It’s pretty ridiculous how many versions of this song I’ve listened to as of late.  It started with a distant memory brought about by the almost forgotten majestic beauty of Barry Harris’ music, then it transferred to the Platters, then it circled back to the original musical that it came from, 1933’s Roberta. 

In addition to this, there was a version by Barbra Streisand, a version from Kurt Elling, an interpretation by Eartha Kitt and even a long lost recording from rock god Freddie Mercury.  Much like “If I Didn’t Care”, I think this song is one of those unlikely hits that had no business being a hit, but unlike the Ink Spots classic this isn’t the most well known of songs.

But what can you say?  It’s a song from a musical not called Annie or The Producers.  This is in no way an insult to those that like Roberta; at this juncture I have yet to see it.  But I have seen interpretations of the song from the musical itself, and it sounds lovely.  It just isn’t my kind of style; operatic forms of lost/love songs tend to lack a bit of rhythm.

“Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” is a lush song, a slow moving tale of unrequited love, or at least love that eventually dies.  Love itself is specifically compared to one’s heart being on fire, and as a result smoke gets in your eyes.  It’s pretty clever, really.  Because smoke rises, and your heart is below your eyes.  So you become blinded and burned by your feelings, because such an inferno to send smoke to your eyes has to be disastrous to your (emotional) health as well.

Yes, I did think you needed a full explanation.

My first time hearing the song, as I said earlier, was with Barry Harris, off of his album First Time Ever, an album which will get its review from us fine people at Weight in Words in the future.  It was just a random song on Pandora, and it stopped me not twelve seconds into it, as I was busy washing dishes or doing something criminally-minded in Grand Theft Auto Online.  It was a solo session so I took to just coasting the Los Santos roads as the song played.

See, I’m something of a purist with bebop jazz bands.  Much like I’m from a time where “remix” meant you messed up the first time, I’m from the mentality that a good bebop band only needs a pianist, a percussionist and a bassist.  That’s what you get with the Barry Harris Trio: you have Harris on the piano, Leroy Williams on the drums and George Mraz on the bass, and the result, with their song, is seven and a half minutes of bliss.  Without lyrics and because of its jazzy vibe, I don’t think Harbach would look at this particular interpretation as the standard (not like Coltrane and Hartman’s version of “Lush Life”) but it is far and away a beautiful track.

The Platters were a successful doo wop group much like the Ink Spots, and they too got their hands on the song.  This was before Harris’ got his hands on the piece, long before, and its as silky smooth as Johnny Fontane as he attempts to get intimate with your twentysomething daughter.  Personally, I’ve always been an opponent to structure in terms of song crafting, so the rigid form of the Platters’ interpretation wasn’t really all that appealing to me (it’s also one of the foundations to my love for bebop) but much like asparagus in a good dish, my opinion shifted when the song hit my ears.  Or the object hit my senses.  Let’s use the second one.  And while we’re at it, listen to it here.