Angela Bofill waits in a plain, beige dressing room, preparing to go on stage without something she has lost.
It’s not a small thing. Most people, says one fan of the ’80s R&B balladeer, would shut down, would be content to live out their lives offstage. The music business demands perfection. A certain look.
At the least, it demands a voice.
“I love perform,” says Bofill, 56, her syntax fractured, her rhythm stop-and-start. She’s illuminated by bright lights but not an ounce of sequins. Instead, she wears a black-print blazer. A cane leans against the dressing table.
“I used to study opera. Used to teach voice. Used to have perfect pitch. Now, no pitch. Bad pitch. Frustrated — little bit. Half my life, singing. First time. No sing.” She says she sounds like an old movie. “Me, Tarzan. You, Jane,” she jokes.
Outside, a sold-out crowd lines up at the Birchmere in suburban Alexandria, Va., for Sunday’s show, “The Angela Bofill Experience.” After two strokes and a five-year absence from the stage, Bofill’s name is again on the marquee. Fans have come from as far away as New Jersey, some cradling Bofill’s original albums, which show an absolutely gorgeous woman.
Not many entertainers would have the courage to do what Bofill is about to do.
“I feel happy performing again,” Bofill says. “I need crowd. In the blood, entertain. Any time a crowd comes to see me, I’m surprised. No sing no more and still people come. Wow. Impressed.” She laughs.
But before she can get onto the stage, she has to get out of the chair. She leans forward. No. She leans forward again. “I conquer my chair — damn it! Nose over the toes. Nose over toes.” Up. She grabs her cane, covered in butterflies. “I love the cane. Mother told me J.Lo uses cane dancing. Sweet!”
She can hear the singer Maysa onstage performing Bofill’s signature hit, “Angel of the Night.” Maysa’s voice is big and powerful, blowing through the dressing room’s thin walls.
There is a flash of envy from Bofill. “Used to play timbale to that song before the stroke,” Bofill says. “Now, cowbell.” Her big, brown eyes look down. “Oh, well. One day, this arm awake. I don’t know. Strange disease, stroke. Before no idea why person walk funny. Now, I get it — stroke.” She is often asked: Will her singing voice come back? “God only knows,” she says. “Rather not sing than sound bad.”
At the height of her career in the ’70s and ’80s, the Latina songstress stood tall — creamy skin, glittery dresses, sultry eyes highlighted with blue eye shadow, white orchid in her hair.
“She had a rare voice,” says her manager, Rich Engel. “She could hit low notes and could hit high C. Her pitch was perfect.” She had a coveted 3 1/2- octave range.
Bofill grew up in the Bronx listening to Latin music, soul and jazz. She became a professional singer as a teenager.
In 1978, she was signed by GRP records, and released her debut album, “Angie,” which included the hits “This Time I’ll Be Sweeter” and “Under the Moon and Over the Sky.” The next year, Bofill released “Angel of the Night,” featuring the hit “I Try.” Both albums topped pop, jazz and R&B charts. Her contract was bought out by Clive Davis and Arista Records.
Bofill made more albums, gave concerts and and appeared in stage plays during the next 20 years. Although she had a huge fan base, her career peaked in the ’80s. Album sales slowed, but Bofill did not. “I asked God: ‘Give me break,’ ” Bofill says. “Over 26 years, no break. I prayed one day, ‘God, I need a break.’ Bam! That’s when stroke hit.” She pauses: “Next time, God, maybe another kind break!” She laughs.
In 2006, she suffered a major stroke that paralyzed her left side and left her unable to speak.
“Over three years, live in rehab. Physical therapy. Eventually, I walk again. I need a cane. Left arm no come back yet. Challenging.”
Eventually, she began talking again. “But my voice no sing. I rather not sing. Awful. Crack me up! Funny! I laugh about it. But very grateful — still living. Never take things for granted.”
A year later, she had another stroke that left her without the one thing a singer needs.
Engel used to call her daily. “All she did was hang around and watch TV. She didn’t try writing any music. She didn’t try writing any stories. I’d say, ‘How you doing, Angie?’ She would say, ‘I’m bored.’ ”
That’s when the idea came to him. He would create a show starring Bofill. She wouldn’t be able to sing, but she could tell her stories. He called Dave Valentin, the legendary flutist who helped Bofill get her first record deal.
“He said, ‘Angie wants you. Without Dave Valentin, I’m not doing the show,’ ” Valentin recalls. “I told him, ‘Of course, I’m doing it.’ “
Engel sought soul and jazz singer Maysa. “I have been listening to her since I was 12 or 13 years old,” Maysa says. “Mother had to buy new albums because I would wear them out. When you listen to someone so long, it is amazing to be on stage. She is looking at me singing her music. It’s like a student getting approval from the teacher.”
The first five “Angela Bofill Experience” shows sold out in San Francisco, to rave reviews.
At the Birchmere, Bofill is wheeled up a ramp. At the edge of the stage, she rises and the crowd applauds — an ovation that grows louder as she walks haltingly across the stage.
The house lights go up. She sits in a chair and tells stories. Maysa sings.
Bofill moves her mouth. “Lip-syncing,” she tells the crowd.
The audience laughs. Videos flash of Bofill in her heyday. The crowd is quiet. The show is like a memorial concert, except Bofill is still very much alive. Laughing but unable to sing.
“Sometimes,” Bofill says, “I crack me up. Better to laugh than cry. Turned out, me a comedian.” She laughs. “Instead of a stand-up comic — a sitting-down comic.”
“The Angela Bofill Experience.”
Soulful pop. The singer narrates an evening featuring her hits songs, with vocalist Maysa and Grammy winner Dave Valentin at the Soiled Dove Underground, 7401 E. First Ave. 7 p.m. and 10 p.m., Saturday. $35-$40; 303-830-9214 or
