"Small Domain" by Ronnie Saint Clair

In 1957, Ronnie Saint Clair recorded his only released album, Wild Nights, in a converted ballroom on the Upper West Side. The project was unlike anything being produced that year. Rather than choosing Tin Pan Alley standards or blues shouters, Ronnie selected the poetry of Emily Dickinson and commissioned modern jazz arrangements from friend and collaborator, Jack Templeton to match. The result was a moody, literate, and musically adventurous LP that baffled record executives. Some critics praised the album’s integrity and depth, but it was not a commercial success. Down Beat gave it two stars. It did not chart, received little airplay, and disappeared quietly into the bins of independent record stores. Ronnie seemed unconcerned. He continued to perform, but less often, and by the early 1960s had all but vanished from the music world.

Go to ronniesaintclair.com for more info on the life of this forgotten voice of jazz.

From the September 18, 1957 issue of New York Star

Wild Nights
Ronnie Saint Clair has been on the radar for a few years now, mostly in the after-hours circles and among radio men with good ears. But Wild Nights is the first full-length recording to really show what he can do in the spotlight. It is tasteful, understated, and quietly ambitious. There is no gimmick here. Just a singer with control, poise, and the rare ability to make a lyric feel lived-in without pushing the drama.

The material is unusual. Every track is adapted from the poetry of Emily Dickinson. That premise alone might turn some listeners away, but they would be missing out. These are not academic readings or novelty treatments. They are finely shaped songs, arranged with care, and delivered with a subtle emotional current that creeps up on you.

“Wrestling with Shadows,” opens the album on firm footing. The band keeps it loose and modern, and Saint Clair sings over it like a man walking a familiar street after dark. His time is relaxed, his tone centered, and he stays close to the line. “A Clock Stopped” moves with a light swing, one of the more uptempo cuts here, and the rhythm section handles it with taste.

“Merriment’s Mask” plays with a bossa nova feel, still a fresh sound in the clubs, and it suits the lyric well. Saint Clair does not lean on the rhythm. He lets it carry him. “Echo of a Tiger” is more atmospheric, with muted horns and a wandering piano figure that suggests quiet tension. It is not a ballad in the traditional sense, but it lingers.

One of the album’s strongest moments comes on “Garden of Roses,” where the vocal sits over a slow harmonic drift. There is a fine balance between sentiment and restraint. “Butterfly’s Eternity” floats on a brushed waltz, handled with a light touch by the trio. And “Awakening” strips everything back to just voice and piano. The melody is spare, almost whispered, but it holds the listener.

There is no filler on this album. Every track is shaped with intention. The band never crowds the singer. The arrangements never reach for cleverness. And Saint Clair himself is in command throughout. He does not oversell anything. He just sings, with style and honesty, and the result is one of the most quietly compelling vocal jazz records of the year.

If Wild Nights finds its way to a broader audience, it will not be by accident. Ronnie Saint Clair has made the kind of record that earns its reputation the hard way—by being good all the way through.

Leon “Flip” Mancuso
Jazz columnist, New York Star
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Mancuso, Leon “Flip.” “Wild Nights.” New York Star, 18 Sept. 1957, sec. C, p. 2.