Berl Falbaum
It’s time, probably overdue, to get away from politics, war, the environment, and other such “upbeat” topics.
While I have grumbled about the subject in this column before in my scribblings, I thought we might take another look at our entertainment culture which, in my view, isn’t so upbeat either.
I recently watched two special shows: an 80th anniversary concert of Rodgers & Hammerstein and a celebration of Dick Van Dyke’s 98th birthday. (Those who don’t recognize the names, Google them.)
Here are some of my immediate observations:
• No one grabbed their crotches in singing/dance numbers or Van Dyke’s sit-coms.
• Breasts didn’t fall out of skimpy tops.
• The dancers did not shake their rear ends at the TV camera.
• There were no simulations of sexual acts.
• None of the lyrics had to be beeped out.
• I could understand the lyrics, every syllable.
• Most important, I did not have to worry that my grandchildren would come in and see me watching a sexually explicit show.
All of this probably surprises those younger than I who probably don’t believe you can sing a love song without some of the above.
Of course, there were many others besides Rodgers, Hammerstein and Van Dyke who managed to compose and perform musicals without sexual and language vulgarities. Among them: George Gershwin, Stephen Sondheim, Leonard Bernstein, Irving Berlin, and Cole Porter. (Look them all up.)
I remember the first time I saw a male singer grab his crotch during a performance.
At first, I concluded that he was trying to hit a high C. But then I remembered that the legendary operatic tenor, Luciano Pavarotti (Google him also), was able to reach high Cs without help from his crotch. He once hit nine in one aria — all in less than a minute — and never reached below his belt.
I urge young folks to listen to some of Rodgers’ and Hammerstein’s songs, including such classics as, “If I Loved You,” “Some Enchanted Evening,” “Hello Young Lovers,” “Climb Ev’ry Mountain,” “I’m in Love with a Wonderful Guy,” and many others.
If you don’t get goose bumps when Michael Ball sings “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” you have ice in your veins.
Andrew Lloyd Webber, no slouch in composing classic musicals — think “Phantom of the Opera” — called “Some Enchanted Evening” the greatest ballad ever written.
Listen to their music, but really listen intently as they tell stories with unmatched, emotionally, clean lyrics. You can almost hear the performer’s heart racing in appeals to their love interest.
There are no sexually explicit words nor even one double entendre. Just expressions of love in simple — and I stress “simple” — words and phrases.
I think that even some in the present-day music generation will be moved, especially if they pay attention to how the singers and Van Dyke deliver the messages.
With their interpretations, they never fail to bring a tear to your eye or a smile to your face.
Moreover, unlike today’s singers, you can understand every word which is delivered with a reverence for the lyrics and the intended messages.
When I listen to today’s “artists” even closed captions, at times, cannot translate the lyrics for me because they are unintelligible. Overall, I never know what they are singing about. Occasionally, I can make out a “luuuve,” for “love” or “maaay” for “me.”
The one word that comes to mind when talking about Rodgers & Hammerstein and Van Dyke (and others of their era) is “wholesome.” (Look it up.)
Corny? Indeed, it is. Does that make me an old fogey, an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud who is out of touch with the times? Darn — notice the use of “darn” — right.
Perhaps the downward spiral began when Rhett told Scarlett, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” (Google it.) Forget about Scarlett, but maybe then and there we all should have given a damn.
I also observed that in the two shows all the performers had “normal” names. There was no: Bad Bunny, Dr. Dre, Scarface, Snoop Dogg (misspelled), Ye (formerly known as Kanye West), Megan Thee Stallion or, one of my favorites, Machine Gun Kelly. I bet there is a rat-tat-tat to his songs.
I also like 50 Cent but he should have made it “Cents” (plural) or changed it to Half a Buck.
A final observation on lyrics: There is nothing inherently insightful or funny in the use of profanity. It is, at best, gratuitous. Try it sometime: delete the obscenities and I think you’ll find the meaning of the respective song does not change.
Now, I know you can’t turn the clock back. But I, for one, would welcome some change.
As Van Dyke and the female lead, Julie Andrews, tell us in “Mary Poppins”: That would be supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
Look it up.
While I have grumbled about the subject in this column before in my scribblings, I thought we might take another look at our entertainment culture which, in my view, isn’t so upbeat either.
I recently watched two special shows: an 80th anniversary concert of Rodgers & Hammerstein and a celebration of Dick Van Dyke’s 98th birthday. (Those who don’t recognize the names, Google them.)
Here are some of my immediate observations:
• No one grabbed their crotches in singing/dance numbers or Van Dyke’s sit-coms.
• Breasts didn’t fall out of skimpy tops.
• The dancers did not shake their rear ends at the TV camera.
• There were no simulations of sexual acts.
• None of the lyrics had to be beeped out.
• I could understand the lyrics, every syllable.
• Most important, I did not have to worry that my grandchildren would come in and see me watching a sexually explicit show.
All of this probably surprises those younger than I who probably don’t believe you can sing a love song without some of the above.
Of course, there were many others besides Rodgers, Hammerstein and Van Dyke who managed to compose and perform musicals without sexual and language vulgarities. Among them: George Gershwin, Stephen Sondheim, Leonard Bernstein, Irving Berlin, and Cole Porter. (Look them all up.)
I remember the first time I saw a male singer grab his crotch during a performance.
At first, I concluded that he was trying to hit a high C. But then I remembered that the legendary operatic tenor, Luciano Pavarotti (Google him also), was able to reach high Cs without help from his crotch. He once hit nine in one aria — all in less than a minute — and never reached below his belt.
I urge young folks to listen to some of Rodgers’ and Hammerstein’s songs, including such classics as, “If I Loved You,” “Some Enchanted Evening,” “Hello Young Lovers,” “Climb Ev’ry Mountain,” “I’m in Love with a Wonderful Guy,” and many others.
If you don’t get goose bumps when Michael Ball sings “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” you have ice in your veins.
Andrew Lloyd Webber, no slouch in composing classic musicals — think “Phantom of the Opera” — called “Some Enchanted Evening” the greatest ballad ever written.
Listen to their music, but really listen intently as they tell stories with unmatched, emotionally, clean lyrics. You can almost hear the performer’s heart racing in appeals to their love interest.
There are no sexually explicit words nor even one double entendre. Just expressions of love in simple — and I stress “simple” — words and phrases.
I think that even some in the present-day music generation will be moved, especially if they pay attention to how the singers and Van Dyke deliver the messages.
With their interpretations, they never fail to bring a tear to your eye or a smile to your face.
Moreover, unlike today’s singers, you can understand every word which is delivered with a reverence for the lyrics and the intended messages.
When I listen to today’s “artists” even closed captions, at times, cannot translate the lyrics for me because they are unintelligible. Overall, I never know what they are singing about. Occasionally, I can make out a “luuuve,” for “love” or “maaay” for “me.”
The one word that comes to mind when talking about Rodgers & Hammerstein and Van Dyke (and others of their era) is “wholesome.” (Look it up.)
Corny? Indeed, it is. Does that make me an old fogey, an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud who is out of touch with the times? Darn — notice the use of “darn” — right.
Perhaps the downward spiral began when Rhett told Scarlett, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” (Google it.) Forget about Scarlett, but maybe then and there we all should have given a damn.
I also observed that in the two shows all the performers had “normal” names. There was no: Bad Bunny, Dr. Dre, Scarface, Snoop Dogg (misspelled), Ye (formerly known as Kanye West), Megan Thee Stallion or, one of my favorites, Machine Gun Kelly. I bet there is a rat-tat-tat to his songs.
I also like 50 Cent but he should have made it “Cents” (plural) or changed it to Half a Buck.
A final observation on lyrics: There is nothing inherently insightful or funny in the use of profanity. It is, at best, gratuitous. Try it sometime: delete the obscenities and I think you’ll find the meaning of the respective song does not change.
Now, I know you can’t turn the clock back. But I, for one, would welcome some change.
As Van Dyke and the female lead, Julie Andrews, tell us in “Mary Poppins”: That would be supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
Look it up.
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