It's been nearly two years since Jazz Times dubbed Jane Monheit (on its cover, no less) the "Golden Girl" of jazz, and the "brouhaha" has not really subsided despite the release of her fifth recording and continuing performances to sell-out crowds everywhere she goes. And after watching and listening through four of her six sets at the Dakota last week (October 11-13), I am inclined to agree with Sean Daly that some critics and jazz aficionados are unable to get past that perfect face and tune into that perfect voice. And if I am allowed a thin curmudgeonly streak (we aging Baby Boomers are entitled now and then?), I also believe that this incredibly talented 26-year-old will probably live up to the hype--one day. She's a natural, she works hard, and she is evolving into a true jazz interpreter. But she isn't yet ready to be anointed the next Ella or Sarah. Nor should she want to be. That's far too mythical a crown at this point in her career.

Music and talent aside for a very brief moment, Monheit's success, like that of the Bad Plus, prompts some criticism as "too much, too soon" and "it's not really jazz." But like the Bad Plus, one of Monheit's greatest accomplishments to date has been her ability to attract a very diverse audience, many of whom are significantly jazz challenged, unable to differentiate Fitzgerald from Joplin and (previously) not all that interested in doing so. But on hearing Monheit (or the Bad Plus)--and they might listen only because of the buzz--they discover a new genre and come back for more. Jazz needs more artists who can appeal to the masses without compromising their music. It's a matter of survival.

However, after four live sets over three nights, I am convinced that doing justice to Jane Monheit the singer requires shutting out Jane Monheit the ingénue. In other words, one needs to focus aurally, not visually, on the live performance. On recording, she is certainly good (particularly her latest, Sony debut, Taking a Chance on Love), but generally takes few chances. She is far more eager to explore on stage, surrounded by a talented supporting cast and (at least in Minneapolis) intimate setting. But seeing her live, it is easy to be distracted by her physical performance--her body language, her facial expressions, those eyes that sing just to you, her youth and beauty. With all that going for her, does her voice really matter? Yes, but it is hard to separate the music from its glitzy cover. And because the music is every bit as remarkable as the face, it deserves to be the center of attention.

At this point in her career, Jane Monheit's creativity and jazz sensibilities reside not in invention but primarily in interpretation, and often interpretation at a micro level where variation is spelled by nuance rather than by vigorous reconstructions. Hence she can (and did) sing the same tune (or same 9-10 tunes) three or four (or maybe six) times over a three-night engagement, but did not really repeat herself in her expression of emotion, her tempo, her phrasing. And that by definition is the art of jazz.

Monheit wears her emotions on her sleeve--or, as she didn't wear sleeves, her emotions dangle from her eyes, the tilt of her chin, her posture, and most of all, from each note. And her expression varied considerably over the three nights. She was romantic and wistful at the first night late show; a bit cool and deliberate, and perhaps a bit tired through both sets of night two, and more sultry and playful on the final set. Three times I heard "Embraceable You": as a sweet lullabye, as a straight-forward love song, and finally as a sultry lover's caress. Three times I heard "Why Can't You Behave?"--as a flirty whimsy, as a more abstract deconstruction over pianist Michael Kanan's dissonant vamp, and finally as a playful romp. And four times I heard "Over the Rainbow," ranging from gentle angst to a quiet anger-touched frustration. Her scatting varied too, from brief, almost tentative lines to riveting cadenza ("Waters of March"), again showing she has the chops when she chooses to let go. From set to set, her alterations were often subtle, sometimes quite blatant, communicated at times through changes in tempo or harmony, but always by modulations of tone, phrasing, and dynamics. And that look.