We’ve known the impeccable vocalist, composer, and visual artist Cecile McLorin Salvant as an astute musicologist and multi-linguist, yet until this release of Mélusine, her recorded music and certainly her performances have been highly accessible to English-speaking listeners.
Mélusine, her seventh album, is uncategorizable as she sings the five originals and nine others, some from as far back as the twelfth century, in mostly French but also referencing Haitian Creole and Occitan, an ancient language spoken in the south of France. She presents only the title track in English. The album combines elements from French mythology, Haitian Vaudoo, and apocrypha (works outside an accepted canon of scripture). The musical settings are equally as broad, ranging from solo accompaniments to duets (with Sullivan Fortner (p), trios with Aaron Diehl (p), Paul Sikvie (b) and Kyle Poole (d), a full combo with Fortner, Godwin Louis (as), Luques Curtis (b), Weedie Braimah (perc), and Obed Calvaire (d).
She presents this European folkloric tale about a woman, Mélusine, who turns into a half-snake each Saturday as a result of a childhood curse by her mother. She begins with the trio describing the first two pieces. While the first is highly metaphorical and dark, the second, a live recording, is more upbeat, with Sikvie’s bass work especially impressive. From there the story moves to an iconic French song, “Il M’a Vue Nue,” rendered by the combo. After realizing that Raymondin saw her naked, Mélusine feels she has no choice but to marry him as the vocalist sings only to the accompaniment of Braimah’s djembe. The next explores the condition that he never sees her on Saturdays, an original that she wrote again rendered by the combo, who give it the kind of Caribbean flair that she recalls from a song she remembers at the age of 12 in Miami.
As the story continues as through Mélusine’s multiple births, McLorin Salvant is in duet with her musical and life partner, Sullivan Fortner. She follows by accompanying herself on synths with wordless vocals for “Aida”, and nylon sting guitarist Daniel Swenberg is her lone accompanist for the initial spying scene. Wordless vocals with her synths center on the Haitian spirit, Aida Wedo, half woman, half snake. When Raymondin sees her bathing in the tub beating the water with her enormous snake tail. McLorin Salvant evokes tremendous emotion, singing in operatic style. Mélusine then turns into a dragon in the next highly dramatic piece, “Le Temps Est Assassin,” with the vocalist duetting with Fortner. This is where McLorin sings in Occitan. Following a spoken word interlude, “Dona N’ Almucs.” about a female troubadour in the twelfth century. “Dame Isuet” is also sourced from Occitan and translated into Haitian Creole by her dad. Taken together the last two form a debate song between two female troubadours, like a rap battle, dealing with the desire to forgive someone who hasn’t apologized.
Apart from McLorin’s Salvant’s singular voice and compelling musical arrangements, it’s her courage and imagination for such heady projects that set her apart from any contemporary singer, even when she is well beyond the usual fare associated with “jazz vocalists,” a term which severely understates her immense genre-bending talents. Je ne sais quoi (the only fitting way to close).
