The Men I Love: The New American Songbook [CD]

'The Men I Love' in the title of this CD from Barb Jungr refers to the men who wrote the songs which she sings here (though half of the credit for Love Hurts goes to a woman, Felice Bryant). The other half of the title - The New American Songbook - looks back and forwards: back to that Great American Songbook of standards which must lurk vaguely alarmingly at the back of every American songwriter's mind, and forwards to the songwriters featured here whose work, Jungr feels, ought to be accorded the same respect and consideration as is shown almost reflexively to the songs of their predecessors.

Thus there are songs here written by the unquestioned greats: Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon, Pomus/Shulman and Holland/Dozier/Holland. No argument about these choices, but what about Neil Diamond's I'm A Believer, a song forever linked to The Monkees, a song redolent of bubblegum and plastic? Can this be taken seriously? Jungr picks up the song and holds it out to us, showing us facets and depths. She is musing, pensive, filled with wonder at what has happened to her and almost unable to believe that she is now a believer. It's what she does so well, taking the songwriter's words, exploring and sharing their underlying meaning.

Elsewhere on this CD there are two examples of something with which we have become familiar on earlier albums: the joining together of two songs, the second expanding upon or commenting upon the first. I have known and loved Andy Williams' Can't Get Used To Losing You for over forty years, first hearing it through a fog of teenage angst, but never doubting that the definitive version had been recorded with Williams' voice surrounded by those pizzicato strings. Here though, Simon Wallace's little piano intro already speaks of loneliness, Barb Jungr sings, "Guess there's no use in hanging 'round," and suddenly Andy is made to sound a little bit less troubled about things than he really should have been. Jungr's voice slides straight on into a version of Red Red Wine without the somewhat upbeat reggae arrangement with which most of us probably associate the song. For Jungr, here, this isn't a glass of wine to cheer you up or smooth out the edges; it's drinking because it's the only thing left to do.

There's so much in this album to appreciate and enjoy, the saddest songs being, as always, the most enjoyable; as you will all remember it was Schubert who claimed that there was no happy music. I haven't even mentioned the other coupling of This Old Heart Of Mine with the Everly Brothers' Love Hurts. Then there's Night Comes On, The River, Wichita Lineman or the other wonderful songs that a wonderful singer has given us here. This is singing which aspires to and attains the quality of great poetry; the more you live with it, the more you want to come back to it and when you do, you realise that there's more for you to discover here.

Pretty well undiluted praise so far, but nothing made by human hands is perfect. Had Barb sung just one more verse and chorus of Can't Get Used To Losing You this would have been worth six stars. As it is, we'll have to settle for five this time (and play Can't Get Used To Losing You twice).

I heard one track on the Robert Elms show and got this CD on the strength of that. You will not be disapointed. Awesome record.

I love this lady's voice. However, I have never heard such originally cheery songs sound so much like dirges!