The tall, cinnamon-skinned girl has a voice like velvetsoft, rich and shimmering under the smoke-dimmed lights. Her throaty tunes are chosen with care, treated with respect. Her act, when the noisy audience stops to listen, is swinging singing at its best. But these days Ann Weldon, who once knocked around the edges of the big time, often seems to be singing to herself. She is lost in The Clouds, a Honolulu nightclub on Kapahulu Avenue no better and no worse than a dozen other joints competing for the tourist's dollar or the...
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