June 28, 2012 by Stephen Holden, The New York Times

Ruby Washington/The New York Times

Ruby Washington/The New York Times

“Show rooms keep closing behind me, but I just keep moving,” the singer Jack Jones remarked near the end of his show at Feinstein’s at Loews Regency on Wednesday evening, naming two fabled but vanished Las Vegas lounges. In New York City, Mr. Jones, until this year, had made an annual appearance at the now closed Oak Room at the Algonquin Hotel. He has since moved 17 blocks uptown, and from the West Side to the East, for a too-short run at Feinstein’s.
The change of club seems to have reinvigorated Mr. Jones, who was in magnificent voice as he delved more deeply than ever into his material. His set on Wednesday was mercifully devoid of signature hits like “Wives and Lovers,” songs that are embarrassments in these postfeminist times. (Even if performed with a wink and an apology, they still leave a taint.) His band featured Lou Forestieri on piano, Chris Colangelo on bass, Patrick Tuzzolino on guitar, Kendall Kay on drums and Houston Person on saxophone.
With a white mane that peaks in a roosterlike crest and his impeccably suave manners, Mr. Jones has the aura of a mostly tame lion whose growls evoke a sense of himself as the last – and maybe the best – of a vanishing breed. No one sings like this anymore, and maybe no one can. He is still firmly in command of his formidable technical skills. And his interpretations of standards, more so than those of most singers over 70, feel like the reflections of a man humbled by age, one who has belatedly woken up to his good fortune and is engaged in serious self-scrutiny.
Mr. Jones’s artful growls, emanating from his core, lend him the authority of first-rate pop-jazz swingers like his friend, the much-missed Joe Williams. The pretty boy crooner of “Lollipops and Roses” is long gone, replaced by an inner wild man who periodically breaks out of his cage to release maniacal cries that evoke an anarchic animal exuberance.
His buttoned-down 1968 performance of the obscure “Gypsies, the Jugglers and the Clowns,” a declaration of nonconformity (which can be seen in a YouTube video), is half-hearted compared with his whooping rendition on Wednesday. “Just One of Those Things” spun into orbit with the same uncontainable ferocity.
The Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows” became a grown man’s heavyweight vow of devotion. Best of all was a rendition of his 1966 hit, “The Impossible Dream,” that transformed this sentimental war horse into an anthem of personal determination, not only to keep moving but to keep getting better.
Jack Jones performs through Saturday at Feinstein’s at Loews Regency, 540 Park Avenue, at 61st Street; (212) 339-4095, feinsteinsattheregency.com.