A cinephilac blog about an actress, silent film, and the Jazz Age, with occasional posts about related books, music, art, and history written by Thomas Gladysz. Visit the Louise Brooks Society™ at www.pandorasbox.com
The enduring charm of Hailey Tuck - "the millennial's Louise Brooks"
It's no secret I adore Hailey Tuck, not just because she is darn cute and sports a swell bob, but also because she is a gifted jazz vocalist. Hailey is a singer from Austin, Texas who, in her own words, is "based in Paris & London in the 1920's."
I have been spending a good deal of time on YouTube over the last few days (refurbishing the Louise Brooks Society YouTube channel) when I came across a 2018 interview with Hailey in which she mentions the impact Louise Brooks and Brooks' own memoir, Lulu in Hollywood, had on her life and career. I hadn't seen it before. My bad. And thought to post it here.
I have written about Hailey in the past, as have many other publications including Marie Claire, who once described her as “The millennial's Louise Brooks.” Back in 2015, Hailey contributed a piece to the Louise Brooks Society blog in which fans of the actress were asked to submit their story of discovery -- of how they first came across Louise Brooks and what the actress means to them. Before I reprint that piece, here is another 2018 video clip of Hailey's UK TV debut, singing "That Don't Make It Junk" on the BBC show, Later... with Jools Holland.
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Hailey Tuck's story of discovering Louise Brooks by Hailey Tuck
When I was 18, I was working in a rare and out
of print bookstore in Austin, TX and lazily attending a mess of random
liberal arts classes at the community college across the street. I'd
graduated from a Baptist military boarding school early, and
subsequently 'suffered' two heart wrenching defeats in attempting to
gain admittance to Julliard, and though I can look back on that malaise
with the same wry smile as reading my self-aggrandizing childhood
diaries, I do acutely remember looking at my options and feeling very
"none of the above."
The job itself was a total
dream, and still my number one back up in case I didn't manage to become
wildly successful in jazz. My grandmother was a bookseller and called in
an old favor for her bibliophile granddaughter, and voila I became their
only employee. The shop opened at noon
(ideal) and I was mostly left to my own devices, or occasionally joined
by my boss, Luke -- an obviously extreme literate, and general good time
-- or one of the eccentric collectors who would come and have a whiskey,
or tutor me in French.
Like some sort of adult
Montessori school, my browsing led me to a total cultural revolution
for a curious 18 year old. After dully expressing my distaste for
poetry, Luke pointed me to Pablo Neruda and Rainer Maria Rilke, and like
a light-bulb I suddenly understood the art behind the subtlety of
expressing something sensuous or painful without the directness or girth
of literature. I pawed through sections on occult, anthropology, Swedish
furniture. I bought the entire play section. I dated a professor from
the university who slept in a soundproof, light proof box and cut off my
black hair because I wanted to look like a New York art dealer in the
90's. And luckily, I picked up a book called Lulu in Hollywood
because the illustration of the chick on the front had my hair cut.
Reading,
or inhaling rather, doesn't cover it. For once I felt I was reading a
real story, and one that closely echoed my own -- sexual abuse,
alcoholism, family troubles, and then looking at traditional success
and saying, "Fuck that I'm going to make weird ass art house movies in
Germany!" Some might view Louise's subsequent eeking descending fall
into obscurity as a classic tragedy, however from my current vantage
point as a young performer, I see someone who made deliberate u-turns
based on a desire to be the most authentic version of themselves,
regardless of the viability for commercial success. And most
importantly, I saw myself, and felt steeled to seek out my own
adventure, regardless of the wobbling uncertainty of ditching college,
my father's approval, and the American dream.
My
newfound hubris manifested into a one way ticket to Paris. I should add
that I also had the rare luck of a modest trust fund of sorts --
before you start gagging -- it was an insurance settlement. A
lonely month or so later on the metro, this American girl
complimented my vintage dress, and I asked her how she knew I spoke
English, and she said, "I don't, I just speak to everyone in English!"
For some reason it seemed entirely charming, and I asked her if she
wanted to get off and have a glass of champagne together. She told me
about her strange marriage to an older wealthy record producer (they
have separate houses, and she collects dollhouses) and I told her that I
was sort living in this squat and was too scared to tell my Dad, or
he'd make me come home. She happened to be house sitting this beautiful
apartment in Voltaire and offered for me to sleep on the red velvet
fainting couch. One night later we were throwing a party and I was
sitting on my bed/fainting couch and this completely decadent red headed
American, in head to toe 1920's sat down next to me and I told her I'd
been living there on this couch, then asked her the proverbial, "Do you
come here often?" She looked at me sardonically, and patiently replied
that this was her house. And her couch. After a second/hour or so of
complete embarrassment I bumbled and mumbled my way through an
explanation about being fresh off the boat, wanting to do acting or
singing or something, and a few glasses of Prosecco later she had yanked
off the music and had me singing Billie Holiday's "I'll Be Seeing You"
on her dining room table.
When I read Luluin Hollywood I
had this grand idea of what Europe might be -- cavorting with
intellectuals and passing out at orgies at Rothschild mansions. But when
I got there everything seemed garishly contemporary, and lonely. I just
felt like an American at an overpriced cafe.
But whatever Sorrel saw in
me on her dining room table was the catalyst for everything I could
have imagined. I got upgraded from fainting couch to painting studio,
introduced to a swath of filthy Italian phrases, chess on trains,
regency balls, schooled on not offending Venetians at Carnival, posing
nude in an Art Deco harem, literally physically force-dressing me for
winter time, and above all encouraged and supported to sing at every
single event, party, and opportunity possible until, like learning the
other side of poetry, or understanding the inevitability of forever, I
became the most true, authentic version of myself as a jazz singer
trying to evolve and challenge myself in Europe, and of course offending Venetians and passing out at Mansion parties.
I'm still sort of making
wobbly guess-choices, but I do know that everything that has led me to
where I am now feels right, and nothing about it seems like the beaten
path to any real commercial success, and that feels great. And when
Marie Claire did an article on me this year, I definitely felt a wry
self-aggrandizing smile when reading the title "The Millennial Louise
Brooks".
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In 2020, Hailey released another splendid album, Coquette. To keep up with Haily and her career, be sure and check out her website at haileytuckmusic.com/ or follow her on Twitter or YouTube. That's where I am headed now to watch a few more videos.
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