"She Used to Be Mine" by Sara Bareilles: a saloon song for the self

Sometimes a great song is simply a great idea. It's not that the music and words are incidental; it's just that the idea is so good that it carries the song.

I think this is the case for "She Used to Be Mine" from Waitress by Sara Bareilles.

This is a song of loss and regret. In the olden days, it would have made a great saloon song with the likes of Sinatra propping up a bar and running his finger around the rim of an empty whisky glass. Instead of lamenting a lost love, however, Sara Bareilles' song laments a lost self.

And that is a great idea.

In the context of the musical, it is sung by a woman at a low point in her life. She's been abused and she is pregnant with an unwanted baby. But it's not self-pitying. We know this because the portrait that she paints of her former self is a realistic one:

"She's imperfect but she tries

She is good but she lies"

That's some honest self-criticism.

Then there's a series of everyday phrases that are given just enough of a twist to make them come up fresh and appealing:

"She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie"

"Sometimes life just slips in through the back door"

"For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two"

That is simply beautiful lyric writing.

But, in the end, it is the central idea what really makes the song. 

If I may digress. 

The English playwright JB Priestly wrote a play called Time and the Conways. The play tells the story of a family with a snapshot of their life just before the First World War and then another snapshot, twenty years later, on the eve of the Second World War. It is a play about the idea of time. At one point, one of the characters says this: 

"Now, at this moment, or any moment, we're only cross-sections of our real selves. What we really are is the whole stretch of ourselves, all our time, and when we come to the end of this life, all those selves, all our time, will be us - the real you, the real me."

End of digress.

"She Used to be Mine" is, I think, saying something similar. In this song, we're getting one "cross-section" of a self looking back at another "cross-section" of the same self. And seeing someone very different. By looking at herself across time, she is getting closer to the "whole stretch" of herself, closer to her real self.

That is a simple, yet profound thought and simple-yet-profound is something that musical theatre songs can, at times, do really well.

Things do not turn out as we imagined. And that is something we have to live with. All the time.

All mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie.

The Ghost of Griffin Castle: a short musical

 

So, I've been helping to write a short (20 minute) musical. 

This was an online collaboration between a few of the members of the Reddit forum for musical writing. 

More details about the process here:

We completed our group Musical! The Ghost of Griffin Castle. Here's how we did it.

This is the first time I've done any kind of collaboration like this. To be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect. But it was a great experience. 

And, for what their worth, here are my thoughts on the process:

1. It was fun and everyone involved was very encouraging.

2. It was a good-sized group and a good-sized project.

3. The story discussions were really useful. Personally, I felt I had a clear idea of what my song needed to say before I wrote it.

4. Having said all of that, you still need a very committed and capable person to lead and pull it all together. (Thank you, musicCaster.)

5. The performers really are fantastic and well worth a listen.

6. For anyone thinking of having a go at any future Reddit musicals, particularly any first-timers like myself, it's highly recommended.

A Radical Atheist Musical? Jesus Christ Superstar at 50

For what their worth, a few theological thoughts.

Here's a piece I've written for Premier Christianity magazine about the 50th anniversary of the London production of Jesus Christ Superstar. It's a show that has been both embraced and rejected by Christians and atheists alike. 

And I've always wondered why: 

https://www.premierchristianity.com/culture/jesus-christ-superstar-offensive-blasphemy-or-evangelistic-tool/13954.article

From Broadway to Bolton: The Book Thief

So, this is a fascinating article for a number of reasons.

It's about a new American musical, The Book Thief, with a famous novelist for a book writer, Jodi Picoult. And it's getting its premiere in the UK.

"Picoult has made a long journey herself, temporarily relocating from New Hampshire to Bolton, Greater Manchester..."

Bolton? I hope she likes curries and Peter Kay.

Back in the Broadway heydays, I'm sure that New Hampshire was one of those out-of-town try-out places. Somewhere a producer could safely put on a show and knock it into shape away from the withering gazes of the Broadway critics. 

So, if Bolton is the new New Hampshire, that's quite a development and one that raises a few questions. Namely, why stop at Bolton? Why not Warsaw or Mumbai? It's a globalised world, after all. It'd be cost effective. In future, I wonder if we'll be outsourcing musical theatre development around the world in the way that some big corporations do with their call centres.

"Picoult has recently thrown herself into the world of musicals." 

Brave lass.

"She was part of a team that adapted one of her own books, Between the Lines, which has just finished an off-Broadway run...But its preparations were ravaged by Covid..."

In normal circumstances, I'd say that it's easier to blame external events for a dud show than try and work out what went wrong with Act II. However, in the case of the pandemic, I suspect even the greatest new work would have struggled on or off Broadway.

Still, must have been a pretty bruising experience if it sent her all the way to Bolton for a follow-up. And why The Book Thief, a story set in Nazi Germany? 

"And, for us, we're four Americans who have seen a rise to power of an administration that sought to divide America rather than unite it, that leaned into the ideas of lying, of calling the press fake news, of calling immigrants the enemy of the state, of banning books..."

Ah, yes. He Who Must Not Be Named.

I can't help wonder if this is another reason why they're in Bolton rather than the US.

It's a remarkable thing. After all, here is an American writer selling her product and, in doing so, dissing half of her potential home market. Whatever you think about Big Orange Donald Trump, half of America voted for him (and may do so again). I'd suggest that openly comparing his administration to Nazi Germany is not a great marketing move if you ever want Americans to see your show.

"In American right now, the gatekeepers of Broadway are a very small group of mostly older white men who are making the decisions about what comes to Broadway and what does not."

That's interesting.

"They like to see shows that reflect their own experience."

Are there lots of musicals about small groups of elderly white men? Does Hamilton count?

But here's the really concerning bit.

"Picoult believes 'the Broadway system is a little broken'...'And the UK has, I think, a much more generous system for creating new musicals and new content.'"

That's odd because it is literally the opposite of what I usually hear from UK writers: that Broadway has the systems to develop new musicals which the UK lacks.

So, if both systems are broken, then what's next? 

Better call Mumbai.

Jukebox Jury

Interesting discussion over on MusicalTalk (episode 759) between Nick Hutson and Stagey Rebecca over the topic of jukebox musicals: love 'em or loathe 'em? The greatest thing since Ethel Merman on toast or the end of Western civilization?

Well, it's tricky. And, as ever, it's useful to define terms.

As far as I can tell, jukebox musicals fall into three broad categories:

1. BIO TUNERS, where the story is essentially the story of a famous band/pop singer with their big hits covered along the way (e.g. The Buddy Holly Story, Jersey Boys)

2. BACK CATALOGUES, where a story is fitted around the back catalogue of a famous band/pop singer (e.g. Mamma Mia, We Will Rock You)

3. COMPILATION SHOWS, where a story is fitted around a pot pourri of old pop songs from any number of famous bands/pop singers (e.g. Moulin Rouge)

What is most definitely NOT a jukebox musical, as suggested on the podcast, is Oh! What a Lovely War. That was a devised piece of bleakly satirical theatre about the First World War using theatre songs from that period. For my money, a proper jukebox musical, as the name suggests, should use songs pop songs, not theatre songs.

This, I think, is an important distinction. I would guess that part of the appeal of shows like Mamma Mia or We Will Rock You is the opportunity to hear songs performed live that are much more familiar as a recording. (I say "guess" as I'm not really a consumer of jukebox shows. Nothing against them, just not my cup of Early Grey.)

One other interesting point made during the conversation is that jukebox musicals seem to be more of a British than a Broadway invention. Why should that be the case? Well, my best guess is that, following the Brit hit mega-shows of the 80s and 90s, there was a large audience for musicals. So there was a big demand, plus a burgeoning pool of musical theatre talent, but not enough supply. Britain has never had quite the same tradition as Broadway of nurturing new musical theatre writing. So, jukebox musicals filled the gap. 

What's also interesting is how the former may be affecting the latter. When it comes to jukebox vs. new writing, the usual complaint is that jukebox shows are crowding out original work, sucking up all the space and all the funding. I have some sympathy with this. There's no obvious way to get over the inherent commercial bias of a show with an established songbook. But I also wonder, are jukebox musicals are beginning to shape the kind of new work being produced?

Take Six. 

Although it's an entirely original show, doesn't it have the feel of a jukebox musical? It uses pop songs, written in the style of particular pop bands/singers. The story is framed as the creation of a pop band, almost like a bio-tuner. Now, I confess I've never actually seen Six on stage. So I may be talking a load of old gammon [wouldn't be the first time - ed.]. But from what I've read, it would seem like a good show for audiences who have been primed by jukebox musicals. It would certainly feel more familiar to a jukebox audience than, say, a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical or a Sondheim musical.

Still, my own feeling is that, when it comes down to it, jukebox musicals can never really be the future of musical theatre. At some point, I imagine the jukebox shows will simply run out back catalogues to plunder (although it doesn't appear to be happening anytime soon). They are essentially franchises of those back catalogues. Nothing wrong with a franchise or inherently uncreative. You could get The Empire Strikes Back or wind up with Jar Jar Binks. But franchises are about the familiar.

Jukebox musicals offer audiences the opportunity to hear old songs that they already know and love. That's great, but it's not enough. Musicals need new songs. Songs that surprise. Songs that startle. Songs that we don't know and are yet to love.

For me, the jukebox jury's still out.

The Wisdom of Jarvis: minding the gaps

 

Should I ever happen to end up running a highly-lucrative online songwriting course, I would probably start with this video. In fact, it would make the perfect introductory exercise:

Objective #1 - write a hit song using two fingers and your nan's miniature Casio keyboard (10 points).

Jarvis Cocker is best known as the lead singer/songwriter of the band Pulp who, in turn, are best known for the hit song "Common People". And, although he's written many more great songs, it's probably the one song for which he'll be remembered. Still, as he himself noted, Black Lace had "Agadoo", so it could be worse.

By his own admission, he is not a sophisticated musician and this video, where he explains how he first picked out the basics of "Common People" on a miniature keyboard, is a good reminder that songwriting is a remarkably democratic thing. You don't need an alphabet of qualifications after your name to have a go or, even, to do it well.

This is also true of musicals. 

We rightly eulogise the sophisticated and highly-educated musicians like Cole Porter and Stephen Sondheim and Leonard Bernstein. All were accomplished musicians with an unusual capacity for ingesting and employing an array of musical influences and styles. As talents, they were exceptional. But what about the common people?

Well, musicals are also the domain of Irving Berlin, who could only play the piano on the black notes; Bob Merrill, who composed his songs on a toy xylophone; and Lionel Bart, who couldn't read or write music, and would instead hum his tunes to a pianist to get them transcribed. 

So, you can be a sophisticated, world-renowned symphonic conductor-composer or you can play a toy xylophone and, whichever you are, it seems that you can end up writing a classic musical. That's astonishing, when you think about.

But why should this be the case? I think Jarvis has the answer:

"I prefer simple songs to complicated songs. The simpler a song is, the better. You can have a couple of notes and that will suffice. Because, in a way, the less notes you use, it leaves more of a gap which you can imply other notes and stuff like that."

He's right.

In the case of music, harmonics are literally that, where the sound waves of a single note produces faint echoes of (or "implies") other notes which, in turn, provides us with the basis of Western harmony. 

In the case of songs, the "gap" is being filled by the lyric.

And, more broadly, in the case of musical theatre, the "gap" is not only being filled by the lyric but all the other theatrical/dramatic considerations. 

I wonder if this is a different way of thinking about musical theatre writing; that it is as much to do with what you leave out as what you put in. To put it another way, perhaps musical theatre writers are more sketchers than painters. That is, they draw the outlines but leave gaps for the colour to be added. An inherent part of the job is to allow space and room for others.

And, perhaps, that's why even the non-credentialed composer and the simple songwriter can, from time to time, make a real go of it.

As Jarvis says:

"Sing along with the Common People

And it might just get you through"

TATAR #16 Venus in Blue Jeans

by Howard Greenfield and Jack Keller (1962)

I feel that the universe is telling me to write about this.

Having not heard this song for what must be decades, it popped into my head recently. Next thing I know I'm reading about how the singer Mark Wynter apparently went on to have a great career in musicals and is back on tour. Should he ever appear in a production of Kismet, I'll have to get a ticket. I mean, I really will have to. That's just how it works.

Anyways, I remember hearing this song as a child and, like all music you listen to a child, it stays with you. So, naturally, when I listened again decades later, I could remember every single word.

And what fine words they are:

"La da da di da da da di di dum"

OK, not the very first line. I mean the next bit:

"She's Venus in blue jeans"

Now that is how to write a song title. The second line is even better:

"Mona Lisa with a pony tale"

This kind of thing is straight out of the Ira Gershwin playbook: juxtaposing the classical with the contemporary ("Of Thee I Sing, Baby"). And I love those two little interval drops in the melody on "Venus" and "blue jeans", like the sentimental sighs of an oh-so-earnest teenager in love.

This characterisation carries on in the middle section which switches perspective from "she" to "they":

"They say there's seven wonders in this world

But what they say is out of date

There's more than seven wonders in this world

I just met number eight!"

I do believe that is an early draft of a poem by Adrian Mole, aged 13 and 3/4. Add in the melodramatic heartbeat of the snare drum, a swooning choir and an obligatory modulation and you have the perfect love song for a smitten teen. 

But, most of all, I'm amazed by the brevity. The video says two minutes. In fact, if you exclude the intro and repeated verse, it's more like one. In just over sixty seconds, the songwriters have managed to capture this boy's character: the dreaminess, the naivety, the purple prose, the hopelessly pedestal-placing attitude to the opposite sex. 

It's a little glimpse inside somebody else's world. 

And that really is a wonder.