Review Summary: Intimate warmth and rainy day charm save Chet’s vocal debut from mediocrity, but that doesn’t mean Chet Baker Sings isn’t worth your time
Chet Baker Sings isn’t an album that demands you hang onto every note. It’s one of those records that are more comfortable lurking in the background of dinner parties, quiet study sessions or late night reading, something mellow that won’t overwhelm the task at hand. Unflappably pleasant, intimately sparse and quietly unobtrusive, it takes no risks, charts no new territory and breaks no new ground in its genre. What it does do is provide a comfortable, easygoing listening experience that doesn’t demand your attention, but rather slides into the peripherals of your brain with a pleasant, self-conscious wave, as if to say “Hey, gonna play you some jazz, hope you don’t mind.”
Throughout the album, Chet’s voice is as endearingly youthful, bright and warm as his trumpet playing is restrained, mellow and cool. As a trumpeter, Chet is highly competent, if slightly unpolished; his playing heavily influenced by the use of space Miles had mastered some time before the recording of this album. Russ Freeman’s piano, the most prominent instrument on the album besides the trumpet, is likewise a fitting counterpart to Chet’s vocals, restrained and laid back, a perfect balancing act that doesn’t threaten to overwhelm Chet at any point. It’s an innocent, carefree sound that, for someone who might be completely unfamiliar with Jazz, is a friendly and inviting introduction to a genre not known for being easy to get into.
There’s not much negative that can actually be said about this album, unless it’s that it’s inoffensive nearly to the point of being unmemorable. As jazz goes, it’s as safe as Norah Jones. But the thing about that is that as "safe" as this album may be, it’s perfectly good at what it does. Sometimes music doesn’t have to demand your attention, or challenge you in any great way to be worthwhile. Chet Baker Sings doesn’t stand among the pantheon of jazz greats, nor is it trying to. It’s simply an charming, mellow invitation into a quieter world, a world where Sinatra’s cocky swagger is transformed into a quiet confidence, a world with coffee and whiskey rather than gin martinis, where the party may be going on somewhere else but it’s cozy enough here that the party doesn’t really matter all that much.
