Kate Sullivan is No Edith Piaf
BY JENNIFER SPITULNIK

Oberlin played host to Kate Sullivan’s solo show, Edith Piaf: The Little Sparrow on Thursday. The stage was set with a vase of flowers and a bottle of wine, the music was winsome and nostalgic, and the singer, with a beret and misbuttoned sweater, evoked the romance of Paris. 
However, Hallock Auditorium, with its fluorescent lights, clacking wall clocks, and fold-out desks will never be a smoky café or a cobblestone street paved with romance and longing. The Environmental Studies Center is not atmospheric. Kate Sullivan as Edith Piaf endeavored to make us forget all of this. Unfortunately, she could not.
Given the rave reviews she has garnered from other critics, she may deserve the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was tired, or didn’t think an Oberlin audience is worth her best effort. Or perhaps she was sick tonight — the woman had no high notes. Whether Sullivan, as a singer, cannot sing above a whisper in her head voice, or whether it was Piaf who could not, will remain a mystery. The fact remains that tonight she didn’t or couldn’t. However, she did achieve an almost complete character inhabitation. 
The sound of the accordion, playing “La Marsellaise,” the French national anthem, preceded her first appearance. The format of the show emerged soon after that. Sullivan spoke as Edith, telling vignettes from her life to illustrate a program of her best-loved songs, adding layers of meaning to already loaded songs. The most obvious and effective example of this was “Feuilles Mortes” (Dead Leaves), sung after she learned of her child’s death. She sang it standing still, and twisted her scarf around and around in her hands during the applause.
Though Sullivan spoke in English, peppered with French phrases and a thick Parisian accent, she sang exclusively in French. This may have been hard for non-speakers, but her intentions came through in her expression. Besides, music like this needs no translation. Essentially, we suffer, we love, we suffer and c’est la vie.

Hearing her voice initially came as a shock, as she sang in the same range as Marlene Dietrich, which is to say, low. But that is precisely what we love about les chanteuses, their husky, sultry voices.
Of course, each singer has her singular trademark. Piaf’s was her embodiment of suffering. Somehow, though, she managed to maintain an unconquerable spirit, triumphing over adversity and retaining her dry sense of humor. Sullivan portrayed this admirably, though sometimes she became too blasé. The laissez-faire was great, but the boredom was alienating. Contributing to the feeling of ennui, she kept forgetting her words, lapsing all too frequently into “la la la la.”
Roberto Cassan played a suave accordion, responsive to Sullivan’s interpretive nuances. By nature, the accordion invoked nostalgia, longing and the streets of Paris. Their rendition of the classic, “La Vie en Rose” ached with the quiet contentment of being in love. However, it wasn’t the high point it should have been, due to her aforementioned lack of vocal power (or enthusiasm) when she sang higher. 
The ardor of the man next to me enhanced my enjoyment of the performance. His humming, laudatory commentary and appreciative applause was more attention-grabbing than the stage action: he didn’t pull down the corners of his mouth and lose his train of thought all the time.
Perhaps all of this is unwarranted cynicism. One left wanting to unleash some inner waif to wander the streets of Paris, searching for meaning in a lonely world. Sullivan, while presenting a range of technique, nevertheless delivered a shaky performance that left the audience wanting more.