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I knew more than one person during my sojourn in New York City who followed the cult of Blossom Dearie; and at least one sweet-throated young woman who aspired and trained to follow in her wake. The little upper-East Side bar and restaurant—Nimrod—where I spent most of my evenings—and wee small hours—during my final decade in the City, often featured cabaret nights, and was ambitiously conceived of by its proprietors as the kind of joint where Blossom Dearie might perform.
Read her New York Times obituary, and try to internalize what the life of Blossom Dearie must have been like. It wasn’t like yours…
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I knew more than one person during my sojourn in New York City who followed the cult of Blossom Dearie; and at least one sweet-throated young woman who aspired and trained to follow in her wake. The little upper-East Side bar and restaurant—Nimrod—where I spent most of my evenings—and wee small hours—during my final decade in the City, often featured cabaret nights, and was ambitiously conceived of by its proprietors as the kind of joint where Blossom Dearie might perform.
Read her New York Times obituary, and try to internalize what the life of Blossom Dearie must have been like. It wasn’t like yours…
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