Joni James, million-selling pop singer of 1950s, dies at 91By Adam Bernstein
The Washington Post,.
Joni James, a dulcet-voiced pop singer whose 1952 recording of the ballad “Why
Don’t You Believe Me?” sold millions of copies and established her as a Hit
Parade queen for a dozen years before she largely exited the music world, died
Feb. 20 in West Palm Beach, Fla. She was 91.
Her son, Michael Acquaviva, confirmed the death but not did provide a specific
cause.
In the pre-Beatles era, James flourished as a petite, raven-haired musical star
whose warm, plaintive and slightly husky vocals — often backed by lush string
arrangements — were favorably compared to those of better-known contemporaries
such as Doris Day and Connie Francis.
James was 21 when "Why Don't You Believe Me?" became a No. 1 hit. Her other
signature recordings included a version of Hank Williams's "Your Cheatin'
Heart" as well as "Have You Heard," "How Important Can It Be?" "There Goes My
Heart," "Mama, Don't Cry at My Wedding" and "Little Things Mean a Lot."
Her 1960 album "Joni James at Carnegie Hall," featuring a symphony and chorus
conducted by her then-husband and musical director, Anthony "Tony" Acquaviva,
was another commercial success and included jazz-pop standards such as "When I
Grow Too Old to Dream" and "Let There Be Love." Lindsay Planer, a critic for
AllMusic.com, praised the "maturity and refined elegance in her delivery,"
setting her apart from other teen idols of the ponytail pop era.
James, who developed a fan base as far away as the Philippines through overseas
tours, told the Associated Press in 1960 that she navigated a musical path
through the surging appeal of rock with a simple philosophy: "Sing for the
20-year-olds, the 30-year-olds and the 50-year-olds. Forget the 12-year-olds,
because they'll soon forget you."
Giovanna Carmella Babbo was born in Chicago on Sept. 22, 1930, one of six
children raised by a widowed mother during the Depression. She was a dancer in
her youth and began babysitting, modeling undergarments, and icing cakes in a
bakery to pay her way to New York to study ballet.
She also sang at fraternal clubs and in talent contests and said she was
astonished by the warm audience reaction to her voice, which she had considered
inferior to her dancing ability.
"Singing was something we grew up with," she told the Los Angeles Times. "I'm
Italian. Italians breathe and Italians sing. There was always music around the
house, but when I thought of real singers, I thought of Sarah Vaughan and
Billie Holiday and Doris Day and Hank Williams. I was just little Joni. ... I
always felt I had to work hard to be good enough. I had to tell the story and
pour everything into a song ... my heart, my soul, my guts."
After she performed on singer Johnnie Ray's popular TV show, reportedly as a
last-minute substitute, a deluge of fan letters drew the attention of the
show's sponsor, an appliance merchandiser. A representative with the advertiser
then steered her to MGM Records, which signed her in 1952. Her single "Why
Don't You Believe Me?" stayed on the charts for weeks and established her as an
overnight recording star.
She never again generated the level of commercial fervor that greeted that
debut single, but she maintained a steady output of pop songs for the next
dozen years before mostly dropping out of the business, except for periodic
concert and nightclub engagements and appearances at U.S. military posts
overseas. Acquaviva, whom she had wed in 1956, developed a severe case of
diabetes, and by 1964 she was needed to care for him and their two children.
"I became the nurse and the Italian mother," James told the Times. "I wanted to
be near my family. Besides, I couldn't possibly turn away from Tony. He was in
a wheelchair for years. They were going to amputate his leg at one point
because of gangrene, but we saved it. I used to bathe the leg six times a day."
James mounted a comeback after Acquaviva's death in 1986, including engagements
at Carnegie Hall. She also oversaw the remastering and rereleasing of many of
her early recordings, which she and Acquaviva had the foresight to buy from MGM
soon after her early retirement.
In 1997, Jones married Bernard "Ben" A. Schriever, a retired Air Force general
who helped develop the intercontinental ballistic missile program. They had
long been social acquaintances on the West Palm Beach social scene, and he had
been among the first to encourage her return to singing. "I was a bent-wing
sparrow, and he pushed me to come back," she told the Oakland (Calif.) Tribune.
Schriever died in 2005. In addition to her son, of Alabama, survivors include
her daughter, Angela Kwoka of Florida; two brothers; two sisters; and two
grandchildren.
As James revived her career - she stopped performing about 15 years ago - she
said she was greeted by audiences as a long-lost friend or with curious stares
("It is either 'Joni, where have you been?' or 'Joni who?' "). But she told the
Tribune that she never had any intention of adapting to an updated repertoire.
"I resent rock 'n' roll because it only tells one half," she said. "All they
have is rhythm, rhythm, rhythm, which is great. But when you fall in love and
want to be romantic, you still need that gorgeous melody."
“I can’t live without singing,” she added, “because I love music, and how can
you live without love?”
