Mady Kaye has been singing ever since she learned to walk. As a jazz vocalist, Ms. Kaye is known for her impeccable phrasing and improvised lyrics. Of her debut jazz CD, “Songs for All Seasons,” Raoul Hernandez, Austin Chronicle Music Editor writes: “Sophistication and elegance are swooning under the spell of Kaye’s cool, seductive jazz stylings… she sings jazz – lives each note, breathes every line, inhabits every song.” Ms. Kaye also performs cabaret, notably at Zachary Scott Theater in Austin. Her first show, “A Tribute to Tin Pan Alley” was recorded live, and the CD “Mady Kaye Goes Cabaret” is the happy result: “…when she gives voice to these master-pieces of wit and romance, she communicates all the craft, all the feeling that has made these songs the standards… Kaye’s polished technique makes every word clear, every clever phrase ring… her voice comes out like a taut thread of silk.” Robert Faires, Arts Editor, Austin Chronicle. “Mady Kaye is Austin’s premier straight-up, can-do-it-all vocalist.” Rita DeBellis, The Good Life. In addition to performing, Ms. Kaye is a full time vocal instructor. The Austin Chronicle’s “Critic’s Picks” named her the best professional voice instructor in Austin. Ms. Kaye is also the band leader of The Austin Carolers and The Beat Divas.

In her own words:
My first disaster in the kitchen – the one I remember, anyway – was New Year’s Eve in my senior year of high school.  I had decided to throw my first-ever dinner party for my boyfriend and several other couples. Fancy food, dress up clothes, good wine, ironed table linens, the works.  I’d seen my mother do this countless times, and she was so accomplished at throwing dinner parties I thought I could sail right through it like she did.  I mean, studying at the feet of a master and then emulating that is easy, right?  So wrong.  I suppose if I hadn’t set the shish kebob on fire, dinner might have been more, um, successful.  My mother bailed me out, of course.  As soon as smoke started billowing out of the oven (the door was cracked for the broiler), I just started screaming “Mom, Mom” at the top of my lungs.  She came barreling into the kitchen, put out the fire, salvaged the food, and helped me prep the rest of the meal. And all this after I got shish kebob grease all over the fabulous gray silk shirt she had loaned me for the evening…  the gray silk shirt I had coveted for years and she finally let me borrow. I can’t believe she didn’t give me what-for after that episode.  No, she and my dad made a happy retreat to their own event and left me with my friends, who thought I was terribly clever to pull off a meal like that. Little did they know…
In my family food was an extension of love. Food was celebrated for its flavor, visual appeal, freshness and ingenuity. My parents were both from New York City and spent their courtship and early married years eating at wonderful restaurants. When the kids came along, the whole family went to New York for food, theater and museums, at least once a month. (We lived about ninety minutes north of New York, so it wasn’t a long trip.)  My mother was a fearless, first-class cook. So I just took it for granted that this was the way to live — and to cook. What good fortune for me!