Tune. (Jimi Celeste/Patrick McMullan)

“Taps, Tunes and Tall Tales” is the perfect title for Tommy Tune’s cabaret debut at Feinstein’s at Loew’s Regency, and he delivers plenty of all three. You know you’re in for an evening of savvy show business sass the minute the lights dim and he sails in singing “I’ve Got Them Feelin’ Too Good Today Blues” in a red suit the color of a tomato surprise.

Treetop tall and chlorophyll fresh, the dancer/actor/director/choreographer who Gene Kelly once called “too lanky for a legend” reduces his life story to one hour of handpicked tales and take-home tunes, punctuated by nifty tap routines executed to tumultuous applause on a stage the size of a forever stamp. He talks about meeting Fred Astaire on the opening night of  the long-running My One and Only, then backs up to his chicken-fried beginnings in Texas, saying goodbye to women with big hair and men with big boots—not to mention, chiggers, rodeos and moon pies. You don’t have to be from the Lone Star State to get the message. Then, like a movie montage, the action transports him to New York City on St. Patrick’s Day in 1962. He went straight through the painted green line down the center of Fifth Avenue and auditioned with the song “Heart” from Damn Yankees. Wouldn’t you know it? He got his first job, on his first audition, on his first day in town. And those feet been doin’ their stuff ever since. They took him to Moscow to meet Gorbachev in the middle of the Kremlin (he loved tap dancing!) and they led him to Hollywood movies, Broadway shows and Las Vegas showrooms, and most recently a three-year tour of his own musical memoir Steps in Time, pieces of which he’s sharing in the current sold-out show at Feinstein’s (through Nov. 26). Ably accompanied by Michael Biagi, his pianist and musical director for nearly four decades, Mr. Tune's show is a celebration of 50 years in show business, the artifacts of which, preserved in a downtown storage space, were turned to toast by Hurricane Sandy. Weep not. He stores his memories safely in his heart now, and shares them warmly, generously and bountifully in a show that leaves his audience begging for more.

In “Sand in My Shoes," he demonstrates the exquisitely nuanced tap steps taught to him by his mentor and favorite dance partner, the great Charles “Honi” Coles. The best story he tells is a deeply touching personal reminiscence of this man, who stopped My One and Only cold for over 1000 performances until the day Mr. Coles suffered a stroke onstage. He forgot his song, his lyrics and his lines, but when Tommy cued the conductor to start the dance music, Mr. Coles revived, danced to perfection, and died. You don’t get stories like that every night in the tired old cabaret whirl, or the best dropped names from Gwen Verdon to Twiggy, or the quality songs by Berlin, Rodgers, Coward, Porter, Bachrach, Mercer, Kurt Weill and the Gershwins. One of them, titled “I Love It”, sums up the passions of Tommy Tune better than any other:

“I’ve played the Palace

And I’ve played the sticks …

I can do shuffles

And I can do kicks …

I’ve taken my bows

And I’ve taken my licks …

Lord help me, I love it.

I’ve danced for a fortune

I’ve danced for a buck …

In front of the Queen

On the back of a truck …

Been up at the White House

Been down on my luck …

Lord help me, I love it.”

You could hear the applause out on Park Avenue. Lord help us, New York loves Tommy Tune.

rreed@observer.com

Feinstein and Mae.

A badly needed four-week vacation followed by a busy week seeing five films a day at the Toronto International Film Festival has left me way behind in telling you about Michael Feinstein and Marilyn Maye’s tuneful contribution to the final season at Feinstein’s at Loew’s Regency. If you haven’t joined the party yet, there’s one more week to go. What are you waiting for?

Duo acts rarely work in clubs, which is why there are so few of them. Solo artists have their own agendas, which often get in the way of sharing. Few can be considered team players. Voices don’t often blend, material is at loggerheads, and love—as in tennis—means no points scored. You won’t find any Jackie and Roys, no Steve and Eydie. So all hail this amazing pair whose far-flung ages might be generations apart (singing kid and hip grandma?) but whose keen chops and communal passion for tasty songs are without boundaries. They call their show “Swingin’ The Night Away,” but if there’s a theme, who cares? One constant caveat I have about Feinstein’s is the sound. No matter what kind of money they spend on sound equipment, the place has never found an acceptable stereo balance, and to quote a favorite composition by Burton Lane and Alan Jay Lerner, it’s too late now. When the mike shrieked with feedback, Michael said “We have Michael Buble on sound.” The man always thinks on his feet. He also takes requests, and unlike inferior poseurs who have done the same thing, sometimes honors them. (Don’t ask for “Send in the Clowns” or “Strangers in the Night,” but Cole Porter is always a sure bet.) Cleverly, he adds “What I’m going to do next has some of the same notes.” He knows how to win over an audience, turning potential hecklers into fans.

It takes a bit to get going, but by the time this terrific twosome join forces like a pair of horns on “It’s a Most Unusual Day,” we’re back at MGM in 3/4 time. On “Hello, Dolly!”, which he used to perform as a kid at bar mitzvahs and weddings, Michael displays an astoundingly accurate mimicry of Louis Armstrong. I hope I never hear that ossified chestnut again, but to hear him do it once is like a party favor. Marilyn Maye is like the party itself. Her finesse as a master interpreter of lyrics is deliciously evident on “Every Time,” the great Martin-Blane ballad from Best Foot Forward. Together they bring untarnished creativity to a medley of songs with “wonderful” in the title (“It’s a Wonderful World,” “Something Wonderful,” “Mr. Wonderful,” “S’Wonderful,” etc. The idea is pretty wonderful, too. Everybody’s doing tributes to Marvin Hamlisch, just one of the many musical talents we lost this year, and Michael’s intense needlepoint on “The Way We Were” put a lump in everyone’s throat.

Liza Minnelli, who was in the star-spangled audience, yelled out Irving Berlin’s “I Love a Piano,” which her mother sang in Easter Parade. The arrangement that poured forth from pianist Tedd Firth and his merry band of ace musicians showcased a variety of musical styles, from Kansas City to Gershwin to Jerry Lee Lewis. Ms. Maye cooked up her own unique brand of rhythm on the range, from “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” to the intricate flatted fifths in tempo on Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five,” a jazz aria almost no singer has the courage to try for fear of failure. She never fails. Solid and versatile, she’s capable of smoldering sensuality, bluesy waltz-time bravura and swinging sass, while Mr. Feinstein’s voice gets stronger all the time, making it possible to do justice at last to complex songs from West Side Story by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim, as well as the sweeter muses like Rodgers and Hart.

This remarkable couple might seem mismatched on the downbeat, but oh the encores! They close Sept. 22, so get there fast and jump for joy. It’s a show that leaves no stone unturned as they shake all the bugs out of all the rugs. Long after Feinstein’s closes at the end of the year, this is an act you’ll remember.

rreed@observer.com

Kilgore.

The dog days of summer get an extra spark with the arrival of Portland, Oregon-based singer Rebecca Kilgore at Feinstein’s at Loew’s Regency. Last year she celebrated the musical side of Marilyn Monroe. Now she calls her new show “The Jazzy Side of Judy Garland.” The lady has high ideals and lofty goals.

I didn’t know Judy had a jazzy side, but Ms. Kilgore proves it. Refurbishing the classics with new tempos and beats is a good enough excuse for a cabaret act, I suppose, but it’s an ambitious stretch for an hour of summer music. To expand the concept for an hour, her research extends beyond the boundaries of Judy’s epic movie career to include some of her recordings and television appearances as well. For the most part, you can shout “Excelsior!” Die-hard Garland fans will be delighted to hear an homage to her MGM mentor Roger Edens that includes “The Joint is Really Jumpin’ Down at Carnegie Hall,” the showstopper she performed with pianist Jose Iturbi in Thousands Cheer, “Dear Mr. Gable” (introduced at Clark Gable’s 36^th birthday party) and “Until You’ve Played the Palace,” which Edens wrote for her legendary one-woman comeback at the Palace Theatre in 1951. Other signature familiarities from the movies include a wistful “The Boy Next Door” and a subdued arrangement of “The Trolley Song,” two Hugh Martin-Ralph Blane favorites from Meet Me in St. Louis, as well as Irving Berlin’s “Better Luck Next Time” from Easter Parade. Despite her warmth and musical agility, Ms. Kilgore lacks the passion and range to do justice to “The Man That Got Away,” which she should discard immediately. Even allowing for the fact that songs should not be restricted to only one interpretation, if you ignore the bitterness and wrenching drama of that seminal musical outcry, you miss not only what Harold Arlen and Ira Gershwin had in mind when they wrote it, but the essence of Garland’s power to hold the hearts of millions in the palm of her hand with a single composition. Another caveat: with so much impressive research, how could Ms. Kilgore overlook (or even fail to mention) the great Kay Thompson, who taught Judy everything she knew about phrasing, timing and taste? Kay was the jazziest influence in Garland’s career. If anyone personified “the jazzy side of Judy Garland,” the title of this show and the reason behind it, it was Kay Thompson.

Still, there is much to applaud here, namely Rebecca Kilgore herself. As a jazz stylist, she’s not the same kind of dazzling, imaginative or creative technician as Sue Raney (who is opening her first New York nightclub appearance in 35 years at Feinstein’s on Nov. 4), but she’s refreshingly without a trace of the pretentious silliness of a Nellie McKay. Her sound is smooth and mellow. She can captivate you with her gentle and emotional interpretation of a lovely Harry Warren ballad like the seldom-heard “Friendly Star” (from Summer Stock, Judy’s final film at Metro), then turn right around and swing “The Jitterbug” (unwisely cut from The Wizard of Oz) with a girlish bobby-sox vigor that is surprisingly cool. There’s a large smile on her face and in her voice. She has a straight-no chaser approach that is magnetic, without a lot of forced intensity but with an ample generosity of spirit that is catching. Except for a few terse intros to the material, the patter is minimal, and she mercifully leaves out “Over the Rainbow,” which nobody has ever sung properly except Judy Garland herself. Somehow that’s the greatest tribute of all.

rreed@observer.com

Cook.

Warm as a cashmere muffler, relaxed as a happy kitten, and ready for an attack of total perfection, Barbara Cook’s new show at Feinstein’s at Loew’s Regency shows off the legendary singer in a more intimate light than ever. She calls this appearance “Let’s Fall in Love,” and for good reason. Spring is a time for love songs, so through April 21, she’s up to her Easter bonnet brim with them. And this is the first time she has ever selected the song list on her own, without the aid of a musical “boss,” and done the layouts and interpolations herself. The result is fresh and as personal as if you were spending an evening in her own living room while she pulled favorite tunes from her piano bench. I have never heard that magical voice more mercurial or sparkling with so much musical magic. 

The material is mostly new (she’s singing 11 of the 16 songs for the first time) and it ranges widely in mood and text, from a bouncy “Let’s Fall in Love” to a pensive “I Hadn’t Anyone Till You” to a tender, thoughtful reading of Hoagy Carmichael’s “The Nearness of You.” I don’t know why she hasn’t spent more time investigating the pastoral splendors of country boy Hoagy. His songs fit her voice so elegantly. She takes his “Georgia on My Mind” and gives it a down-home, gingham-skirt quality Ray Charles never thought about. Small wonder. You can take the girl out of Atlanta, but ... Even the overdone Eddie Cantor evergreen, “Makin’ Whoopee,” is delicate, lightly swinging, and highly listenable. The silver sparkle of midnight neon mixed with the violet tinges of unrequited love makes “When Sunny Gets Blue” a special favorite. This is a stunning song so goosebumpy that it’s a shame more singers don’t do it. Singing the subtext, she moves into the lyrics like a sinuous masseuse, reaching for notes that make you hold your breath with fear—and always landing them squarely in the middle. Carefully supported by Ted Rosenthal on piano, Warren Odze on drums and the polished, unpredictable Jay Leonhart on bass, she’s got a hazy, lazy musical hammock to swing in. Still, she never abandons her sense of humor. Confessing an addiction to YouTube that keeps her up until 4 a.m., she reduces the audience to roars sharing some of the country-western songs she’s discovered. Are you ready for “If My Nose Was Runnin’ Money, I’d Blow it All on You?” That’s an actual song title, not a Henny Youngman joke. One highlight in an eclectic, harmonically integrated repertoire is a new tune by Dan Hicks (say who?) called “I Don’t Want Love.” The antithesis of the overall mood in an evening that includes “Lover Man” and the gorgeous, forgotten 1933 classic “If I Love Again,” “I Don’t Want Love” is about food and passion and priorities. It’s also Babs’s way of spoofing her own girth: “If love makes you give up ham and greens/Chicken pot pie and lima beans/If love makes you give up onion rings ... Then I don’t want love.” The audience was in stitches.

Don’t let this one slip away. Pensive, her eyes full of pain and joy and wisdom and loss, this is Barbara Cook in a sweet new light. She’s always as good as it gets, but this time she’s better than ever.

rreed@observer.com