“My baby don’t care for clothes,
And my baby don’t care for shows.
My baby only cares for me.
My baby don't care for cars and races
My baby don't care for high-tone places
Liz Taylor is not his style
And even Lana Turner's smile
Is somethin' he can't see
My baby don't care who knows
My baby just cares for me”
I can hear your voice this very moment in the silence: dark breeze of cool. And I can hear your piano, its defiantly simple swing and clamor. You weren’t out to impress anyone with complex chops. What did someone like you need chops for?
I remember when I first heard this cut. I stood amazed and just listened. Then I pressed repeat at least five more times. Since then it’s been a favorite accompaniment to a kindly poured scotch at the end of a world weary day. It just makes me smile and smile each time I sway to it. Sometimes I think it may well be the greatest single cut of music every recorded.
So long, Nina. Yours was an inimitable style: pure music, no bullshit.
America became unbearable for you, but oh, how we sorely need the likes of your hard-edged wisdom and cool right now.