Melody Gardot

A few weeks ago, I had the urge to take a walk in the park to feel the grass under my feet and the gentle breezes in the trees on that balmy night.  As I walked through Sheep’s Meadow, I heard the haunting refrains of a gentle jazz lilting from Central Park ’s Summerstage.  Slowly, as if mesmerized by a dream, I walked into the seating area, a CD handed to me by a staff member.  I found myself in front of the impressive sight of a vocalist and her huge orchestra.  How interesting, I thought.  Dressed in a gold sequined number, this glamorous blond but frail singer was singing in a way that was so clear and easy that she reminded me of my favorites from days gone by.  A little Astrud Gilberto with some Judy Garland maybe.  Her name was Melody Gardot and she had a way of just bringing you into her intimate space by giving her heart simply and honestly through her slow renditions of tunes bathed in blues and Latin flavors.  I became an instantaneous fan.  I learned later that she was hit by a car when she was in her teens, which has left her walking with a cane and many strategies for handling her pain.  She used music as her healer when she was in her hospital bed, and from there it grew into a beautiful flower that it is today at age 25.  Great art doesn’t have to be complicated, I thought.  The evening was a true gift and a reminder of what truth-telling is all about - heart-felt expression battered by richness of experience. 

Intuition pulled me to this unforgettable spot in time and space; I’ll never underestimate that still small voice. Surprising jewels await those who are willing to follow.