Regular readers probably know I don’t write about jazz singers very often, and that’s because I’m not that crazy about them. I enjoy Ella Fitzgerald scatting or Sarah Vaughan twisting her silken voice into all kinds of crazy or the cool croon of Johnny Hartman as much as the next person, but these days there aren’t too many singers working in the tradition that I would willingly turn to. Andy Bey is one of them. The 73-year old doesn’t make recordings very often, and that measured pace of his output is simpatico with his approach to his art: patient, meticulous, and thoughtful. Last month he released The World According to Andy Bey (HighNote), his first album in six years, and even though it features only his rich baritone and his own sparse piano accompaniment, there’s more than enough to grapple with for quite a few more years.