Raquel Bitton has certainly done her homework, as she proved in her show at Feinstein's. Her repertoire of French favorites, made famous by the likes of Edith Piaf, Charles Trenet and Tino Rossi, covered all the vie en rose bases—with rolled Rs and tragic inflections thrown into the bargain. The overall effect, however, was one of studied mimicry, not unlike Marion Cottiard's kabuki in the recent Piaf biopic. Alas, the spirit of the La Môme was nowhere to be found in either.

Bitton's much-touted eight-piece band, consisting of the ubiquitous pianist and ideally ubiquitous bassist, as well as two violinists, a violist, a drummer, a cellist and a saxophonist who doubled on clarinet, more clearly recalled a country club orchestra of yesteryear than its compatriots at the Paris Olympia. “C'est l'amour” bounced along as a jaunty foxtrot, and “Hymne à l'amour” nearly careened into hustle time. Such musical choices, combined with Bitton's embarrassingly coquettish patter, made it difficult to fall in love—even on Valentine's Day.

Practically the only note of welcome authenticity appeared in Bitton's decision to sing all but five songs in the original French. Given the familiarity of her program, this did not alienate listeners and, in fact, served as a reminder of her considerable efforts.

In her music as well as her persona, Raquel Bitton mistook the trees for the forest—or, as the French say, le forêt for les arbres—and left our beloved Sparrow neglected on a twig, with a good deal to regret.

Patrick Monahan
Cabaret Scenes
February 14, 2011
www.cabaretscenes.org