Dorian Woodruff
I Believe in Love
Don’t Tell Mama, NYC, November 20, 2015
Reviewed by Rob Lester for Cabaret Scenes
Mark your calendar for December 13 and/or 18 and, if you’ll trust me, mark my words, too. Dorian Woodruff’s gorgeous sound will have just warmed your ears sufficiently that you won’t need to put your fuzzy hat on when you leave his show.
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And the experience will warm your heart, too, because the guy is not just about pretty purring, but pouring out his feelings in song, too. So, he becomes the song and makes it his business to communicate its images and details, all wrapped up in a swath of easily-spun, long-lined melody. He seems to effortlessly hit the notes, hit the dramatic highs, hit a cabaret “home run” over and over. How satisfying it is in a live performance when musical values aren’t shortchanged in favor of “acting” the lyric (or because this lyric-driven art of interpretation doesn’t necessarily require vocal heft). And then there are the singers who make lovely and/or big sounds, but there’s nothing behind the eyes (“Nobody’s home”) and we don’t believe they believe the words. Or they have something going in their heads or head tones, but lack stage presence. Dorian Woodruff has it all, with an air of serenity and confidence that never seems cocky or put-on.
He radiates a decidedly movie-star masculine persona with the same inevitability that the stage lights pick up the sparkle in his eyes and the shiny metal of his cufflinks. With attention to appearance from the top of his well-coiffed hair to the tips of his shiny shoes, he’s an especially classy-looking guy who picks a lot of classy material. When he covers “I Cover the Waterfront,” don’t be surprised if the waterworks start in your eyes. The despair is stark. And the musicality is impressive: the accompaniment from the pianist is minimalist and not spoon-feeding him the melody’s architecture. Taking it a daring step further, he does the first part of another piece a cappella and the spot-on assured tones and tempo are flawless. In that case, it’s “Why Did I Choose You?” and that unaccompanied line composed by Michael (Mickey) Leonard was all the more poignant as he’d just passed away 20 days earlier. (Wistful Woodruff does not mention this fact, and he’s been favoring this song for more than a couple of years.) While his romantic phrasing of Herbert Martin’s tender lyric is addressed to a longtime lover, the line describing “a quiet man who had a gentle way that caught me in its glowing spell” could apply to Mr. W. and his audience held in thrall.
Should Dorian Woodruff be inclined to pick up some non-musical work for some reason, he could probably be a very effective hypnotist or magician. It’s extremely rare to see a performer so magnetically pull in spectators by standing so very still—and still not losing energy or command. Arms almost always at his side, rarely taking a step, his eyes fixed for a long time in one direction (straight ahead, yet looking straight at us as opposed to above us). Noting the moments when the raising of an eyebrow or a slowly forming smile or lifting of the chin happens and speaks volumes, we await these well-chosen moments where economy of movement pays off.
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First-timers aren’t prepared for this unusual choice because the opening number is atypically lively. His first statement is thus his mantra and title song, reinforced at the end in a reprise: “I Believe in Love.” It justifies the sincerity and passion imbued in his tales of seeking, finding, and losing partners—the buoyant and percolating melody lets him establish himself as sure of himself and his wants, lets him be seen as down to earth and fun, rather than a dewy-eyed, innocent romantic idealist that could otherwise happen without this set-up. Then the sophisticated statue stance comes as a contrast and its potency is disarming. It also proves he can do what he then mainly chooses NOT to do. When he simply stands there and lets that golden voice flow out of him, we also notice every aspect of the song itself all the more, minus what could be distracting movements or theatrics.
To be sure we don’t get the wrong idea, he flatly states, “I am no babe in the woods. I have been around the block.” He’s also been around the world and lived in quite a few cities abroad and in the USA, with Nashville and Las Vegas some fairly recent chapters. We get a sense of where his self-confidence came from when he talks about his supportive grandmother, who made his show costumes and unblinkingly stood up for him when the principal called her in because his overtly “adult” song choice in the first grade talent show was deemed immensely inappropriate. (I won’t spoil the surprise, but here’s a hint: recordings of this number by adult singers were banned from the radio once upon a repressed time in the 1930s.) Later, he also takes a break from the balladry that is his bread and sweet butter when he delivers a relic from the same decade that has so much sexual double entendre that some might not know if they should gasp, giggle, blush, pant, or all of the above. (Again, I won’t mention the song title and spoil the impact or allow Googling now to prevent giggling later.)
Here and there the patter sounds too obviously scripted, but the lines themselves are good. A story about a totally unexpected backstage introduction to the lyricists he most admires—moments before having to step on stage to open a show with one of their numbers—has a nice genuineness. The wordsmiths are the great Marilyn and Alan Bergman, who wrote the words of this cabaret act’s title song (music by Kenny Loggins, sung by Barbra Streisand in the 1976 version of the film A Star Is Born) and another choice choice, “A Love Like Ours” with Dave Grusin’s melody.
The match of Rick Jensen as musical director/pianist is a simpatico collaboration. His sensitive sensibilities enhance everything from the most optimistic or mystical portraits of an idyllic relationship (painted in Leslie Bricusse’s “You and I”) to the woke up/smelled the coffee realization and resignation that “Falling in Love with Love” only means “falling for make believe.” There’s no shtick with Rick and he doesn’t overplay, as one of his Masters degrees comes from the “Less Is More” school, too.
Lina Koutrakos provides the steady directing hand that brings everything into high relief and the show has a flow from the get-go that makes things never feel too slow, despite the ballad-heavy slant. While I wouldn’t suggest cavalierly throwing out one of the standards or older oddities, I’d love to hear a gem of recent vintage that he can add more shine to with his sophisticated ways and means. Certainly many songwriters of today would be lucky to have their more thoughtful material rendered by such a thoughtful and caring vocalist.
In the beginning of this review, I suggested you mark your calendar and I hope I’ve convinced you to experience Dorian Woodruff in person: the Sunday December 13 afternoon event is a Christmas-themed benefit for Help Is on the Way Today at the Metropolitan Room and December 18 he’s back at Don’t Tell Mama for the show described above, I Believe in Love. And I believe in … Dorian Woodruff. Discerning cabaret followers are lucky to have him.