The Velvet Fog's Dilemma
By the mid-1950s, Mel Tormé was already a certified star. Known affectionately as “The Velvet Fog” for his impossibly smooth and warm vocal tone, he was a successful singer, actor, and songwriter—he co-wrote the holiday staple “The Christmas Song.” Yet,
for all his pop success, Tormé was a jazzman at heart. He felt constrained by the lush, string-heavy arrangements that had become his signature. He was a brilliant scat singer and improviser who yearned to record something that reflected his deep love for the modern, sophisticated sounds of West Coast cool jazz. When he signed with the independent label Bethlehem Records in 1955, he saw his chance. Tormé wasn't interested in just another album of ballads; he wanted to create something swinging, intricate, and artistically ambitious.
The Sound They Said Wouldn't Work
Tormé's vision was specific. Inspired by the groundbreaking arrangements of Gerry Mulligan's Tentette, he wanted to front a similar ten-piece ensemble, which he dubbed the "Dek-Tette." To bring this sound to life, he recruited a brilliant young arranger named Marty Paich. Paich's style was the epitome of West Coast cool: complex but light, with clever horn voicings and a relaxed, rhythmic drive. The planned album, which would become Mel Tormé with the Marty Paich Dek-Tette, was to feature a ten-piece band with a brassy edge, a stark contrast to the string-laden pop of the day. This was the problem. Bethlehem Records, a small label, was reportedly nervous about the project's commercial viability. A ten-piece jazz band was expensive, and the intricate, modernist charts were a far cry from the easy-listening hits that dominated the airwaves. It was an artistic gamble the label wasn't sure it wanted to take.
A Session for the Ages
Despite the label’s hesitation, Tormé and Paich pushed forward. In January 1956, they gathered a who's who of top-tier West Coast jazz musicians, including trumpeter Pete Candoli and saxophonist Bud Shank, for the recording sessions in Hollywood. The result was pure alchemy. Paich’s arrangements were challenging and dynamic, weaving around Tormé's voice without ever overpowering it. Tormé, for his part, had never sounded more liberated. He navigated the complex charts with breathtaking precision and a joyful, swinging energy. On tracks like the effervescent opener “Lulu’s Back in Town” and a definitive take on “Lullaby of Birdland,” you can hear an artist fully realizing his potential. It was a partnership where the arrangements and the vocals were on equal footing, creating a sound that was both sophisticated and irresistibly fun.
Vindication and Legacy
Upon its release, the album, later reissued under the more famous title Lulu's Back in Town, may not have set the pop charts on fire, but its impact was immediate and profound. Critically, it was a triumph. The record was hailed as a vocal masterpiece and a landmark of modern jazz. More importantly, it completely redefined Mel Tormé’s public image. It silenced any remaining doubts about his jazz credentials and proved he was far more than just a pop crooner. The collaboration with Paich was so successful that they would reunite for several more albums over the decades, always returning to the celebrated Dek-Tette format. The album became a cornerstone of Tormé's career, praised by fellow musicians and jazz aficionados as one of the high points of 1950s vocal jazz. It stands as a timeless testament to an artist's courage to follow his vision, even when the money men said it would never sell.
