to my letter: I'm aware of Janet Jackson's middle name and that the late Damita Jo was her godmother. My point is: Back in the day, the great singers (Sarah Vaughan, Nancy Wilson, Lena Horne, along with Damita) didn't have to remove their clothes to sell records. They left that to the burlesque queens. A. Fitzgerald Fort Washington

Most of Newark, N.J. wept on Monday as a solemn funeral for jazz great Sarah Vaughan was held at Mount Zion Baptist Church where her melodious voice was first heard. Those who knew her and those who had heard her came together to honor this lady who became a giant with the voice of an angel. Beneath the sadness of the funeral, there was an unmistakable joy in the church, crowded with blacks and whites. Family and friends, old and young, musicians and fans, dignitaries and city officials arrived to pay final homage to Vaughan, who sang in her distinctive style through five generations.

The Mellon Jazz Festival picked up speed during the weekend with an impressive slate of concerts at various locations. However, the event that overshadowed all the others was Saturday's double bill of Sarah Vaughan and Stan Getz at the Academy of Music. It was a fine evening of jazz, even though Vaughan and Getz gave unexceptional performances by their Olympian standards. Fans call Vaughan "The Divine One," and when she's in top form, she does approach divinity. But on Saturday, she was merely going through the motions, despite gentle prodding from pianist George Gaffney, bassist Andy Simpkin and drummer Harold Jones.

"Drink up," quipped vocalist Marlena Shaw. "I'm better when you've had a few. " But the spirits most in evidence during Tuesday's late show at Zanzibar Blue, where Shaw performs through tonight, were those of jazz legends past. The 50-ish singer channeled their life force during a luminous treatment of "Until I Met You. " Borrowing the bluesy shiver of Dinah Washington, the exuberant innocence of Ella Fitzgerald and the intervallic hopscotch of Sarah Vaughan - and adding a great deal of body English - Shaw coaxed "April in Paris" from "Until I Met You. " Shaw is a very physical performer.

Dianne Reeves was the only vocalist on stage with her trio Friday night at the Annenberg's Zellerbach Theatre. But she called on a long line of predecessors - singers and instrumentalists - during her two hour-long sets, conjuring spirits from Sarah Vaughan to the great aunt who showed her the mysteries of the blues. To call the Detroit-born Reeves a singer is to minimize her range. She carried on like a saxophonist in a long black dress, scatting like a soloist. She performed chromatic shifts that suggested new harmonies and vaulted intervals in stutter-steps that recalled the odd gaits of Thelonious Monk.

Is the human voice more powerful than a fireworks explosion? More riveting than flaming torches? It can be. Boyz II Men proved as much Friday at Camden's Waterfront Entertainment Centre, in a show that also featured Montell Jordan and TLC. Although the Boyz had help from all kinds of pyrotechnical effects, their poised voices and creamy, spreadable harmonies ruled the evening. Making their second hometown appearance in less than a year, the four Boyz II Men vocalists - Nathan Morris, Shawn Stockman, Wanya Morris and incredible baritone Michael McCary - danced with aerobic energy and movie-musical precision, and offered crisp, genuinely inspired treatments of familiar ballads and new-jack hits.

A publicity writer once quoted Frank Sinatra as saying that Sarah Vaughan "sings so good, I want to cut my wrist with a dull blade and let her sing me to death. " The same guy ascribed to Tony Bennett the statement that Vaughan was "the greatest singer in the world," no holds barred. Which, considering Bennett's well-known taste for self-aggrandizement, was saying a mouthful. I plead mea culpa to having supersassyfied Sarah myself on many an occasion. The last time I heard her perform, at the 1984 Philadelphia Kool Jazz Festival, I reported: "Last night at the Academy of Music, Sarah began a phrase from the depths of her diaphragm which . . . I would compare roughly to the chalumeau register of the B-flat clarinet.

Sunday at the Tower Theater, Erykah Badu hit the finale of ". . . & On" with a theatrical flourish: After scatting nimbly and sauntering through a series of tricky syncopations, she threw her head back, sent her arms up toward the sky, and held the pose long enough to collect applause from the adoring capacity crowd. Then, before the room got quiet, she cued "Cleva," another song from her current album, Mama's Gun. As she sang the opening line - "This is how I look without makeup" - she ceremoniously ripped off her trademark head scarf, revealing a sleek bald dome.

Re Frances Davis' response to my letter: I'm aware of Janet Jackson's middle name and that the late Damita Jo was her godmother. My point is: Back in the day, the great singers (Sarah Vaughan, Nancy Wilson, Lena Horne, along with Damita) didn't have to remove their clothes to sell records. They left that to the burlesque queens. A. Fitzgerald Fort Washington

Dianne Reeves was the only vocalist on stage with her trio Friday night at the Annenberg's Zellerbach Theatre. But she called on a long line of predecessors - singers and instrumentalists - during her two hour-long sets, conjuring spirits from Sarah Vaughan to the great aunt who showed her the mysteries of the blues. To call the Detroit-born Reeves a singer is to minimize her range. She carried on like a saxophonist in a long black dress, scatting like a soloist. She performed chromatic shifts that suggested new harmonies and vaulted intervals in stutter-steps that recalled the odd gaits of Thelonious Monk.

It's not her baby who's got bad timing, says Jaguar Wright, her protruding belly attesting to the boy-child who has taken residence there for the last six months. It's her record label. "This baby is coming right when it's supposed to. It's the album that's late," she says, referring to her debut R&B/hip-hop release, Denials, Delusions and Decisions, out Tuesday. It figures. Most events in Wright's life have been ill-timed. "But the truth is, I'm thankful for it," the 24-year-old North Philly native says.

Bilal Oliver begins "Sometimes," one of 15 neo-soul adventures on 1st Born Second, with a declaration: "This is a song that makes me spill out all my guts. " And sure enough, for the next seven minutes the Germantown native, whose Interscope Records debut comes out today, describes the riot going on inside his head. Sometimes he wishes he were drug-free. Sometimes he wants to know the truth without searching. Sometimes he pretends, because he's "afraid to be me. " Sometimes he wants to be like Moses and "round up my people, move out the ghetto, and live a better life.

Sunday at the Tower Theater, Erykah Badu hit the finale of ". . . & On" with a theatrical flourish: After scatting nimbly and sauntering through a series of tricky syncopations, she threw her head back, sent her arms up toward the sky, and held the pose long enough to collect applause from the adoring capacity crowd. Then, before the room got quiet, she cued "Cleva," another song from her current album, Mama's Gun. As she sang the opening line - "This is how I look without makeup" - she ceremoniously ripped off her trademark head scarf, revealing a sleek bald dome.

Nearly every newspaper, magazine and television story about the death of Frank Sinatra referred to his superb phrasing and knack for interpreting a lyric. His closeness to thugs and an adulterous streak aside, Sinatra could flat sing, doing what at first might be considered a no-brainer: He made every song his own. But isn't that the essence of a great vocalist? Yep, which is why great vocalists, especially great male vocalists, are rare these days. Jeffery Smith and Freddy Cole show extraordinary strength in interpreting a song, a skill many contemporary singers have forsaken in favor of merely showing off their vocal prowess.

"Drink up," quipped vocalist Marlena Shaw. "I'm better when you've had a few. " But the spirits most in evidence during Tuesday's late show at Zanzibar Blue, where Shaw performs through tonight, were those of jazz legends past. The 50-ish singer channeled their life force during a luminous treatment of "Until I Met You. " Borrowing the bluesy shiver of Dinah Washington, the exuberant innocence of Ella Fitzgerald and the intervallic hopscotch of Sarah Vaughan - and adding a great deal of body English - Shaw coaxed "April in Paris" from "Until I Met You. " Shaw is a very physical performer.

Is the human voice more powerful than a fireworks explosion? More riveting than flaming torches? It can be. Boyz II Men proved as much Friday at Camden's Waterfront Entertainment Centre, in a show that also featured Montell Jordan and TLC. Although the Boyz had help from all kinds of pyrotechnical effects, their poised voices and creamy, spreadable harmonies ruled the evening. Making their second hometown appearance in less than a year, the four Boyz II Men vocalists - Nathan Morris, Shawn Stockman, Wanya Morris and incredible baritone Michael McCary - danced with aerobic energy and movie-musical precision, and offered crisp, genuinely inspired treatments of familiar ballads and new-jack hits.

We'd be hard pressed to find a better star for the Daily News' July 4 bash on the Parkway than Smokey Robinson, the poet laureate of soul, and a musical voice for all the people. He emerged in the more tightly focused media environment of the 1960s, when a popular song could still reach out and touch an urban population through a single Top 40 radio station. Robinson touched people with song better than almost anyone else on Earth. Self-penned ballads like "Tracks of My Tears" and "My Girl," the rhythmic "Tears of a Clown" and "I Second That Emotion" are classics that still stir the heart and move the body.

It takes all of Sheldon Harris Ginsberg's strength just to prop himself in a chair. He relies on memory to smell his favorite foods, and on family and friends to shuffle him to chemotherapy sessions. Despite his two-year-old battle with a rare form of cancer, he can't give up the thing that lifts his spirits: music. It was November 1991 when doctors told Ginsberg, a professional trombonist, that he had a tumor in his olfactory nerve, and that he should stop playing his instrument.