To croon, or not to croon, doesn’t seem to be a question. We love the idea of love, we love the rules, and perhaps we have a thing for breaking them.
A pensive, polite Mac in a suit complete with moustache, and the giant persona that is cousin Penelopa entertain the argument of authenticity. Whose words shall we sing? Whose point are we making? Can we rewrite the eternal notions of love and loss as our own or merely cling with nostalgic lament to the drippings of the stars?
Planet Clare continues to groom her show ‘Spooners For Crooners’ into a moonlit stroll along the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, whereby introducing (or re-introducing) big names long forgotten and announcing herself as her footprints walk alongside theirs.
The band of Spoons (violin, double bass, sax and drums) accompanying her twinkle brightly as their supporting role in the night sky, while Penelopa’s dreams of finding fiscal fortitude at the Formula 1 sadly fade.
Eventually, Penelopa’s worldly wisdom woos Planet Clare into a bold orbit whence she can share her original songs. More crooning, but singer-songwriter style, with guitar and by this stage a mythology-inspiring gold dress.
The myth of the crooner lives on in this delightful and respectful search, proffered in song, conversation and a spoonful of stardust.