Harry Connick, Jr.
Songs I Heard
(Columbia)

 Harry Connick, Jr.
30
(Columbia)

Harry Connick, Jr., is an unusual guy—unusually talented and unusually quirky. First of all, most artists (with the exception perhaps of Wynton Marsalis) generally space the release of their albums so they don’t compete with each other. Not Harry. These two CDs hit the racks simultaneously marking the second time in Connick’s career that the singer/vocalist/bandleader broke that unwritten law. Granted, Songs I Heard and 30, a disc that continues a series of releases denoting Connick’s age at the time of recording—Eleven, 20 and 25—find him in very different settings. On the more luxurious Songs, Connick leads his 16-piece big band (that includes New Orleans trumpeter Leroy Jones, bassist Neal Caine and trombonists Lucien Barbarin, Craig Klein and Mark Mullins) combined with an entire orchestra complete with a 23-piece string session. Starkly contrasting this extravagance is the minimalism of 30 with Connick alone at the piano on the majority of cuts.

Dissimilar as they are, the albums do share certain Harry-isms that are often beautiful and sometimes baffling. At 34, Connick is truly an old-fashioned guy who lingers in romance on songs like “I’ll Only Miss Her (When I Think of Her)” from 30 and heads to innocent times performing “The Lonely Goatherd” performed on Songs. The latter harkens back to Frank Sinatra’s rendition of “High Hopes.” (Think, “Whoops there goes another rubber tree plant…”)

The theme of Songs I Heard is Connick evoking his past, performing many familiar and some not-so-familiar children’s tunes and, we suspect, songs that made their way into his child- and young-adulthood. The disc opens with, well, a somewhat startling “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” (no, my spell-check did not like that word one bit). With trumpeter Kermit Ruffins, ReBirth Brass Band’s Frazier brothers (tuba player Phillip and bass drummer Keith), and New Birth Brass Band’s snare man Ajay Mallery onboard, this street parade version actually does take off and turns out to be a lot of fun. Like “Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead,” which calls in Branford Marsalis on soprano saxophone and vocals, “Supercalif…. (you know the rest)” perks up when it’s free to fly instrumentally. It seems a bit odd (again, quirky) that in the midst of such children’s fare as “A Spoonful of Sugar” and “Pure Imagination/Candy Man,” Connick interjects the dreamy musings of “Something Was Missing.”

Considering the size of the ensemble, it’s expected that Connick’s piano plays a back seat on most of these tunes. An exception is the swinging and frolicking “The Jitterbug,” a version that jumps with the spirit of its amusingly scary spoken-word lyrics and snappy arrangement. It, like much of the material here, is at once childlike and complex, elements that might have moms and pops enjoying the music with their kids—a good thing. Despite the heady arrangements and distinctively dynamic delivery by this large ensemble, an all-adult audience may tire of the child’s play.

There are many folks, and I suspect a considerable number of them are New Orleanians who for years eyed the development of the young pianist, who really want to hear Connick get back to the piano. He does just that on 30, an album that speaks to his roots including influences from piano wizard James Booker. The album is most successful when Connick touches his and the city’s past. In doing so, he brings a great deal of honesty to his vocals and shows off the uniqueness of a musician who grew up inspired by those who came before. A personal highlight is Connick’s soulful duet with organist Reverend James Moore on “There is Always One More Time.” Connick’s expressive intro reminds us that it’s been a long time since we heard him play a gospel number and his relaxed vocals speak to his comfort level in the style. He and Moore become engrossed in a call and response that is all sincerity. Connick’s take on Hoagy Carmichael’s ode to this city, “New Orleans,” is also the genuine article. The solo piano piece is a delight of emotional and rhythmic textures that float with an optimistic flurry of notes and hesitate at the curbside as if wary of what’s to come. “Speak Softly,” another tune that puts Connick’s piano in the spotlight, takes us to a sophisticated French café and flavors the visit with spirited stride-like rhythms. Connick doing Booker is always fascinating as it offers a peek at the student/mentor relationship. “Junco Partner,” a signature tune for the late, great piano genius begins as a moody blues, sprinkled with characteristic New Orleans trills and touched by an element of the classics. Vocally, Connick remains more of an observer to the darker, drug-laden world than Booker ever did, but tells the story well though minus the rougher edge.

In a program that includes an imaginative “Chattanooga Choo Choo,” a tango-tinged “The Gypsy” and the lovely romance of “I’ll Only Miss Her When I Think of Her” with Wynton Marsalis on piano (!) and trumpet, we can’t help but ask what’s “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree” doing here?

Perhaps the answer is that Harry Connick, Jr., like the city of his birth, rejoices in a quirkiness that makes him and New Orleans unique.