Lounge Acts

Welcome to the only meaningful association of the word "lounge" with records. Lounge acts are the epitome of the forgettably damned, the original homespun stars from the time before karaoke. Most lounge actors sing with triple the enthusiasm but a third of the talent of regular mediocre singers. They play the piano, organ, or accordion as if Mom, on valium, were channeling something from deceased Uncle Larry's old truck radio. Winsome in their determination (as heard in their own lonely, hotel-bar pathos), they also astound with an acute sense of popular taste. Dredging up and recycling the already tired, lounge acts are the heroic dung beetles of our popular musical heritage.

The true lounge act must be associated with a particular lounge or similar venue, almost always a hotel bar, restaurant, or cruise ship. (A very successful act may have regional standing, but that's halfway to minor stardom.) Usually the venue or act would contract with a small, local record label to press the album for souvenir purposes. The record may never have been exchanged for money, and it may be the only surviving proof of the act's existence. The song appearing on four out of five lounge-act albums, ironically, is "More," theme from the unprovincial film Mondo Cane. ("Can't Take My Eyes Off You" and "Impossible Dream" are other lounge standards.)

While many stars of popular music enjoyed long runs at specific lounges, "lounge act" is mutually exclusive with "recording contract." Recognizable record companies and subsequent albums signify success and minor stardom, or at least its potential. But true success immediately erases all previous lounge-act status. (Frequently the band gets changed, anyway.) Pop stars, no matter how shabby, put forth their own music. Lounge acts are mere phantoms, reflections, always distorted and hazy, as a mirage.

Lounge-act records provide authentic, indelible glimpses into the lower strata of bygone tourist traps. Jackets may be crowded with photos of a "glamourous" hotel or resort sponsoring the artist; here are the driveway, the lobby, the smiling tennis pro, and of course the swimming pool. Solo male lounge acts typically are nerdy, middle-aged men sporting thick, black, square, plastic spectacles. Typical of groups are Italian combos playing "Alley Cat" and "More" for a Mediterranean cruise-ship line. Autographs, often desperately scrawled all over the back in giant marker, may relate an affectionate connection between performer and attendee.

Despite the popularity of solo torch singers, records by solo female lounge acts are scarce. No doubt the nature of the business at this level meant associations with males were more likely to result in a record. Take Ray Anthony's "Bookends," for example. While Ray Anthony is not a lounge act, he deserves honorary lounge-act status for "The Ray Anthony Show." Such shows, or revues, involving unknown guest singers, lesser [Las Vegas] lounges, tacky novelty songs, and just one album or so, qualify as go-nowhere lounge acts even when the headliner otherwise has a career. Similarly, some performers in Hawaiian, calypso, Latin, and other idioms long-associated with tourist bars inevitably qualify as lounge acts.

Buying: The musical rewards of a lounge-act LP rarely surpass the jacket's promise. But since the stake is so minimal, it is wise to go ahead with nearly all.