Andy Bey, a jazz singer, pianist and composer whose silky, rich bass-baritone and four-octave vocal range placed him among the greatest interpreters of the American Songbook since Nat King Cole, his role model, died on Saturday in Englewood, N.J. He was 85.
His nephew, Darius de Haas, confirmed the death, at a retirement home.
Mr. Bey’s life in jazz spanned over 60 years, from his early days as a child prodigy singing in Newark and at the Apollo Theater in Manhattan, to a late-career run of albums and lengthy tours that kept him active well into his eighth decade.
The sheer reach of his voice, and his expert control over it, could astound audiences. Not only could he climb from a deep baritone to a crisp tenor, but he could also do it while jumping ahead of the beat, or slowing to a crawl behind it, giving even well-worn songs his personal stamp.
At a typical show, he might start out singing and playing piano, alongside a bass and drums, then switch between them, sometimes singing without piano, sometimes playing the piano alone.
Even long into his 70s, Mr. Bey had a commanding, compelling voice, projecting from his baby face beneath his signature porkpie hat, a look that made him seem younger than his years.
He was a rarity, a Black man singing jazz, a field in which women had long dominated alongside white singers like Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett.
“A lot of men don’t want to sing ballads because it exposes your vulnerability,” he told The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette in 2001. “It seems like male singers are not supposed to show that side a female singer can show. But as a singer you have to be willing to take it. For me it’s like a cleanser.”
Mr. Bey went far beyond jazz, looping in blues, R&B and soul, whether performing standards or his own compositions. Later in his career, he became known for his rendition of “River Man” (1969) by the British folk-rock musician Nick Drake.
He liked to say that he had four careers, one after the other. First, as a solo child performer, then as one-third of Andy and the Bey Sisters, with his sisters Geraldine and Salome.
After that, he played with a string of jazz artists before breaking out on his own with “Experience and Judgment” (1973), which melded soul and jazz, and seemed to herald the arrival of a major new talent.
Then he all but disappeared. He worked with jazz artists like Sonny Rollins and Horace Silver, and spent long stints in Europe.
It was not until 1996 that he released his next solo album in the United States, “Ballads, Blues & Bey.” By then, the industry had largely forgotten him — 25 record companies turned him down before Evidence, a small jazz label, said yes. (In 1991, he recorded an album called “As Time Goes By,” on Jazzette, a Yugoslavian label.)
“Ballads” was a success, and led to a career renaissance. Mr. Bey had lost none of his vocal range; if anything, his voice had taken on a smooth patina. He released seven more albums over the next 18 years, received two Grammy nominations and became a fixture on the global jazz-club circuit.
“The attention doesn’t surprise me, because I believe I deserve it,” he told The Philadelphia Inquirer in 1999. “But I didn’t realize I’d get this much attention. I’ve been an underground figure, or a cult figure, all these years. An acquired taste, as some writers have called me.”
Andrew Wideman Bey Jr. was born on Oct. 28, 1939, in Newark. His father, a window washer born Andrew Wideman, was an adherent of the Moorish Science Temple of America, an offshoot of Islam, and followed its practice of adopting Bey as a surname. His son kept the surname but did not share his father’s faith.
His mother, Victoria (Johnson) Wideman, raised Andy and his eight older siblings.
He is survived by his sister Geraldine (Bey) de Haas.
At 3, Andy was already teaching himself to play boogie-woogie piano, and at 8 he was singing shows alongside the saxophonist Hank Mobley. His singing in venues around Newark caught the attention of record labels, and he released his first solo album, “Mama’s Little Boy’s Got the Blues,” when he was 13, in 1952.
He was no doubt gifted with preternatural talent, but he was also surrounded by a musical family and a close-knit community in Newark that produced jazz stars like the singer Sarah Vaughan and the saxophonist Wayne Shorter.
Mr. Bey credited his high vocal range to his decade-long run alongside his sisters, though he also closely modeled his style on Vaughan and Nat King Cole.
“I would never be tired of the comparisons,” he told The St. Louis Post-Dispatch in 2001. “Nat King Cole was one of my idols and a major, major influence. He’s still the one for me.”
Just before releasing “Ballads, Blues & Bey,” Mr. Bey revealed that he was gay. He had never hidden his sexuality, but he decided to publicize it after he found out he was H.I.V. positive.
In a way, his sexuality only added to his uniqueness as a Black male singer, and an older one at that. His age, he said, made his performances more persuasive.
“You have to kind of put yourself out there if you’re going to make somebody believe something,” he told The South Florida Sun-Sentinel in 2005. “It’s trying to focus on what the song is saying and hopefully that it communicates something through sound, melody, rhythm — through all those components that help to make great music.”
