Barnes & Noble
It takes one to know one: a great singer, that is. Dianne Reeves uses The Calling to pay tribute to one of her greatest influences, Sarah Vaughan. If Reeves hasn’t attained the vocal status of “the Divine One,” it’s not for want of trying. Reeves is a distinctive and highly personal vocalist who has firmly integrated her influences, Vaughan included. So in turning to some of Vaughan’s signature tunes, (“Lullaby of Birdland,” “Send in the Clowns,” “If You Could See Me Now”) Reeves brings her own sassy and sharp qualities to the party. Billy Child and Robert M. Freedman’s arrangements for 42-piece orchestra wrap around Reeves's sumptuous voice, adding rich layers of tonal depth to the proceedings. Throughout, Reeves's feeling for her idol remains genuine and heartfelt, allowing us all to hear her call. William Pearl
All Music Guide
The ever-restless Dianne Reeves tries to do something unconventional with an utterly conventional idea -- a tribute album to Sarah Vaughan -- and ends up overdoing the whole thing, though it's not really her fault. While the virtuosic Reeves often cannot resist reaching down into her chest register for some daring, earthy, Sassy-like swoops ("Key Largo" and "If You Could See Me Now" are key examples) or a daring vocalise like "A Chamada," she mostly retains her own identity in these 11 tunes, with a bright timbre that cannot be mistaken for that of Sassy. The element that does this project in are the overblown charts for a 36-piece orchestra that sounds a lot bigger and more congested than it is. Arranger/pianist Billy Childs (spelled on two tracks by Robert Freedman) is rarely content to relax and let a groove happen; he's too busy filling every conceivable space with all kinds of swirling, convoluted ideas that compete with, rather than enhance, the singer and the tunes. The one original tune on the session, "I Remember Sarah," opens with a scat chorus, then pianist Mulgrew Miller plays the blues, and Reeves does her familiar style of autobiographical rap in song. The best moment occurs when cagey veteran Clark Terry offers some jive talking in back of Reeves on "I Hadn't Anyone 'Til You" and some deliciously sly plunger mute trumpet work, fighting the orchestra all the way. Of course, it could be said that an over the top tribute to this larger than life diva is the only appropriate thing to do, but that doesn't make this session -- recorded quickly in the old manner -- any more listenable. Richard S. Ginell