The Don

Lord Grade of Yarmouth has been at it again. This time introducing a tribute show to Don Black and chinwagging with him on a sofa on the stage of the Royal Festival Hall. As you do.

During their initial banter there was some time spent on rhyme. Like a dedicated stamp enthusiast, The Don apparently collects rhymes and files them away in little books. But, it seems, he doesn't post 'em. That's to say, he isn't really a flambuoyantly rhyme-y lyricist in the Noel/Cole sense.

From all the songs heard in the tribute the most memorable rhyme was probably found in "Some of Us Belong to the Stars" from Billy:

"Some of us belong to the stars
And that is where I am going
I will soar all over the sky
And I won't need a Boeing"

Which is fun. But not as fun as:

"My name is Dr. Sibelius
Don't worry, that's just an alias"

Which was part of a little tribute ditty performed by fellow-lyricist Richard Stilgoe.

The point is that the greatness in The Don's songs does not, I think, lie in their rhymes. Something else is going on.

Let's take a look at "Diamonds are Forever":

"Diamonds are forever
Sparkling round my little finger
Unlike men, the diamonds linger
Men are mere mortals who are not worth going to your grave for
I don't need love
For what good will love do me
Diamonds never lie to me
For when love's gone
They'll lustre on"

Now I've heard it said that the lyric is made lustrous by that that "lustre". It is the perfect word for the occasion, le mot juste. That may be true, but it's not the perfect lyric. To my ear, it doesn't sing. For starters there's the adjacent consonants of "they'll lustre" which is tricky. Then there's the problem of "lustre on" which, when sung, comes out as Lusteron. It's fine once you know the proper lyric but, until then, you could be left thinking that the song is about one of the randier robots from the Transformers franchise.

No, for me the line that makes the song is a few bars before:

"Men are mere mortals who are not worth going to your grave for"

That sentence-ending preposition may cause some heartache for traditional grammarists but, honestly, this ain't grammar. It's lyric writing. "Mere mortals" and "going to your grave" are the kind of everyday phrases that, in the right context and given the right tune (those menacing triplets from composer John Barry), are turned into a great songwriting. Follow that with "I don't need love" with "love" coming on a big long outburst of a note. What you get is the disdain, the anger, the hurt, the defiance. In short, what you get is a genuine character. And that also explains why The Don moved so successfully from pop songs to the theatre.

I've said it before, he is the Little Black Dress of lyricists: simple, classy, goes with everything.

Things Established About Stephen Ward Musical

"You'll be wondering what I'm doing here
Stuck between Hitler and the acid-bath murderer
Let me warn you, it's the consequence
If you get up the nose of the Establishment

If you give them what they're looking for
They'll be grateful, they'll be awfully nice
But if you should step across the line
You'll become a Human Sacrifice"

I do love a searing satire on the hypocrisies of the Establishment. I'm just not sure that I'd hire these fellas to deliver it:

Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber
Sir Richard Eyre
Christopher Hampton CBE
Don Black OBE

That You Would Find in a Statue

The great Don Black, for it is he, has suggested stoning Lord Andy with a formal erection (this can't be right? - ed). That is, in an interview with The Stage, he has suggested a statue:

“In America there is a statue in Times Square of [playwright and composer] George M Cohan and there are stamps with Jerome Kern on. There should be a statue on Shaftesbury Avenue [of Andrew] – something for what he’s done.”

Others, in the form of classical music critic Norman Lebrecht, have expressed some mild objections:

"If his bust goes up in my town, I’m outta here."

On the issue of a statue, I am neutral. My only thought is that one of Sarah Brightman would be prettier.

However, on the issue of musical theatre, I'll take Don Black's opinion any day. Lebrecht falls back on some pretty hoary criticism:

"His Lordship may be a genius at selling a show..."

Nice of you to say so but I suspect that much of the genius belongs to the Super Mac, Cameron Mackintosh. Lord Andy is more Boheme than businessman.

"...but he has trashed down the genre to a series of musical clichés and pop tunes." 

Musical cliches like title songs like in 5/8 ("Sunset Boulevard")?

"What was once a halfway house between grand opera and lowbrow music-hall has become, in Lloyd Webber’s proficient hands, a brand for safe entertainment..." 

Safe entertainments like shows about the Son of God, fascist dictators, cats, trains, a freak in a sewer and, oh yes, the IRA.

"...and stage technology..."

Like the stage technology it took to create the successful double-albums of Jesus Christ Superstar and Evita.

"...that barely engages the brain."

Unlike really original and perceptive musical theatre criticism like Lebrecht's.

Black, on the other hand, hits the nose on the head, so to speak:

"The lyricist also claimed critics should try to write a musical, claiming only then would they 'realise how well Andrew knows the structure of musicals'". 'He’s studied it in a forensic way,' Black said."

This is why the music critic never quite gets to grip with Lord Andy. They treat him as a composer. In truth he is a dramatist. And that is why he has been so successful.

You really don't need a statue to work that out.

Black Goes With Everything

Speaking of lyricists, reminded me of a review I wrote of James Inverne's biography of Don Black. Black has a phenomenal career and the photo album to prove it. Anyway here's the review:

Don Black is the Little Black Dress of lyricists: classy, smart and pretty much goes with anything. Reading about his life in James Inverne’s biography you get the impression that he’s classically understated too, which might explain why the only people he gets recognized by are the old dears who’ve seen him on Countdown. Whilst Don Black may not be as well-known as Lord Lloyd-Webber or Sir Tim, he has been just as successful. His name has appeared alongside some of the biggest in popular entertainment. John Barry and Quincy Jones were writing partners; Sinatra and Streisand sung his words; Michael Jackson was a family friend. Did I mention Carol Vorderman? Well, you get the idea.

Like many a great songwriter Don Black was born into an immigrant Jewish family, not on New York’s East Side but in London’s East End. His early experiences of the entertainment world involved going to see the latest Hollywood flicks and watching the variety acts at the Hackney Empire Music Hall. He started his career as a stand-up comic. The tag on his billing read, “Don Black, the Living Joke”. Unfortunately he was a flop and, as his brother quipped, tended to leave the stage to the sound of his own footsteps.

After that he worked his way up from the business end of things, eventually becoming Matt Monro’s agent. It was only at this point that Black really got going as a lyricist, supplying the words for some of Monro’s hits. He struck gold in Hollywood with title songs for movies like Diamonds are Forever and Born Free (for which he became the first British songwriter to win an Oscar). As Monro’s career went the way of the bottle, Black’s contInued to thrive. He turned to musical theatre and came up trumps again, providing lyrics to a range of shows, from the playful razzmatazz of Billy to the grandiose comic-tragedy of Sunset Boulevard.

James Inverne manages to fill out the biographical outline with some great showbiz stories. In fact at times he seems determined to name-drop the entire contents of Who’s Who on Black’s behalf. But all the famous names do underline Black’s remarkable ability to collaborate with all kinds of people. There aren’t many other lyricists who could have taken on an assignment like Bombay Dreams, working alongside the Bollywood composer A.R.Rahman. On paper, they make the oddest of odd couples: Black, the old pro with a Tin Pan Alley work ethic and Rahman, a deeply spiritual and devout Muslim. If things weren’t going well Rahman would walk out of a writing session to pray to Allah for inspiration. When Black got stuck, he’d nip down the local curry house and scan the menu (“I’ve already written ‘its my chapati and I’ll cry if I want to’”). But somehow the partnership worked and produced a highly original West End score.

If there is a criticism of this biography it’s that sometimes the backstage drama overshadows the drama in the lyrics. With so many great songs to choose from, there’s plenty to gain from a little analysis. Take Tell Me on a Sunday, which is one of Black’s best works. It’s full of those observational truths that say an awful lot without saying much at all. There’s the beautifully plaintive “Nothing Like It Ever Was”, where the heroine starts an affair with a married man:

Married man,
Always looking at your watch.
I wanted to
Spend more time than twelve ‘til two
Loving you.

You can immediately picture the scene: a furtive lunchtime meeting with one eye on the clock, the married man sneaking back to the office in time for the sake of keeping up appearances. It’s a whole story in an anecdote and a model in the art of compression. And, where most lyricists would struggle with anything other than a regular 4/4 beat, Black manages to rest his words effortlessly on an awkward 5/8 time signature.

It’s that kind of easy-going artiness, coupled with a very British sense of modesty, that’s kept Don Black at the top of the songwriting game for over four decades. This biography is a celebratory reminder that Black never really goes out of style.