So, the great Caterina Valente decided to make an album with the phenomenal harpist Catherine Michel—a musical force of nature who worked with Caterina’s idol, Michel Legrand. The big question was, who on earth could produce this? She needed someone who would give her the freedom to follow her muse, not a schedule.
Over a likely very Italian coffee, she was chatting with her son, Eric, and had a lightbulb moment. “You!” she probably said. “You produce it!” It was a family affair, and they were both in immediate, unanimous agreement on the arranger: the legendary Gianni Ferrio. This was a no-brainer. Gianni had been crafting gorgeous arrangements for Caterina since the sixties, even managing the impossible—making her voice one of three in a breakneck version of Paganini’s *Moto Perpetuo*. The man was a wizard.
Now, Caterina, in her wisdom, knew this album wasn’t exactly “commercial.” It was a personal project. So, she decided to finance it herself, gracefully sidestepping the usual management maze. Once this little masterpiece was in the can, our fabulous mutual friend—Europe’s jazz agent extraordinaire—introduced us to the Nagel Heyer label.
And here’s where we found a unicorn: Sabine Nagel Heyer. In a world of suit-and-tie executives, Sabine had a heart that beat purely for the music, right up there with legends like Ahmet Ertegun. She got it. Tragically, after she passed, her son took over and, well… let’s just say the apple fell into a different orchard entirely. But that, as they say, is a story for another time (and probably requires a stronger drink).
The album found its people—those who appreciated that Caterina wasn’t the young firecracker of the 50s anymore, but a seasoned artist. She herself would say her voice was “tired,” but we thought of it as “interestingly seasoned,” like a fine, complex wine. Naturally, her “Schlager Friends” (the fans of her classic German pop hits) thought it was an absolute catastrophe. To which we could only humbly reply, “Well, yes. We didn’t exactly make it *for* you.”
International critics understood the assignment perfectly. But in Germany, her then-manager seemed to think his job was to actively sabotage it. How silly! The album was practically wearing a beret and sipping an espresso; it wasn’t meant for the beer hall.
In the end, Caterina gave the album a beautiful send-off with a career-spanning tribute on Austrian television, where she performed two songs from *The Girl and the Harp*. It was classy, professional, and the audience loved it.
Caterina’s own take on the project was perfectly poised: “I loved doing it… but I realized my voice was tired. So, ending the album with a new version of the first song I ever sang on stage felt like the perfect way to stop. And retire.”
You have to admire an artist who knows exactly when to take her final, graceful bow.