The Artist: Chet Baker
Chet Baker was too beautiful for his own good.
A California dream of a man - slick hair, cheekbones sharp as switchblades and a trumpet tone to match. He came up on the West Coast jazz scene, part of the so-called Cool School.
But what made him different wasn’t just the playing. It was the voice.
A quiet, aching thing.
In 1954, with Chet Baker Sings, he offered something no one in jazz had dared: vulnerability.
The record caused outrage. Jazz was supposed to be serious. Gritty. Male. And here was Chet - delicate, romantic, exposed.
The record outlived the critics. Outlived his good looks. Outlived Chet.
By the late ‘60s, his face and body bore the marks of addiction and violence. He lost teeth, lost gigs, vanished into Europe. But the music never left him. In 1988, he was found dead on a street in Amsterdam - fallen from a hotel window.
He was 58.
Yet that fragile voice captured in 1954 still echoes.
The Record: Chet Baker Sings (1954/56)
This isn’t a jazz record in the traditional sense. It’s something more intimate - more uncertain. A open wound with a trumpet.
Originally released as an 8-track 10-inch in 1954, Chet Baker Sings didn’t arrive with fanfare. But it endured. Two years later, it was expanded and reissued.
My Funny Valentine barely breathes.
I Fall in Love Too Easily - someone admitting a flaw they just can’t fix.
And But Not for Me has a flicker of humour - only just.
There’s no vocal power here. Chet sings like he’s afraid the songs might shatter.
The trumpet curls around the melodies like cigarette smoke - the silences say as much as the lyrics.
This is jazz stripped of cool.
Play Now:
🔊 Spotify | Apple Music | YouTube
Start With:
- My Funny Valentine - Whispered devotion
- I Fall In Love Too Easily - Wounded and weightless
- But Not For Me - A smile through the sadness
