(what Can I Say) After I Say I'm Sorry
Josephine Baker · Other Songs - Josephine Baker
I'm sorry sweetheart and yet
Though you shouldn't be lenient with me
I hope you'll forgive and forget
What can I say, dear, after I say I'm sorry?
What can I do to prove it to you, I'm sorry?
I didn't mean to ever be mean to you
If I didn't care I wouldn't feel like I do
I was all wrong but right or wrong I don't blame you
Why should I take somebody like you and shame you
I know that I made you cry, and I'm so sorry dear
So what can I say, dear, after I say I'm sorry?
You made me glad, I made you sad
I made you lonesome and blue
And who ever knew
Who'd ever think that I would be crying to you
What can I say, dear, after I say I'm sorry?
What can I do to prove it to you, I'm sorry?
I didn't mean to ever be mean to you
If I didn't care I wouldn't feel like I do
I was all wrong but right or wrong I don't blame you
Why should I take somebody like you and shame you
I know that I made you cry, and I'm so sorry dear
So what can I say, dear, after I say I'm sorry?
(what Can I Say) After I Say I'm Sorry
Josephine Baker's rendition of '(what Can I Say) After I'm Sorry' stands as a vibrant testament to her unique fusion of jazz, blues, and exoticist performance styles. Recorded during the height of her international fame, the track captures her signature vocal agility and rhythmic precision, blending French chanson sensibilities with American swing influences. As a key figure in the Harlem Renaissance and a celebrated performer at the Paris Opera, Baker brought an electrifying energy to this material, transforming it into a staple of her repertoire that showcased her ability to navigate complex emotional landscapes. The song reflects the broader cultural exchange of the 1920s, where African American musical traditions met European theatricality. Her interpretation remains a defining example of early jazz vocalism, highlighting her role as a pioneering artist who transcended racial and national boundaries to create a distinct musical voice.
