The Best American Poetry

It Had To Be You & All the Things You Are w/ Helen Forrest, Dick Haymes, Artie Shaw

Possibly the best swing version of "It Had To Be You": Helen Forrest and Dick Haymes, vocals; the Artie Shaw band.

and then comes Helen's peerless rendition of "All the Things You Are":

 

Why should there be two happy as we? [from "Show Boat": music Kern, lyrics Hammerstein]

Charlie Parker and the Mrs. loved this song. . .

I'm in the seventh heaven / there's more than seven / my heart discovers. . .

Happy Anniversary, Stacey

Let’s Face the Music and Dance [by Ian Crouch]

from The New Yorker, January 28, 2010

<<<
Last Wednesday night, I was fortunate enough to be at the Allen Room in Frederick P. Rose Hall for "I Gotta Right to Sing the Blues," Hal Willner’s inspired rejiggering of the “Great American Songbook.” With the lights of New York forming an ideal backdrop through the venue’s glass back wall, Rufus Wainwright crooned Irving Berlin’s “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” (1936). Sting emerged from the audience and lustily sang the Gershwin brothers’ “Love is Here to Stay” (1938), in what was likely the only time the standard had been performed by a man wearing cargo pants and a sleeveless T-shirt. And, following numbers by Shannon McNally, Marc Anthony Thompson, Van Dyke Parks, Jenni Muldaur, and Christine Ohlman, Lou Reed stomped his way through the great 1943 Harold Arlen / Johnny Mercer hit “One for My Baby (and One More for the Road).”

The show was held in conjunction with David Lehman’s exceptional new book “A Fine Romance: Jewish Songwriters, American Songs,” which inspired a freestyle narration by Ken Nordine, whose pre-recorded voice was piped into the room last night from on high, sounding like the received word from a better, more devious God.

Lehman’s central theme is that while the success of great popular composers and songwriters—Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, Harold Arlen, Jerome Kern, Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart, Oscar Hammerstein II—owes much to their Jewish cultural heritage, the songs they wrote often served as a way to escape “their Jewish origins and join the American adventure.” (Philip Roth writes about this exact idea in several novels, perhaps most movingly in “American Pastoral,” and most histrionically in “The Plot Against America.”) Lehman’s foremost example of what he calls this paradox (Richard Rodgers actually attended Camp Paradox as a child), is Irving Berlin (born Israel Baline) [pictured left] who in writing such songs as “God Bless America” and “White Christmas,” was preaching a new religion, that of America itself.

Yet Lehman is both proud and protective of his own connection to these great songwriters, going as far as to cast himself as a fictional nephew to Uncle Jerry (Kern) and Uncle Harry (Arlen)[pictured right]. And he offers a clever turn on a famous line from “West Side Story” (Bernstein / Sondheim), noting that, “When you’re a Jew, you’re a Jew all the way.” His most intriguing argument is that even the songs by non-Jews of the era, “are in some fundamental way inflected with Judaism.” Lehman’s thrust is a cleaned-up riff on the classic Lenny Bruce Jewish/goyish bit: “If you live in New York or any other big city, you are Jewish … Negroes are all Jews. Italians are all Jews. Irishmen who have rejected their religion are Jews.” The connection between Jews, blacks, and goys is not inconsequential: it forms one of the central components of music from the standards era, perhaps best exemplified by Frank Sinatra singing “Ol’ Man River,” [pictured right  on the radio in the 1940s] or as Lehman puts it, “the lean Italian dressed in white singing a song by Jews about the plight of blacks.” (It’s worth noting, also, that Lenny Bruce made an appearance last night, in the person of Steve Cuiffo, doing a version of the above bit. A crazy show!)

While navigating these elaborate and often fraught ideas, Lehman consistently applies a light touch, perfect for a book about songs with lyrics such as: “The eyes, the arms, the mouth of you,/ The east, west, north, and south of you.” That one’s from “All of You,” by Cole Porter [pictured left], a Midwestern WASP who went to Yale, yet who wrote lyrics that fit squarely into what Lehman understands as a tradition that “followed a Jewish imperative in their abundant humor, wit, and cleverness and in their ability to mix sadness and elation and to produce thereby the mysterious tingle of romance.” Porter was all about romance, and his songs “Let’s Do It,” “Let’s Misbehave,” and “You’re the Top,” can make even the most hardened stoic grin like a fool. If you’re not convinced, check out Bobby Short’s debonair version of “You’re the Top,” which includes such improbable rhymes as: “You’re a rose,/ You’re Inferno’s Dante,/ You’re the nose / On the great Durante.”

For all the fun of the pop song, however, there is an underlying sadness throughout the book. “An ode to the great songwriters is bound to turn elegiac,” Lehman writes. He includes a chronology at the end of the book that starts at 1,000 b.c., with King David (“a musician”) ruling over the Kingdom of Israel, and ends with Bob Dylan performing an electric set at the Newport Film Festival in 1965. (Interestingly, last night’s bassist was Tony Garnier, a longtime member of Dylan’s current touring band.) Lehman likes Dylan, and even links him to Harold Arlen and the other Jewish songwriters of an earlier era. But Dylan heralded, in many ways, the death of the popular standard. He—along with the Beatles and the Rolling Stones—made the guitar king, and eliminated the composer/lyricist dynamic by doing it all himself. Additionally, folk and rock music communicated the anger and confusion of the time, rather than scoring points with cheeky internal rhymes and charming pathos. “The new music devalued cleverness and irony, not to mention the clarinet and the trombone,” Lehman writes.

The standards celebrated the American “good life,” something that in the nineteen-sixties suddenly seemed bourgeois, old-fashioned, or narrow. An example: As the boys in the Barry Levinson movie “Diner,” (set in 1959) argued about who was better—Sinatra or Johnny Mathis—Mickey Rourke, the beautiful young Mickey Rourke, ended the discussion, and the era, by naming “Presley,” as in Elvis, as his choice instead. That movie’s great opening scene at the dance hall now looks like a museum piece. The gentle notion of “romance” had turned to camp. Dancing was finished, and for those who have lamented the last fifty years of pop music, so was sophistication and style.

Which brings us back to last Wednesday, to Lou Reed and “One for My Baby (and One More for the Road).” That killer interpretation, along with Marc Anthony Thompson’s gorgeous rendition of “Spanish Harlem,” suggested that at least for that moment—with the city lights shining in the distance, and the traffic inching cross-town—the old popular standard could live alongside rock, and that hits are hits no matter when they were written or how they are performed.

from The New Yorker, January 28, 2010. Pictured top left: George and Ira Gershwin. Bottom left: Rufus Wainwright and David Lehman after the concert.  See also the write-up that appeared in Tablet.

Linda Ronstadt sings "Frenesi" (for me)

Linda Ronstadt sings "Frenesi."

On Bastille Day, Vive la France: the Marseillaise as orchestrated by Hector Berlioz (1803-1869)

Here's how the whole gang sang it in Paris on 14 Juillet 2016:

And, of course, Paul Henreid is on hand to lead the regulars in a rousing rendition of this brilliant and bloody anthem at Rick's Cafe Americain. And they're still singing it in Paris. Read all about it here. Or sing along with the Casablanca crowd:

 

Cielito Lindo: Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay / Canta Y No Llores

To celebrate life, drink in hand, at a Mediterranean or Caribbean beach, burst spontaneously into Cielito Lindo:

Ay, ay, ay, ay
Canta y no llores
Porque cantando se alegran
Cielito lindo, los corazones

Sing, don't cry
Because when we sing, 
Lovely heaven, our hearts are happy

 

Met Percent: Week One [by Alec Bernstein]

The Met Percent

Q: If I move to NYC, which I did, could I walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, view the collection, gallery by gallery, in ascending order, and how long would it take? The galleries begin at room 100 and end at room 999.

A: I propose to walk to the Met 100 times, viewing 8-10 rooms per visit, during the next 2 years. Each visit will be at least 1 hour, but not more than 4, depending on subject, condition, and the intensity of my response. The method will be “of Montaigne” via Gide. Documentation follows.

Alec Bernstein, April 2019-2021

0% (En Route)

Day 1, I walk through Central Park. My pre-viewing begins with all these curves, en route at 0%.

On Montaigne’s Essays: “Written without preconceived plan, without method, as events or his reading chanced to suggest, he claims to give us his whole self.” - André Gide, whose edition of Montaigne is in my left pocket. Sketchbook in my right.

On Frederick Law Olmsted’s Central Park: Pedestrians are led without realizing they’re being led. The sensation of feeling lost yet completely confident lets you easily return to your starting point. See his 4th Design Principal: Aim for the unconscious.

Weapons First

I am standing in the Met, in a gallery of glass, light, and quiet. The indoor weather is perfect for looking. 

“When I express my opinions it is so as to reveal the measure of my sight not the measure of the thing.” - Montaigne

Yes, somehow it is always weapons first.

 

Kid Egypt

Old stories  

“Egyptologist” was my answer to “when you grow up. . .”. Why, I don't know, but I remember a friend and I built a cardboard plane in kindergarten. We set the course for Cairo Egypt, a difficult flight. I was the pilot in charge of the weather conditions and worried about the storms in March and April. 

But the sands and winds, once we blanketed the windshield, didn't matter, and in the cockpit, totally dark, sleep was easy. Through play and rest. And when I woke, my co-pilot had parachuted. I was alone. But in my smallest pocket was the emergency payphone dime: call home: “Come pick me up, I’m stuck at the Cairo Airport.”

I was not alone in the swirl of “ancient Egypt” in the century of media. Was it National Geographic that sharpened the Egyptologist in me? Lon Chaney’s “The Mummy’s Tomb”? Or the rescue of a genuine Egyptian temple to 5th Avenue? 

I collected Sir E.A. Wallis Budge volumes (the once-eminent British Egyptologist). My treasure, his very rare  Dictionary of Hieroglyphics, was stolen from the parking lot of the Brooklyn Museum. Of course I searched for what any modern tomb robber would surely abandon, but it was lost in Brooklyn.

 

Regulatory Art

As it turns out, you can only get to the afterlife if you have a legitimate function there. Pharaohs are needed for “leadership” . If they’ve added your image into their burial art, you might have a shot.  Otherwise, forget it. No reward for the unconnected pious. 

Gold toe thimble polisher could be your ticket.

"You're the Top" [by David Shapiro]

After he read my book "A Fine Romance" in 2009, David Shapiro -- my friend since my freshman year at Columbia --wrote me one of the greatest letters I have ever received, ending with this off-the-cuff poem:

You’re the top
you’re the TS Eliot
you’re the mop
making clean the Shelley bit

You're the top
you’re the cream of Pop's crop
you're Warhol
despite the whore and the false goal

You're the top
you're where Jew and Jazz meet
you're the sweet
that makes the off-rhyme well met

You're the top
you remember your mom
you're dutiful and productive
as the jazzy beat of the tom tom

You're a memory device
you're falling on no thin ice
you're now like me pretty nice
when the jazz joins the blue night twice

Since I reached my circumcision and began to like sexual curls
And John Ashbery decried things Schuberty
I tell my son not to date too many girls
oh no, it's the wrong smile it's the wrong face

You're the top
You’re the bottom's eaglet
you're the top
you're eeyore eats piglet

you’re the top
you're the boat for Noah
you’re the top
You lunch at Goa-goa

you're the top
you’re Columbia and Cambridge
you’re the top
You're the Jewish language (lanvidge)

You're the top
you’re the martini bullet
you’re the top
you go on foot to shul (*Sit!)

you’re the top
of feminine endings
you're the top
where jazz and jew blended

you’re the top
you're as yizkor sadness
you’re the top
you don't know from badness

but baby if I'm not Jewish
who is doing the stew fish'
but baby if I'm not jazz
then who's the spaz

But baby if I'm not Jewish
its close enough for twoish

and baby if I'm not gefilte
you’re the Hilton
etc etc.

Amapola (arrangement Ennio Morriconi; with Jennffer Connolly & Elizabeth McGovern)

Now listen to this tenor, Juan Diego Florez:

and now Doris Day with Les Brown and his band of renown:

not to overlook the swing era classic:

 

The Birth of the Blues: Classic Sinatra (1952)

This is the definitive recording of a 1926 song by Ray Henderson, Lew Brown, and Buddy de Sylva. Notic what the singer does with the word "weird." Brilliant. -- DL

 

Here's to Al Dubin, Lyricist, Born June 10 [by David Lehman]

On the day
before my birthday
back in 1891
Al Dubin came
into being he
wrote the words
for great songs
like "We're in
the Money," which
Ginger Rogers sings
in Pig Latin
Er'way in-hay the oney-may
Er'way in-hay the oney-may
Er'way ot-gay a-lay
ot-lay of-way Ut-way
it-way akes-tay o-tay
et-gay a-lay-ong-lay . . .

My favorite line in the song: "And when we see the landlord  / We can look that guy right in the eye ."

The music by Harry Warren. Okay, ake-tay it-lay awaytay. . .

Happy birthday, Judy Garland (June 10!)

Happy birthday, Judy Garland. Our love affair never grows old. It's you for me, dear, and you for me.
Moreover,

I like New York in June. How about you?
I like a Gershwin tune. How about you?
I love a fireside when a storm is due.
I like potato chips, moonlight, and motor trips. How about you?
I'm mad about good books, can't get my fill.
And Franklin Roosevelt's looks give me a thrill.
Holding hands in the movie show
When all the lights are low may not be new
But I like it, how about you?

I'd like to dream of fame. Maybe I'll shine.
I'd like to see your name right beside mine.
I can see we're in harmony, looks like we both agree, on what to do,
and I like it. How about you?

 

Happy birthday, Cole Porter (June 9!)

I get a kick out of you, Cole Porter. It's de-lovely. . .to hear your songs sung.

Your lyrics remain as young and "easy to love" as ever. So here's "looking at you," chum.

Furthermore, you know how to "do it":

Some Argentines without means do it
People say in Boston even beans do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

 

Romantic sponges, they say, do it
Oysters down in oyster bay do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

 

Cold cape cod clams 'gainst their wish do it
Even lazy jellyfish do it

Let's do it

 

Let's fall in love. . .

\

"A Hundred Years from Today" [with Sinatra, Maxine Sullivan, Lee Wiley, Doris Day, Jack Teagarden, et al]

 

Happy Birthday, Dino Paul Crocetti, on an evening in Roma. . .

 

 

In Praise of Dolores Gray, a great Gemini (born June 6) [by David Lehman]

On her birthday -- D-Day -- I'd like to praise Dolores Gray, who is dynamite in that underrated classic "It's Always Fair Weather," in which she sings "Thanks a Lot (But No Thanks)" (lyrics by Betty Comden and Adolph Green). She knocks it out of the park. 

I'd like to serenade Dolores and what better way to do it than with a tune? The male vocalist is supported by the Pied Pipers (including Jo Stafford) and the Tommy Dorsey band. 1941. The lyrics were written by Frank Loesser. -- DL

 

Marilyn Monroe as Chanteuse [by David Lehman]

We don't think of her as a singer, but Marilyn Monroe (whose birthday it is) sang -- and sang well. Unlike Rita Hayworth and Kim Novak in Pal Joey, Deborah Kerr in The King and I, Natalie Wood in West Side Story, and Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady, she needed no dubbing. (They shouldn't have dubbed Ava Gardner in Show Boat but that's another story.) See Marilyn making the most of a secondary role in Niagara, or fighting with ehr beau in Bus Stop, or teaming with Jane Russell in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, or joining Ethel Merman and Donald O'Connor on the Irving Berlin bandwagon in There's No Business Like Show Business, or cavorting with cross-dressers Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon in Some Like it Hot. She sings in each of these movies and the songs are noteworthy, each and all. 

Some songs with male chorus and big brass solos, such as "Heat Wave," are extravaganzas of sexual desire and energy. You can't keep your eyes off her, which is as it should be, but one consequence is that you don't hear enough of the voice.

Listen to her sing "I'm Through with Love," or "I Wanna Be Loved By You," "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" or "Bye Bye, Baby" -- but listen to the songs without looking at the visuals. You'll hear a melodious voice of limited range, thin but accurate, with a husky low register, a breathy manner, and a rare gift of vibratro. When her voice trembles over a note -- over "you" or "baby" -- the effect is seductive and yet is almost a caricature of the seductress's vamp. The paradox of her singing is that she reveals her sexual power and flaunts her vulnerability -- to flip the usual order of those verbs. She can be intimate and ironic at the same time.

Compare her version of "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" with Carol Channing's definitive Broadway treatment, and you get the essential difference between theater and cinema, New York and Hollywood. Channing's is the superior theatrical experience: funny, charming, a show-stopper of the first order. But Channing serves the song where Monroe makes her songs sound like illustrations of her life. Monroe's treatment of "Diamonds" may not be as effective as Channing's in its service to Leo Robin's marvelous lyric for Jules Styne's delightful tune. But Monroe's version is younger, friskier, sexier. When she sings it, the song is about her. Music is the food of love, and sexual ecstasy is on the menu, for dessert.

Nowhere is she better than "I'm Through with Love," which she sings in Some Like It Hot. Gus Kahn's lyric, which rhymes "I'm through" with "adieu," is as apt for Marilyn as "Falling in Love Again" was for Marlene Dietrich. In "I'm Through with Love," the singer feigns nonchalance, affects an uncaring attitude. But melodically during the bridge, and lyrically in the line "for I must have you or no one," the song lets us know just how much she does care. Monroe implies this pathos in "I'm Through with Love" at the same time as she struts her stuff. She vows that she'll "never fall again" and forbids Love -- as if the abstraction stood for a Greek god or for the entire male sex -- to "ever call again." But we don't quite believe her, because we know temptation is just around the corner. In a sense, her voice thrusts out its hips when she sings. It's a feast for all the senses.

-- DL

 

 

Rockin' in Rhythm [Duke Ellington]

Duke Ellington at his greatest. He recorded "Rockin' in Rhythm" four times in 1931 the first time at the Cotton Club in Hartlem that January. 

 

"Sing, Sing, Sing": the epitome of the swing era

Good morning, Benny Goodman, on your birthday. I would nominate your band's rendition of "Sing, Sing, Sing" as the paradigmatic song of the swing era. Just listen: Doesn't it make you want to dance-- and prance -- and take a chance?  Runner-up: "It Don't Mean a Thing if it Ain't Got That Swing."
as for today, chilly and gray in Ithaca, it might as well be swing.

And as for tonight, Benny and band will play "Moonglow."