M~c - Naxos Music Library

Smious Fun!
jody ka~inapplebaurn, sopmno m~c- and^^ hamelin, piano
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Come On A&emon [2:551 words:fE."B Clarke; mus1c:Lord 'Bemers
'MaWnity [2:441 words:kbert Service; music: Jeremy Ncholas
Someone Is Sendtng K e Flawers [2:561 words: Sheldon Samick mustc: amid %ker
Chrisan War [2031 words &music: 'Bruce "Montgomery
small t2fk [:I01
Summer Is A-Comb' In [2:561 words:John Mouche; must?: Vemon Puke
small talk L161
'Madeha, 'MTvl'l)ear? [[4:281 words:'Michael Flanders; music:9onald Swann
small talk L141
A Fanner's "By Ill41 words:&onymous; music: "Marc-&dye %elin
Ill Wtnd [3:301 words:'Michael Flmders; music:9onsld Swmn (w. apoLogfes to 'Mozart)
(I'm Spendii&)flanukkah In Smto 'btontca [2:201 words & music:fom Lehrer,
m.pameltn
small talk [:091
f i e fwelve aays After Christmas 13351 words &music: Fredertck Silver
f i e Green-Eyed 9rrgon [3:071 words:Gre%rex Newman; mustc: Wolseley Charles
Usherette's "Bues [%:a1 words &music: Jeremy Nicholas
small talk 1381
Lime Jello 'MmhmalLaw Cottrge Cheese Surprise [2:461 words &music: Willinn Polcom
f i e Shape OF fib@[3:251 words & music: Sheldon h i c k
Kusical Chairs 12471 words & music: Jeremy Nicholas
small talk [:XI
I Nmer 'Do &fihtng fwice [5:301 words &music: Stephen Sondheim
f i e "Masochism fango 12551 words &music:fom Lehrer
"Pretty?bin [PO21 words &music: Jeremy Mcholrs
A Word On 'My E e 15541 words:KichseL Flanders; muslc:VonsLd Swann
famara, Queen Of f i e Mle [4:361 words:"Muller,'Block, Wlnkler; music:'Peter Winkber
%taL h e = 69:46
S e ~ i o u sFun!
Phrases that chill the heart: '7 want a volunteer
from the audience. " "Is thisyour car, sir?" "Have we
shownyou our holidy maps?" O r how about
"%night> lecture is on the art of writing come4." Go to
that seminar and one thing you know for sure
in advance is that you are consigning ourself
to an evening devoid of any humour.
Dissecting comedy, analysing jokes, or, in this
case, comic songs, has all the allure of pulling
off the wings of a butterfly to see how it flies.
To the practitioners of the art like myself it
is an endlessly fascinating exercise. Not
pulling- off the wings of butterflies, I mean,
but constructing lyrics that are specifically
designed to make an audience laugh. There
are lots of tricks of the trade you pick up from
experience and the work of others, there are
shortcuts to solving the self-imposed problems of rhyming, but sitting down to examine
how /why /when a lyric is funny (or not) is
not something that anyone who writes the
things ever does. How do you know something
is funny? The only criterion is "Well, it made
me smile when I wrote it (so there's a good
chance it will amuse other people as well)."
T h e only way of finding out if your hunch is
right is to try it out o n an audience. Scary.
s a t i n g off writing a comic song is rather
like being your own crossword compiler,
designing the grid, filling i n all the squares,
setting your own clues. No it's not, really. It's
more like taking a pile of kids' building bricks
and making a spectacular skyscraper from
them. No, that's not it either. But there are
elements of both that are pertinent (a good
word for seminars). Design your own template and, using that as a launch pad, construct your lyric, allowing yourself the freedom to smash the template whenever you need
to. Lyrics frequently take o n a life of their
own and you can often end up with an entirely
different structure - and even subject - by
following your instinct and certain rules:
Does it amuse me? Does it make logical
sense? Is it truthful? Does it make grammatical sense? Does it scan? Does it rhyme? A
comic song has to rhyme, by the way. That's
an immutable law. Blank verse lyrics can't be
sung, which is one reason why T.S.Eliot never
wrote a musical. They also have to scan, which
is why Ogden Nash to me is unfailingly
unfunny. The predictability of a lyric's
rhythm is the key to producing laughs (viz.
Noel Coward. Tom Lehrer, Flanders &
Swann).
Music? The tune has to be catchy and
uncomplicated. It has to compliment the subject and, of course, the rhythm of the verse.
Too sophisticated, bitonal harmonies,
unequal measures and.. . well, show me a
comic song with these as accompaniment and
I'll show you a silent audience (viz. F.
Schubert, H. Wolf, R. Strauss, A. Schoenberg
and B. Britten). Do you write the music first
and then the lyrics, o r vice versa? Almost
invariably, vice versa. If you compose your
own music, a melody will invariably come
unbidden into your head as you are writing
the lyrics (as a private joke, I like to insert a
phrase from a more-or-less well known classical work somewhere in the music). If you work
with a composer, personally I would never
show him/her my lyrics until the first draft was
complete. That was how Gilbert and Sullivan
worked and why their operas, operettas, musicals (call them what you will) survive today.
I've never understood how Andrew Lloyd
Webber and Tim Rice succeeded as extravagantly as they have. Lloyd Webber wrote the
music first, then handed it to Rice to write his
lyrics with a request not to change a note of
the music. Which is why their musicals sound
the way they do, and why, with the exception
of Joseph and 7heAmazing 7echnicolour Dreamcoat,
there are no comedy numbers in any of their
joint work. Fitting comic lyrics to an already
existing, well-known tune is a different exercise. This is the joyous art of parody. To me,
the master of the genre was Allan Sherman
whose Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah, using
Ponchielli's "Dance of the Hours" from La
Gloconda, is one of the most inspired of its
kind.
The funny (peculiar) thing about funny
(ha-ha) songs is that, though they have a huge
audience, there is little commercial demand
for them today. Everyone likes them when
they hear them but there are fewer opportunities to do that. In the days of Variety
(American = Vaudeville) there were any number of solo and double acts with a repertoire
of comic ditties. W.S.Gilbert (of Gilbert and
Sullivan) I take to be the granddaddy of
funny, literate lyrics that have stood the test of
time. His influence o n subsequent generations of lyricists was enormous, whether in the
fields of musical comedy o r music hall. In
Britain. Gilbert begat Harry Graham, Noel
Coward, Vivian Ellis, Ronald Frankau and
scores of others including P.G.Wodehouse
who, if he had died in 1918before world-wide
fame as a novelist, would be remembered now
as an important figure in the development of
the American musical. Ira Gershwin, Lorenz
Hart, Cole Porter and Alan Jay Lerner are
just some of the major lyricists who acknowledged their debt to Wodehouse and his contribution to the Broadway musical. I n the
UK, such names as Alan Melville, Michael
Flanders and Donald Swann, Ted Dicks and
Myles Rudge, Lionel Bart, Ronnie Barker and
Paddy Roberts represent the post-war years as
leading purveyors of comic lyricists.
But today? O n this side of The Pond, at
least, there are only a few writer-performers
who carry o n the tradition: Richard Stilgoe
and Peter Skellern, Kit and the Widow,
Victoria Wood, Fascinating Aida and Instant
Sunshine. I blame the whole navel-gazing Pop
Industry. And Leonard Cohen. And Bob
Dylan. And John Lennon. And Paul Simon.
And anyone else like that whom I can think of
without much justification: brilliant songwriters - poets, really - but not a laugh, not a
titter, not a glimmer of a smile amongst the
lot of them. I know it's not cool to be funny
but, hey, lighten up, boys. Take The Spice
Girls, Westlife and Eminem. Please. Take
them. When was the last time you heard a hit
song whose lyrics made grammatical sense let
alone made you laugh? Of course, pop music
is a different animal with a different market,
but why does it have to be so damned earnest
all the time?
Now Stephen Sondheim, Sheldon Harnick,
Flanders & Swann, Tom Lehrer - and a whole
host of others who might just as easily have
been included on this disc - now they're a
whole different ball game. These guys can
make you laugh every other line (and it does
tend to be guys, by the way, though Victoria
Wood and Dilly Keane provide notable present-day exceptions in the UK).
How do they do it? What makes a competent comic lyricist? A love of words and word
play, an instinctive grasp of comic timing and
rhythm, a penchant for grabbing unlikely
ideas out of thin air and writing them down in
structured rhymingverse. Keen, truthful.
cynical, sometimes cruel, often bitchy
observers of the human condition. But don't
let's start getting too pompous. A lot of it is
down to having a good rhyming dictionary.
Unlike %ha* hits which command worldwide sales, in general, comic songs don't travel
too well. Bolcom's Lime Jello Marshmallow, for
instance, might be a hoot i n Houston o r
Hollywood but the reference point for its
basic joke would be lost o n a resident of
Rangoon, even a fluent English speaking resident of Rangoon. Equally, comic songs with
French lyrics are tricky to bring off successfully in, say, the Black Hills of Dakota (as Doris
Day might have put it). Deft, incisively-used
lyrics in English have their strongest effect o n
an audience thoroughly conversant with the
English language. Even then there can be difficulties for. united thoueh Britain and
America may be by a (roughly) common language, they are frequently divided by their
sense of humour. Comic songs are difficult to
write - serious skills for serious fun -but for
them to work equally successfully i n two o r
more English-speaking countries is tough.
And then there's the performance side.
This disc provides the perfect illustration of
how to do it. Yet, in two important areas, Miss
Applebaum proves herself a notable exception
as an exponent of the comic song. First, classically-trained singers like her can rarely shed
their operatic-, lieder- personas to deliver the
goods. In fact, a classically-trained voice is
usually a positive disadvantage for a comic
song. Why go to a chiropodist to get your
teeth filled? Secondly, sopranos like Jody
Applebaum usually find it far more difficult
to articulate consonants in a high tessitura
(which is why most comedy parts in opera are
taken by mezzo-soprano and baritone voices)
and if the audience doesn't get every single
word clearly, at first hearing, then the performer might as well be skate-boarding over a
ploughed field. As soon as you find yourself
straining t o make o u t t h e lyrics, a n d are hence
concentrating o n y o u r inability t o hear t h e m
rather t h a n enjoying t h e m , the game is up.
Articulation, e n u n c i a t i o n a n d diction ( n o t t o
m e n t i o n intonation) a r e things you d o n o t
worry about when listening t o Miss
Applebaum sing.
T h e p i a n o is t h e usual p a r t n e r i n this
enterprise, infinitely m o r e malleable a n d versatile than, say, a string quartet o r piano
accordion. T h e guitar is a n acceptable second
choice within its limited musical range. Just as
few opera divas can handle Broadway hits and
standard songs, few classical pianists know how
t o swing, let alone let t h e i r h a i r down. Tonal
discrimination a n d a bravura technique are
n o t pre-requisites f o r accompanying the
comic song, b u t if these attributes are o n
h a n d , i t would be churlish t o t u r n them
down. M r H a m e l i n has b o t h with spades b u t is
also musician (and man) e n o u g h t o be able t o
$ay this stuff - a n d o n occasion t o contribute
vocally - with all t h e sassy conviction o f a
Broadway veteran, i n my experience the only
international virtuoso ever t o d o so.
There. I said i t wasn't going t o b e a barrel
o f laughs. Listen t o the disc f o r that - a n d
have some serious fun. T h i s is the best p r o gramme of its kind t o appear f o r years.
Jeremy Nicholas
2001
J e r e ~ yNicholas is a composer, actor, author, and awardwinning BBC announcer.
Serious Fun!
fexts
Come On ageman
words: fE.9. Clarke: music: Lard Berners
Did ever you hear of Daisy,
the girl who asked for more?
She drove her admirers crazy
the way she cried "Encore!"
No matter how much they hugged her.
the same response it drew.
She'd always be sighing, begging and eying.
"ust another one, do!"
"I only want one extra kiss,
that's all I'm languishing for.
And I'll stay content I swear to this,
until I holler for more. Oh!
Come on Algernon, that's not enough for me.
Give me some more, the same as before.
because I can't count under three.
Look at the big, bright moon
surely that should be the cue
For a romantic one, gigantic one.
Algie you're driving me frantic one.
Give me just another one, do!"
And mad about sweets was Daisy,
she'd pop 'em in all the time.
O n brandy balla she was crazy.
she found stiekjaw sublime.
She'd suck at her toffee apple,
then call for something new,
Like Turkish delight on benches at Brighton 'yust another one, do!"
"I want one extra lollipop,
that's all I'm hollering for.
And after that I swear I'll stop until I holler for more. Oh!
Come on Algernon, that's not enough for me.
Give me some more, the same as before.
because I can't count under three.
Give me a tip top stick of Brighton Roek
and how I'll coo.
None but a whopping one, a topping one.
Algie there's simply no stopping one.
Give me just another one, do!
Come O n Algernon by Lord Bernerr & Thomas Ernest
Clarke. Copyright 0 Cheater Music Ltd. (ASCAP). All Rights
Administered by G. Sehirmer.lne. m the U.S.A.
Internat~onalCopyright Secured.All Rights Reserved.
Reprinted by permission.
'M&mi$
words: mbert Service; 'Music Jeremy X~chobs
There once was a square, such a square little square
And he loved a trim triangle.
But she was a flirt, and around her skirt
Vainly she made him dangle.
O h he wanted to wed and he had no dread of
domestic woes and wrangles
For he thought that his fate was to procreate
eute little squares and triangles.
Now it happened one day o n that geometric way
There swaggered a big, bold eube
With a haughty stare, and he made that square
H a v e the air of a perfect boob.
To his solid spell the triangle fell.
and she thrilled with love's sweet sickness,
For she took delight in his breadth and height.
but how she adored his thickness!
So that poor little square just died of despair.
for his love he could not strangle.
While the bold eube led to the marriage bed
that eute and acute triangle.
The square's sad lot she has long forgot,
and his passionate pretensions.
For she dotes o n her kids, oh such cute pyramids!
In a world of three dimensions.
Reprinted by permission.
S o ~ ~ e o nIseBending .Me FSmms
wards: Sheldon flarnick. music: Qwid 'Baker
Someone is sending me flowers.
oh what a sweet thing to do.
Every new day brings another bouquet,
but I don't know who to say thank-you to.
Sometimes they come through my window.
then down at the chimney they'll fall.
Sometimes at night when I turn out the light,
they come through a crack in the wall.
Now that my house is a garden
bursting with blossoms and blooms,
I stand there for hours admiring my flowers;
I'd like to sit down but there just isn't room.
Someone is sending me flowers.
more than I ever have had.
Remarkable stuff, but enough is enough,
If I see another bouquet I'll go mad.
They started by sending me Bluebells.
oddly enough they were grey.
Each faded bloom had a nasty perfume;
besides being grey they were paper-mschd.
Next came a garland of fungus,
then, as a Tropical Treat.
They sent me a plant that proceeded to pant,
and later began to eat meat.
The Cactus Corsage touched me deeply,
a beautiful plant in its prime.
I felt just the same when the Roek Garden came...
one rock at a time:
Somebody madly adores me.
I know not who it may be.
Since I cannot afford to be madly adored,
I do wish they'd stop sending flowers C.O.D.!
Q Copyright 1955 (Renewed 1983) Sheldon Mayer Harniek
and the Estates of Dand K. Baker and William C. Hinekley.
Lyrics reprinted by p e r m i ~ ~ oofn R&H Music o h / o
Mayeding Productions. Ltd. All righra reserved.
Christim Dior
words Er musie: "Duee Nontgomtly
Christian Dior is a mess,
when he designs a new dress.
His drawings are just fine 'ti1 he hits the bustline,
then what he'll do is anybody's guess.
Christian Dior is a louse.
flattening everyone's spouse.
The country's infested with women flat-chested.
Say, is he a man or a mouse?
Some fifty million French are raising quite a stench
And fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong.
The country would be merrier
if he'd work on their derrier'
And leave their busts the way their busts belong.
Christian Dior is a square; go to the Folies-Bergere.
It's true any man can perform in a Can-Can,
But that's not why the customers are there.
They're looking for girls with a rest.
so give a lady baek her chest!
Christian Dior is a slob; aak any sea-faring gob.
It's only o n shore that it's toujours I'amour.
and a dame without a frame can't do the job.
She'd go through her life unearessed.
So give a lady back her chest!
Sr~mrnerIs W-Cornid In
words:John Laihuche, musie: V . ~ n o o?)&ti
Heigh-ho, summer comes along.
it comes once a year but it's always gay.
Heigh-ho, try to sing a song of how people feel
when summer's on the way.
The season that Rachel and Rube adore.
when Nature cuts up tricks.
Was best described by a troubadour
way baek in twelve-twenty-six.
In the year of twelve-twenty-six.
(Shoot the Saxon to me. Jackson)
Summer is a-comin' in, loud dngcuckoo
Girlie strolleth in the park,
Cupid striketh up a spark, sing cuckoo.
Summer is a-comin' in. loud sing cuckoo.
Lovers neeketh on ye bus, birdie kicketh up a fuss.
life is new.
Clubwoman planteth in a pot
forsythia and hydrangea
And my poor heart's in danger.
Twit twit, twit, jug, jug, jug.
Summer is a-eomin' in, loud sing cuckoo.
Balmy breezes smell like gin,
why the heck don't thou give in.
Sing cuckoo!
Summer is a-eomin' in, loud sing euckoo.
Each Libido goeth pop!
Marg'ret Sanger closeth shop, sing cuckoo.
Summer is a-comin' in, sky turneth blue.
Lovebirds snuggleth cosily, strippeth Gypsy Rosie
Lee, why don't you?
Even the noble working man
gives up his mass production,
Goes in for mass seduction.
Twit, twit, twit, jug, jug, jug,
Summer is a-eomin' in, loud sing cuckoo.
Ev'ry poet dreameth dream, salmon scrammeth up
the stream.
Sing cuckoo!
Twit, twit, twit, jug, jug, jug, a down, a down a
derry, cuekoo.
Reprinted by permtsston.
Medei~a.16'dearV
words:Nicheel Flanders. music. 9onrld Sw\uann
I was young! I was pure! I was new! I was nice!
I was fair. I was sweet seventeen!
He was old! He was vile and no stranger to vice!
He was base! He was bad! He was mean!
He slyly inveigled me up to his flat
to view his collection of stamps.
And he said as he hastened to put out the eat, the
wine. his cigar and the lamps;
"Have some Madeira, m'dear!
You really have nothing to fear;
I'm not trying to tempt you, that wouldn't be right.
You shouldn't drink spirits at this time of night;
Have some Madeira, m'dear!
It's very much nicer than beer!
I don't care for Sherry, one cannot drink Stout,
and Port is a wine I can well do without;
It's simply a case of cbacun 1 son GOUT!
Have some Madeira, m'dear!"
Unaware of the wiles of the snake In the grass.
O f the fate of the maiden who topes.
I lowered my standards by raising my glass.
my courage, my eyes and his hoper.
I sipped it, I drank it. I drained it. I did;
he quietly refilled it again.
And he said as he secretly carved one more notch
on the butt of his gold-handled cane:
"Have some Madema, m'dear!
I've got a small cask of it here,
And once it's been opened you know it won't keep.
Do Gbhh it up - it will help you to deep.
Have some Madeira, m'dear!
It's really an excellent year;
Now if it were Gin you'd be wrong to say yes,
the evil Gin does would be hard to assess.
(Besides, it's inclined to affect m'
Have some Madeira, m'dear!"
Then it came to my mind what my mother had said
with her antepenultimate breath:
"Oh, my child, should you look on the wine when
'tis red, be prepared for a fate worse than death!"
I let go the glass with a shrill little c r y ,
Crash! T~nkle!It fell to the floor.
When he said: "What in heaven?" I made no reply.
up my mind, and a dash for the door.
"Have some Madeira, m'dear!"
rang out down the hall loud and clear;
A tremulous cry that was filled with despair as I
paused to take breath in the cool midnight air;
"Have some Madeira, m'dear!"
The words seemed to rlng in my ear.
Until the next morning I woke up in bed,
with a smile o n my lips and an ache in my head,
And a beard in my earhole that tickled and said,
"Have some Madeira, m'dear!"
Reprinted by permission of the Michael Flanders Estate.
W Farmm's ?by
words: Anonymou~.music:TVb9rc-fid~6.H9melir,
They strolled down the lane together;
the sky was studded with stars.
They reached the gate in silence,
and he lifted down the bars.
She neither smiled nor thanked him,
because she knew not how.
For he was just a farmer's boy.
and she was a Jersey cow.
Rcpr1ntcd by permrrrion.
Ill Wind
wards:Nichael Fhders: muisc:Qonald Swtnn
I once had a whim and I had to obey it,
to buy a French Horn in a seeond-hand shop;
I polished it up and I started to play it
in spite of the neighbors who begged me to stop.
To sound my Horn I had to develop
my embouchure,
I found my Horn was a bit of a devil to play.
So artfully wound to give you a sound,
a beautiful sound so rich and round.
Oh, the hours I had to spend
before I mastered it in the end.
But that was yesterday and just today
I looked in the usual place There was the ease but the Horn itself was missing.
Oh, where can it have gone?
Haven't you, hasn't anyone seen my Horn?
Oh, where can it have gone? What a blow!
Now I know I'm unable to play my Allegro.
Who swiped that Horn?
I'll bet you a quid somebody did,
Knowing I'd found a concerto and wanted to play it.
afraid of my talent at playing the Horn.
For early today to my utter dismay it had vanished
away like the dew in the morn.
I've lost that Horn, I know I was using it yesterday.
I've lost that Horn, lost that Horn.
found that Horn ...'g orn!
There's not much hope of getting it back
though l'd willinglypay a reward.
I know some hearty folk whose party joke's
pretending to hunt with the Quorn.
Gone away! Gone away!
Was it one of them took it away?
Will you kindly return that Horn?
Where is the devil who pinched my Horn?
I shall tell the Police I want that French Horn back.
I miss its music more and more and more.
Without that Horn I'm feeling sad and so forlorn.
I found a concerto and wanted to play it
displaying my talent at playing the Horn
But early today to my utter dismay
it had totally vanished away.
I practiced the Horn and I wanted to play it
but somebody took it away.
I practiced the Horn and was longing to play it
but somebody took it away.
My neighbor's asleep in his bed.
I'll soon make him wish he were dead.
I'll take up the tuba instead! Wah! Wah!
Reprinted by permission of the Michael Flanders Estate.
(lbSpending) fltnukkh In Smb ?tonic,
wards & mudc: Tam hhrer, m.flmelin
I'm spending Hanukkah in Santa Monica,
wearing sandals, lighting candles by the sea.
I spent Shevuos in East St. Louis, a charming spot
hut clearly not the spot for me.
Those eastern winters, I can't endure 'em.
So every year I pack my gear
and come out here 'till Purim.
Rosh Hashonah I spend in Arizonah,
and Yom Kippuh way down in Mississippuh,
But in December, there's just one place for me:
Amid the California flora
I'll be lighting my menorah,
Like a baby in his cradle
I'll be playing with my dreidel.
Here's to Judas Maccabeus
(Oy! If he could only see us!)
Spending Hanukkah in Santa Monica by the sea.
Reprinted by permission
'
f i e f w e h Dqs Wrtm C ! ~ ~ i s % n a s
words &muslc. Frederkk tllver
The first day after Christmas
my true love and I had a fight.
And so I chopped the pear tree down,
and burned it just for spite.
Then with a single cartridge
I shot that blasted partridge my true love gave to me.
The second day after Christmas
I pulled o n the old rubber gloves
And very gently wrung the n e c h
of both the turtle doves my true love gave to me.
The third day after Christmas
my mother caught the croup.
I had to use the three French hens
to make some chicken soup.
The four calling birds were a big mistake,
for their language was obscene.
The five gold rings were completely fake,
and they turned my fingers green.
The sixth day after Christmas
the six laying geese wouldn't lay.
I gave the whole darn gaggle to the ASPCA.
O n the seventh day, what a mess I found All seven of the swimming swans had drowned.
The eighth day after Christmas,
before they could suspect,
I bundled up the eight maids a-milking,
nine pipers piping, ten ladies dancing.
Eleven lords a-leaping, twelve drummers drumming.. .
(well, actually, I kept one of the drummers!)
A d w *1Mm hack collect.
I wrote my true love: 'We are through, love.'
And I said, in so many words.
'Furthermore, your Christmas gifts were for the
birds!'
0 1973 (Renewed) MeFee Muaie Corp. All rights administered by Warner Bros. Publications U.S. Inc. All rights
reserved. Used by permission. Warner Bros. Publications
U.S. Inc.. Miami. EL 33014
f i e Green-Eyed %3$on
~cotds@e$trex Arc\cman. music: Wokeley C h r h
Once upon a time lived a fair princess.
most beautiful and charming.
Her father the king was a wicked old thing
with manners most alarming.
And always on the front door mat
a most ferocious dragon sat,
It made such an awful shrieking noise,
So all you little girls and boys.
Beware! Take eare of the green eyed dragon
with the thirteen tails.
He'll feed, with greed, o n little boys,
puppy dogs and big, fat snails;
Then off to his lair eaeh child he'll drag
and eaeh of his thirteen tails he'll wag
Beware! Take eare! And creep off on tiptoes,
Then hurry up the stairs, and say your pray'rs,
And duck your heads, your pretty curly heads
beneath the clothes.
That dragon he lived for years and years,
but he never grew much thinner.
For lunch he'd try a policeman pie
or a roast M.P.for dinner.
One brave man went round with an axe.
and tried to collect his income tax.
The dragon he smiled with fiendish glee.
then sadly murmured R.I.P. Beware! ...
That dragon went down to the kitchen one day
where the fair princess was baking.
He ate by mistake some rich plum cake
which the fair princess was making:
That homemade cake he could not digest.
he moaned and he groaned and at last went west.
And now his ghost with bloodshot eyes
at midnight elanh his chains and cries Beware! ...
Reprinted by permission. Booser & Hawkes, Ine.
Ushaette's "Bus
words & mus1c:deremy Jvlchabs
I work at the Palaee Cinema as an usherette,
you know,
And I've been tearing tickets there for fifty years
or SO.
Showing people to their seats
and selling the ice creams The Palace is a wonderland of fantasy and dreams.
I get to see the films for free.
but it drives me round the bend:
Because I am an usherette, I never see the end.
Did Gary Cooper get the girl, or what?
Did Judy Garland find her dog?
Were Robert Redford and Paul Newman shot?
Did Snow White turn into a frog?
I don't know if the phantom showed his face
or if they captured Orson Welles.
Did Charlton Heston win the chariot race?
Did they let Charles Laughton keep his bells?
I'd love to know what happened to King Kong.
and whether Bonnie married Clyde.
Did Julie Andrews sing another song?
And was Kirk Douglas crucified?
Did Indiana ever find the ark?
Oh! How I love the silver screen!
In Jaws, did anybody catch that shark?
I've missed the end of ev'ry film I've seen.
H o w Star Wars ends I haven't got a clue;
1laughed through most of Spinal Tap.
I saw two-thirds of Terminator 2 ,
and lots of other total ...masterpieces.
Don't spoil the ending
but I kind of feel that Kate and Leonardo drown.
Now just today I've seen my final reel ...
next week they tear the Palace down.
D 1988 Novello & Company Limited. London.U.K. All
rights reserved. International copyright secured. Reprinted by
permission.
Lime Jell0 ' ~ m h m s l l a uCottsge Cheese Surprise
words &music: WIllim mJokom
Ladies, the minutes will soon be read today.
The Garden Club and the Weaving Class
I'm sure have much to say.
But next week is our Culture Night.
our biggest, best event,
And I've just made a dish for it
you'll all find heaven-sent:
It's my Lime Jello Marshmallow
Cottage Cheese Surprise
With slices of pimiento.
(you won't believe your eyes!)
All topped with a pineapple ring
and a dash of mayonnaise.
My vanilla wafers round the edge
will win your highest praise!
And Missus Jones is making scones
that are filled with peanut mousse;
To be followed by a chicken mold
that's made in the shape of a goose.
For ladies who must watch those pounds
we've found a special dish:
Strawberry ice enshrined in rice
with bits of tuna fish.
And my Lime Jello Marshmallow
Cottage Cheese Surprise
(Truly a creation that description defies)
Will go so well with Missus Bell's
creation of the week:
Shrimp salad topped with chocolate sauce
and garnished with a leek.
And Missus Pcrkins' walnut loaf
that's crowned with melted cheese
Was such a hit last Culture Night we ask:
no seconds, please!
Now you must try her hot dog pie
with candied mushroom slices.. .
Those ladies who resigned last year.
they just don't know what NICE is!
But my Lime Jello Marshmallow
Cottage Cheese Surprise ...
I did not steal that recipe, it's lies. I tell you, lies!
Our grand award, a picture hat
and a salmon sequined gown
For any girl who tries each dish
and keeps her whole lunch down!
I'm sure you all are waiting for the biggest news:
dessert!
We've thought of things i n molds and rings,
your diet to subvert.
You must try our choe'late layer cake
on a peanut brittle base
With slices of bananas that make a funny face.
Around the edges peppermints
just swimming i n peach custard.
With lovely little curlicues of lovely yellow mustard!
If all this is too much for you, permit me to advise
More Lime Jello Marshmallow
Cottage Cheese Surprise!
I've made heaps!
O 1980 Edward B. Marks Music Company (BMI). Used by
permission. All rights reserved.
f i e Shape of fhings
words &mustc: Sheldon Hmick.
Completely round is the perfect pearl
the oyster manufactures.
Completely round is the steering wheel
that leads to compound fractures.
Completely round is the golden fruit
that hangs in the orange tree.
Yes, the circle shape is quite renowned,
and sad to say it can be found
In the dirty, lowdown runaround
my true love gave to me.
Completely square was the velvet box
he said my ring would be in.
Completely square was the envelope
he wrote farewell to me in.
Completely square is the handkerchief
I flourish constantly
As it dries my eyes of the tears I shed,
and blows my nose 'ti1 it turns bright red.
For a perfect square is my true love's head
he will not marry me.
-
Rectangular was the hotel door
my lover tried to sneak through.
Rectangular was the transom over which
I tried to peek through.
Rectangular was the hotel room I entered angrily.
Now rectangular is the wooden box
where lies my love 'neath the grazing flocks,
They say he died of the chicken pox;
in part I must agree: O n e chick too many had he.
Triangular is the piece of pie I eat to ease my sorrow.
Triangular is the hatchet blade
I plan to hide tomorrow.
Triangular the relationship
that now has ceased to be.
And the selfsame shape is a garment thin
that fastens o n with a safety pin
To a prize I had n o wish to win:
it's a lasting memory my true love gave to me.
01950, 1966 by Sheldon Mayer Harnick. Copyright
renewed. All rights resewed. (Administered and regtinted by
permlssron of R&H Music.)
'Musied Chtirs
words Fr nuslc: Jeremy fiSicholas
Beverly's next to Joanie, and Jessye's on her right
Then Montserrat can squeeze in.
though it might he rather tight.
Earl Wild and Van Clihurn
have said they'll both he here.
And Michael Tilson Thomas.
which will make it rather queer.
Sinopoli and Previn will turn up without a doubt,
Leave a space each side so they
can wave their arms about.
Lueiano's coming; let's hope when he arrives
That he sits where he is told
and that the scaffolding survives.
Yehudi's next to Itzhak, and Isaac's at the top
But as Nigel isn't kosher
he's a name we've had to drop.
We've Mstislav and Yo-Yo
(that's Slav and Yo for short)
And there's Julian Uoyd Wehher, too.
hut as a last resort.
Gennadi Rozhdestvensky will join in all the games,
So will Esa-Pekka Salonen.
hut how do you spell their names?
James Levine's not coming,
he's turned us down quite flat
Which isn't so surprising
with a sense of pitch like that.
Zubin has accepted and Seiji's such a dear!
Can you blame a girl for suhtlely
advancing her career?
There's Vladimir and Daniel, whatever shall we do?
For there's Claudio Abhado and Rieeardo Muti, too!
We'd better ask that woman who always talks such rot.
Says she studied under Toseanini
(nobody knows just what!).
Now Mieczyslaw Horsrowski. I put him at the head;
I sent an invitation, hut apparently he's dead.
There are one o r two producers
I thought I ought to try There's that so-and-so from Sony
and that creep from EMI.
Sir Michael and Sir Maxwell and
Sir Malcolm say they might -I've seated Kathleen by herself,
I'd like to avoid a fight.
Placido says that he'll be here if he can fit it in;
He's not sure if he's in Paris, Honolulu o r Berlin.
There'll he paper hats and crackers, and what else
goodness knows!
Maybe cabaret from Kiri, singing hits from all her
shows.
I think that's everybody there's you and me, my dear ...
But wait! We forgot David Helfgott ...
He'll have to come next year!
O Novello & Company Limited, London. U.K. All rights
reserved. International copyright sceured. Reprinted by permission.
1 Nmer Do Wnythlng fwice
words Frnusie:Stephen Sondhehn
When I was young and simple
(I don't recall the date)
I met a handsome captain of the guard.
He visited my chambers one evening very late.
in tandem with a husky St. Bernard.
At first I was astonished, and tears came to my eyes.
hut later when I asked him to rcsumc
He said, to my surprise, "My dear, it isn't wise.
Where love is concerned, one must vary the bloom.
Once, yes, once for a lark.
Twice, though, loses the spark.
O n e must never deny it.
hut after you try it, you vary the diet."
Said my handsome young guard.
"Yes, I know that it's hard.
But, no matter how nice. I never do anything twice."
And then there was the baron
who came at my command.
and proffered me a riding crop and chains.
The evening that we shared
was meticulously planned:
He took the most extraordinary pains.
He trembled with excitement,
his cheeks were quite aglow.
and afterwards he cried to me, "Encore!"
He pleaded with me so to have another go.
I murmured caressingly, 'Whatever for?"
Once, yes, onee for a lark.
Twice, though, loses the spark.
Once, yes, once is delicious,
but twice would be vicious, or just repetitious.
Someone's bound to be scarred.
Yes. I know that it's hard.
But, no matter the price, I never do anything twice.
I think about the abbot who worshipped at my feet,
and dressed me in a wimple and in veils.
He made a propoaition which I found rather sweet.
and handed me a hammer and some nails.
In time we lay contented and he began again
by fingering the beads around our waists.
I whispered to him then. 'We'll have to say amen.
for I have developed more Catholic tastes."
Once, yes, once for a lark.
Twice, though, loses the spark.
As I said to the abbot. "I'll get i n the habit
but not in the habit."
You've my highest regard. Yes. I know that it's hard.
But, no matter the price, I never do anything twice.
Once, yes, once can be nice.
Love requires some spice.
If you've something to do, something in view,
totally new, I'll be there in a trice
But I never do anything twice, except
No, I never do anything twice!
0 1975 Universal - MCA Publishing. Inc. All rights reaenrd
Used by perm~ssion.
...
f i e .Masochism %go
words S musIe:fom Lehrer
I ache for the touch of your lips, dear,
but much more for the touch of your whips, dear.
You can raise welts like nobody else
as we dance to the Masochism Tango.
Let our love be a flame, not an ember;
say it's me that you want to dismember.
Tie me to a chair, set fire to my hair.
as we dance to the Masochism Tango.
At your command, before you here I stand,
my heart is in my hand (Yecch!)
It's here that I must be.
My heart entreats, just hear those savage beats,
And go put on your cleats
and come and trample me.
Your heart is hard as stone or mahogany,
that's why I'm in such exquisite agony.
My soul is on fire, it's aflame with desire which I why I perspire when we tango.
You caught my nose in your left castanet, love,
I can never forget, love, how this passion was born.
I remember the rose
which your teeth used to clench, love,
When I tried something French, love.
all I got was a thorn!
Your eyes east a spell that bewitches,
The last time I needed twenty stitches to sew up the
gash that you made with your lash
As we danced to the Masochism Tango.
Bash in my brain, and make me scream with pain,
Then kick me onee again, and say we'll never part.
I know too well I'm underneath your spell,
So, darling, if you smell something burning.
it's my heart (excuse me!)
Take your cigarette from its holder,
and burn your initials in my shoulder.
Fracture my spine, and swear that you're mine,
as we dance to the Masochism Tango!
Reprinted by permission.
Pretty Plain
u.or& Cmusic:de~emyMcholas
Beauty's in the eye of the beholder;
as we grow older, it's pretty plain.
Ev'ry mirror now reflects so mueh less
than one expects; it's pretty plain.
La Gioeonda has lost her charms.
It's no use moaning. Lisa.
Venus de Milo has lost an arm.
and no one wants to squeeze her.
And yet ...and yet when I'm dressed to the nines
I am not finished yet ...
...
My god, I look lovely tonight! What a sight!
What a dazzling, resplendent delight! It's exquisite!
My word! It's absurd!
That this beautiful creature is me,
I look lovely tonight!
I've had just a nip and a tuck here.
and you'll do the same if you're smart.
When a girl perseveres she can take off ten years;
my dentures are state of the art!
My figure of breathtaking slimness
1s no longer so lissome or svelte;
My umbilical knot is disguised by a pot.
and my bustline has now met my belt.
But my god, I look lovely tonight! Dynamite.
And I think that I very well might give a cheer
for despite all my faults,
In my head I'm a Viennese waltz,
t took tovely tonight!
I don't see 1 really need glasses,
but I bought a pair just for a lark.
Marc sometimes complains o f my varicose veins
(but they cannot be seen in the dark!)
My facial hair's waxed at the clinic,
with some other cosmetic effects.
There's not mueh I can risk
since I had my slipped disc,
and I have to keep still during sex!
But my god, I look lovely tonight - well, quite.
Though my girdle and bra are too tight, never mind!
I look chic, and so sleek.
With my tongue firmly tucked in my cheek,
I look lovely tonight!
I think Aphrodite and Helen of Troy
would be jealous and fairly impressed;
But please, o n my knees,
don't let them see me undressed!
Rcpnnted by permission.
W Word On N y Err
words: T.ltchah,elFbnders, mustc: Donald W?wn
A prisoner to rapture, by arduous duty pressed;
a slave to a longing that lingers in my breast.
Farewell, my friends, adieu; I cannot stay with you.
Farewell!
Before I deliver my seventh encore.
there's something I'd like to make clear:
They say I've brought pleasure to millions or more,
They claim that my voice almost won the Gulf War
when I sang (to the troops in the rear).
I'm lauded, applauded, recorded, but Hist!
I've a musical flaw that they seem to have missed:
I'm tone deaf. Music means nothing to me.
It's only the way my aecompanists play
that makes it appear I'm in key.
Stone tone deaf. Can't tell a key from a clef.
I atand by the pianist, watching his face,
for he's told me to start when he comes to the place
Where he'll give me a whacking great (wham!)
in the bass, because I'm tone deaf.
I'm tone deaf; never could understand pitch.
Some people you know can sing so la ti do, and
claim they can tell which is which!
Stone tone deaf. Can't tell a B from an F.
Rickie Muti once said, "Now I don't want to carp,
but if that's a 9-natural played o n the harp,
Then you're either 9-flat dear, or bloody 9-sharp!"
because I'm tone deaf.
My technique is perfect. And likewise my larynx:
Paolozzi has sculpted a bust of my pharynx.
While lovers of music all praise with conviction my
phrasing, my timbre, my perfection of diction.
My trilling made Lenny just swoon!
But I just can't remember a tune...
I'm tone deaf,
but in most modern works for the voice.
The note that you hit doesn't matter a hit,
so it's purely a personal choice!
Stone tone deaf. Musically d-e-a-f.
Perhaps Covent Garden can do without me.
But while I command an exorbitant fee,
I'll always get work from the dear BBC.
Well, I'm tone deaf. Yes, I'm tone deaf!
0 1987Novello & Company Limited, U.K. All rights
reserved. International copyright secured. Reprinted by permission.
fmm, Queen OF f i e Mle
words:N.luller."Bark,Winkler: musle: 'Petet Wtnkler
For ten years now I've taught the first grade;
at least two hundred boys named Kevin.
For ten years now I've been quite well-paid
to converse with people who are seven.
I have decided not to marry;
why would I choose to live alone?
It isn't Tom or Dick o r Harry;
it's the thought of having children here at home.
Having elected to be unconnected.
I am expected to he proper and prim.
But my breasts are full and round;
they don't point (yet) at the ground.
My hips are slim and trim, and prim is fucking grim!
So I've developed an alternative lifestyle.
Ev'ry Friday afternoon I drive to Boston;
two hundred miles.
In Boston I get lost in my subterranean lifestyle.
I work at this club: "The Hot Sahara."
At "Hot Sahara" I'm called
"Tamara. Queen of the Nile."
I shake and I shimmy and I wiggle
and I whirl wearing little more than a smile.
Here and there there's a bangle,
in my navel there's a pearl,
I'm "Tamara, Queen of the Nile."
"Shake it but don't break it!" they all scream.
That means t&e it to the ultimate extreme.
Take it where it wants to go,
give the boys the kind of show
they paid their hard-earned money to see.
The lights flash red and green and gold.
I dance with passion uncontrolled.
My hips are swaying and swaying
like storm-driven palms.
The women there who see me
would sell their souls to be me,
And the men would kill for an hour in my arms.
I'm "Tamara. Queen of the Nile" ...
I'm Miss Johnson, in her tailored tweed,
teaching your chil&emhow to read.
What would Freud say? He'd have a field day.
But schizophrenia is my cup of tea.
I want to be the two of me.
Miss Johnson, whose wit and grace and style
disarms the most recalcitrant juvenile.
And Tamara of the Hot Sahara.
"Tamara, Queen of the Nile."
O 1984 Frederie Block. Ernst Muller. Peter Winkler.
Reprinted by permission.
The acclaimed partnership of soprano Jody
Karin Applebaum and her husband, pianist
Marc-And& Hamelin has been hailed as
"truly exceptional" (LeDeuoir, Montreal), "captivating" (Siiddeutsche Gitung, Munich), and "outstanding" (composer William Bolcom).
Drawing o n an extensive, often eclectic repertoire, their performances are known for their
wit, sophistication, intimacy and impeccable
musicianship. Their busy concert schedule has
seen them in New York, Philadelphia,
Washington, D.C., Montreal, Toronto,
Ottawa, Halifax, Winnipeg, London, Cork,
Munich, Istanbul and the Middle East. I n the
United States their recitals have been heard o n
public radio; i n Canada the CBC has recorded
and broadcast many of their performances,
including concerts from the Festival
International de LanaudiPre, the Winnipeg Art
Gallery, and a live broadcast from the Glenn
Gould Studio in Toronto for the national program Onstage!; and Deutschland Radio Berlin
broadcast a recital given at the summer 2000
Raritaten der Klaviermusik festival i n Husum,
Germany. Among their numerous other festival
appearances together are the Newport Chamber
Music Festival, Scotia Festival, Ottawa Chamber
Music Festival, Pianoworks (London),
Consonances (Nantes, France), Bistad
Chamber Music Festival (Sweden) and the
Jersey International Festival (Channel Islands).
Ms. Applebaum's resume of choral and
orchestral work includes performances of
Bach's Christmas Oratorio and St. Matthew Passion;
Handel's Messiah; Haydn's LordNelson Mass;
Mozart's Requiem and Grand Mass in c minor;
Mendelssohn's Elijah; Brahms' Ein Deutsches
Requiem; Rossini's Messa di Gloria; Poulenc's
Gloria; Barber's Knon~ille:Summer of 1915;
Stephen Albert's Flower ofthe Mountain; VillaLobos' Bachianas BrasileirasNo. 5 ; Gorecki's moving 3mphonyNo. 3 and Poulenc's stirring oneact solo opera La VoixHumaine, and she created
the title role i n John Philip Sousa's operetta
Deside.
Mr. Hamelin is universally regarded as one
of today's masters of the keyboard. His extensive discography includes Alkan's Concertofor
Solo Piano (1993 Grammy Award nominee), the
complete piano music of Nikolai Roslavetz
(Preis der Deutsche Schallplattenkritik), the
Scriabin sonatas (1996 Juno Award), Rzewski's
7he People United WillNeuer Be Defeated (1999
Grammy and Juno Award nominee), Busoni's
Concerto for piano, orchestra and male chorus
(2000 Grammy Award nominee), Godowsky's
transcriptions of the Complete Chopin
~ t u d e s(2000 Gramophone Award winner,
2000 Grammy Award nominee), and recordings of Ives, Grainger, Henselt, Medtner,
Villa-Lobos, Bolcom, Bernstein, Liszt and
Schumann.
Together they have recorded music of
Britten, Schoenberg, Bolcom, Hollaender,
Wolpe, Weill, Satie and Poulenc, as well as
contemporary composers Maurice Wright and
Jay Reise.
7his disc is dedicated to Jeremj Nicholas,
with affection, admiration andgratitude.
For their invaluable contributions, the
artists wish to thank Eric Bruskin, Rich
Galassini and the staff of Cunningham Piano
Factory, Indrek Laul. Bruce Montgomery,
Harry Winstanley, Jonathan Sternberg, Tom
Lehrer, Neil Edwards and Darren Dick, and
the estate of Robert Service.
Recorded September 15 & 16, 2000, at the
Woodmere Art Museum, Phildelphia. Piano
courtesy of the Estonia Company and
Cunningham Piano Factory.
Producers: George Blood, Jody Applebaum,
Marc-Andre Hamelin.
Recording Engineer: George Blood, George
Blood Audio; Kevin Arnold, assistant
Editing: George Blood, George Blood Audio.
Artist photos: Peter Schaaf
Artist caricature: Bruce Montgomery
Cover Design: Bates Miyamoto Design
L
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MADE IN THE USA
0 2005 ALBANY RECORDS
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