The Great American Songbook: The Lyricists

I’ve been pondering the role of lyricists, the poets really, of the genre known as the great American songbook since my chorus has been preparing for our upcoming concert of the same name.  By and large the lyricists tend to be forgotten, swallowed up by the giant shadows of the composers who created the unforgettable melodies we know so well.  And yet, those songs wouldn’t exist without the words that also gave them life.  Some lyricists worked for multiple composers, some collaborated as part of semi-permanent duos.  But each brought his or her own signature to these great numbers.

Consider, for instance, Lorenz Hart, of Rodgers and Hart fame.

For more than twenty years, from 1919 into the 1940s, they were the toast of Broadway and Hollywood; at least until Richard Rodgers finally broke away in frustration from Hart to team up even more famously with Oscar Hammerstein.  Hart was known for his witty, playful lyrics and unexpected polysyllabic or internal rhymes.    Here is just one of several clever lines from The Lady is a Tramp:

I like the free, fresh wind in my hair.

Life without care,

I’m broke—it’s oke.

Which next time around morphs into:

I like the green grass under my shoes

What can I lose?

I’m flat!  That’s that!

But loneliness and wistfulness often lurked beneath the surface, and sometimes rose to the surface, for he apparently felt that he was too unattractive to be loved.  Here is the opening line from My Funny Valentine, a really lovely ballad sung in our concert by soprano soloist and long-time friend Mary Jo DuGaw:

My funny valentine

Sweet comic valentine

You make me smile with my heart.

Your looks are laughable

Unphotographable

Yet you’re my favorite work of art.

Is this perhaps a self-portrait?

Here is Frank Sinatra giving a tender rendition.

Hart was supremely talented, but he was also an alcoholic, undependable, with a chaotic life.  Finally his friendship and partnership with Rodgers fell apart, and Rodgers forged an even more successful collaboration with Hammerstein.  And Hart fell out of sight and died in 1943 of pneumonia, exacerbated by drink and neglect.

Or consider Johnny Mercer, composer and lyricist who teamed with many different composers as a lyricist, creator of such classics as That Old Black Magic and Laura, both of which are on our program.

He was a Southerner, and his lyrics often grew out of the sounds of his boyhood home: colorful African American or rural white expressions, country dance music, the clickety-clack of  train wheels, the wind in the trees.  He excelled in creating misty, magical moments, such as the dream that is Laura, or the Black Magic that holds the lover spellbound.

Or consider Ira Gershwin, modest, unassuming, bookish brother of George who didn’t show much interest in writing until 1922 when he teamed up with George to create their first hit song, I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise.

Together they had a knack for creating fresh and novel ballads, songs of chivalry and romantic love.  Like Johnny Mercer he delighted in the sounds of the everyday world, but for him it was an urban world.  And like Lorenz Hart he liked playing with rhythmic timing of words, unusual word combinations, and new lyrical styles.  Their classic I Got Rhythm overflows with clean, clipped, rhythmic lyrics that sing easily and naturally and perfectly fit the music.

I got rhythm,

I got music,

I got my gal, who could ask for anything more.

I got daisies

In green pastures

I got my gal, who could ask for anything more.

Here is the incomparable Gene Kelly singing it in an absolutely charming presentation in An American in Paris.

But Ira’s style was his own, and the brothers worked perfectly together until George’s death in 1937.  Ira wrote no lyrics for three years afterwards, then went on to write for many big-name composers.  Somehow he has never quite achieved the recognition that he deserves.  In fact, all of these poets of song need to be heralded.  They contributed a vital element to the great American songbook.  For these songs wouldn’t be part of our culture without their words.

Dr. Linda Gingrich

Artistic director and conductor

Master Chorus Eastside