I have no way of knowing whether Bill Charlap cries at weddings or hangs cute kitty-cat posters in his bedroom, but it seems like no one can describe the pianist without using the word "sensitive." His delicate interpretations and gentle swing almost demand it, considering how far he stands apart from other current keysmen. Charlap wholly eschews the intellectualism of Brad Mehldau, the tongue-in-cheek smarm of Ethan Iverson and the brash experimentation of Jason Moran. Where many of his contemporaries are exploring modern pop music, transforming tunes by Radiohead and Nick Drake into new standards, Charlap is a happy anachronism, content with delving deep into the tried-and-true American songbook. And he does it with unabashed emotion and sentiment, perhaps carried in the DNA: His father was a Broadway songwriter and his mother, a singer. Charlap has even released an intimate set of duets with Mom, all very—oh, fuck the thesaurus—sensitive.