I learned Margaret Whiting died today from a friend on Facebook who works for the a news agency.  And now, some hours later, her obituary has appeared in The New York Times.

My Foolish Heart

Baby It's Cold Outside

Moonlight in Vermont

Time After Time

If you didn't heard her live in concert, you missed something.  The first time I heard her sing was in 'Margaret Whiting and Friends', in Plainfield New Jersey in 1986.  I was bowled over. She stood there with legs rooted in the ground, head tilted back slightly, and out came this full-throated voice that made you shiver. A dame with class, and a way with words that went straight to your heart as much as your head, her joy in singing was palpable. Everything was clear without excess: tone, diction, and musical line. The voice had deepened like fine cognac with the weight and wisdom of experience, and she took great care with her art, but at the same time held it lightly- which is an art in itself. Consummate artists have a way of making time stand still. And she did that. Like you can't believe.

Addendum 1/13/11: There is a very good article on Whiting in The New York Times this morning by Stephen Holden. You can find it here.