This conversation feels a bit stuffy to me. Why? I was a good chess player in high school. When I went off to college I looked for chess games. A whole bunch of guys were playing in the student union. But the question hit me immediately. Where are the women? I was outa' there.
There are some mentions of Ella, and Sarah, but those are singers. In the seventies I got deeply into Brazilian jazz and man do they have some tasty women. I'd suggest Tania Maria for one. She sings, scats, and plays the piano like no get out. Now we're talking juicy jazz. I think the two best Tania Maria albums are "Brazil with My Soul" and "Piquant." Have a blast finding them on vinyl but that's the way to listen. Tania Maria is one of the best jazz pianists I've heard.
Then Flora Purim. My God! She sings on one of the best selling jazz albums of all time: "Light as a Feather" with Chick Corea. As for her own albums which she usually makes with her percussionist husband, Airto, I recommend "Encounter." But be ready to bend your ear a bit. The lady is abstract. For some "stuffy" credibility, Ron Carter, Joe Henderson, and McCoy Tyner are also on that album. I go back to it again and again and again. Again, listen to it on vinyl if you can.I have purchased all the Flora Purim albums I could get my hands on.
Sliding into the 21st century, I recently went to a concert of a saxaphonist named Melissa Aldana. I was extremely impressed that she had her own voice (on the saxaphone). I immediately purchased a couple of her albums.
IMHO, the best jazz standard I have is Coltrane playing "My Favorite Things" on Selflessness. I have more Coltrane albums (vinyl) than I can count, but that's my all time favorite. He flies in the album. Here's a poem I wrote to Coltrane back in the day:
ON HEARING A RADIO INTERVIEW
WITH JOHN COLTRANE NOV. 13, 1985
stepping out of the past
on careful paws of a cat
hissing & scratching
thru car speakers
in the Sepulveda pass
a gospel intelligence
where family words
are polished in deep drums
he doesn't say it
but somehow I hear
that music wasn't doled
out over cloistered walls
it comes from the streets
where women's bodies
turn rags to style
I stop the car &
close my eyes
listening to "Green Dolphin St."
& picture large black hands
like Icarus's wings
& think that grace lands anyplace
like snowflakes
promiscuously kissing faces

