📚 Finished reading Judy Garland’s Judy at Carnegie Hall by Manuel Betancourt. Years ago, my brother bought me Rufus Wainwright’s cover version of the entire album which got me hooked. I still love that record, but Garland’s original is even better. Both artists have a voice that takes a bit of time to get used to, but once you’re on their wavelength the music is so rewarding.

‘”There’s something about my voice that makes them see all the sadness and humor they’ve experienced,” she said a few years later about those crowds that clamored for such musical self-flagellation. “It makes them know they aren’t too different; they aren’t apart. That’s the only reason I can give for people’s liking to hear me sing because I’m not that fine a singer.”’ (Manuel Betancourt, Judy Garland’s Judy at Carnegie Hall)

I disagree with Garland’s self assessment. Her singing has an authenticity about it and she nails all of the songs — from upbeat show tunes to beautiful ballads.

These 33 1/3 books, each one about a specific album, are consistently excellent. I’m looking forward to reading more of them.