He’s in our midst. He looks just like everyone else. Drops his kid off at PS 321 and drinks coffee in the morning; he helps out with PTA activities and does the Times’ crossword puzzle at the same table every day at Starbucks.

Bu this man has another identity too. He’s a prodigiously talented composer and songwriter. His work will make you swoon, laugh, even cry. Just like I did. Lifted out of the every day, his work delivered me to the worlds of Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes, and a white, Jewish guy from the Southside of Chicago.

His name is Louis Rosen. And Sunday night at Joe’s Pub, Capathia Jenkens, sang, among other things, a song-cycle he created based on the sassy eloquence of Maya Angelou’s poetry. Rosen uses a variety of song styles to bring the poet’s words to life – blues, jazz, musical theater, classical – with suprising leaps of melody and harmony. His music brings out the poet’s voice in a  way that enhances and enthralls.

Vocalist Capathia Jenkins is a discovery. Like Rosen, she deserves to be a star. The songs, which were created expressly for her multi-timbered voice, give life to Angelou’s women. And Capathia becomes these characters in an instant – her stance, the way she holds her microphone or moves her hand. In tiny theatrical ways, she embodies these phenomenal women and stirs the room with virtuousic blues in a deep alto-to-high soprano range. Her earthy emotionality belies a sophisticated vocal control.

What a pair. Louis and Capathia: a handsome, skinny guy from Chicago’s Southside and a ravishing, voluptuous black woman with a voice that makes you laugh and cry.

The audience at Joe’s Pub was in their thrall Sunday night. Louis on the piano singing an autobiographical song about growing up. Capathia endearing herself to the crowd while taking us on a journey through a universe of identities.

The room took them in with all the cabaret-attention it could muster. Waitresses served, people ate from plates of delicious food, drinks were a-plenty, but the audience was rapt and they applauded ferociously after every song-poem, honored to be among the few to see what was probably the best show in town.

Monday morning I saw Louis in the Slope but I didn’t say hello. Feeling a little awed, a little shy, I watched to see if there was a spring in his step after such a phenomenal night. He kissed his son good bye in the lobby of PS 321 and found his usual table at the local Starbucks.

Back to being a regular guy. Someone who looks just like everyone else.

Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB