Rain, rain, and more rain: That was the forecast for yesterday. Driving during a downpour is not my idea of a good time, so yesterday afternoon Diane and I hitched the Mazda3 Time Machine to pontoons and drifted the rush-hour rapids of I-64 to the “Big City,” as The Andy Griffith Show dubbed Raleigh, in order to partake in a night of old-school jazz with Samara Joy at the Martin Marietta Center for the Performing Arts.
In the Center’s spacious Meymandi Concert Hall, where empty seats were a rarity, the 25-year-old Joy and her six-piece band delivered a spellbinding set that conjured Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan and Billie Holiday, among other long-ago greats. The magic commenced with “‘Round Midnight,” the Thelonious Monk classic recorded by everyone from Miles Davis to Charlie Parker. Her liquid vocals, like the rain on the ride in, drenched the environs, scattering high one moment and pitter-pattering low the next. (Ponding, at least for this metaphor, was a non-factor.) She effortlessly extended syllables into seamless notes that simultaneously cloaked and cushioned the heart and soul.
It wasn’t a one-woman show, however, During every song, she stepped to the side and allowed the metaphoric spotlight to shine on her band, which included Donovan Austin on trombone, Jason Charos on trumpet and flugelhorn, Dave Mason on alto sax and flute, Kendric McCallister on tenor sax, Evan Sherman on drums, and Conor Rohrer on piano. Videos were, unfortunately, verboten, so this months-old clip of “You Stepped Out of a Dream”—a highlight of her Portrait album—is a good example of Joy and her band in action.
Between songs, she provided a history of the tunes and their composers, discussed her rapid rise to success, and thanked us fans for making it all happen.
Other highlights included her rendition of “Left Alone,” one of a handful of songs Billie Holiday wrote but never recorded, Duke Ellington’s “I Got It Bad (And That Ain’t Good),” Antonio Carlos Jobim’s “No More Blues,” and Ronnell Bright’s “Sweet Pumpkin.” Portrait’s “Peace of Mind/Dreams Come True,” which pairs her quest for calm to a Sun Ra song, was as transcendent live—perhaps more so—as it is on vinyl. Time and again, she and her band effortlessly blended effervescence with emotional heft.
By night’s end, we ditched the pontoons and sailed the mostly traffic-free I-64 toward home, rejoicing in the glow of the show. It was an enchanted evening.
The Old Grey Cat 
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