Smious Fun! jody ka~in applebaurn, sopmno m~c- and^^ hamelin, piano

1 Come On A&emon [2:551 words:fE."B Clarke; mus1c:Lord 'Bemers 2 'MaWnity [2:441 words:kbert Service; music: Jeremy Ncholas 3 Someone Is Sendtng K e Flawers [2:561 words: Sheldon Samick mustc: amid %ker 4 Chrisan War [2031 words &music: 'Bruce "Montgomery 5 small t2fk [:I01 6 Summer Is A-Comb' In [2:561 words: John Mouche; must?: Vemon Puke 7 small talk L161 8 'Madeha, 'MTvl'l)ear? [[4:281 words:'Michael Flanders; music:9onald Swann 9 small talk L141

10 A Fanner's "By Ill41 words:&onymous; music: "Marc-&dye %elin 11 Ill Wtnd [3:301 words:'Michael Flmders; music:9onsld Swmn (w. apoLogfes to 'Mozart) 12 (I'm Spendii&)flanukkah In Smto 'btontca [2:201 words & music:fom Lehrer,

m. pameltn 13 small talk [:091 14 f i e fwelve aays After Christmas 13351 words &music: Fredertck Silver 15 f i e Green-Eyed 9rrgon [3:071 words:Gre%rex Newman; mustc: Wolseley Charles 16 Usherette's "Bues [%:a1 words &music: Jeremy Nicholas 17 small talk 1381 18 Lime Jello 'MmhmalLaw Cottrge Cheese Surprise [2:461 words &music: Willinn Polcom 19 f i e Shape OF fib@- [3:251 words & music: Sheldon h i c k 20 Kusical Chairs 12471 words & music: Jeremy Nicholas n small talk [:XI 22 I Nmer 'Do &fihtng fwice [5:301 words &music: Stephen Sondheim 23 f i e "Masochism fango 12551 words &music:fom Lehrer 24 "Pretty ?bin [PO21 words &music: Jeremy Mcholrs 25 A Word On 'My E e 15541 words:KichseL Flanders; muslc:VonsLd Swann 26 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 s Fun! Phrases that chill the heart: '7 want a volunteer

from the audience. " "Is thisyour car, sir?" "Have we shownyou our hol idy 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 prob- lems 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)." The only way of finding out if your hunch is right is to try it out on an audience. Scary.

sa t ing off writing a comic song is rather like being your own crossword compiler, designing the grid, filling in 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 tem- plate and, using that as a launch pad, con- struct your lyric, allowing yourself the free- dom to smash the template whenever you need to. Lyrics frequently take on 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 grammati- cal 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 sub- ject 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, or 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 classi- cal 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, musi- cals (call them what you will) survive today. I've never understood how Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice succeeded as extrava- gantly 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 exer- cise. 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 opportuni- ties to do that. In the days of Variety (American = Vaudeville) there were any num- ber 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 genera- tions of lyricists was enormous, whether in the fields of musical comedy or 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 1918 before 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 acknowl- edged their debt to Wodehouse and his con- tribution to the Broadway musical. In 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 on 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 song- writers - 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 pre- sent-day exceptions in the UK).

How do they do it? What makes a compe- tent 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 world- wide sales, in general, comic songs don't travel too well. Bolcom's Lime Jello Marshmallow, for instance, might be a hoot in Houston or Hollywood but the reference point for its basic joke would be lost on a resident of

Rangoon, even a fluent English speaking resi- dent of Rangoon. Equally, comic songs with French lyrics are tricky to bring off successful- ly in, say, the Black Hills of Dakota (as Doris Day might have put it). Deft, incisively-used lyrics in English have their strongest effect on an audience thoroughly conversant with the English language. Even then there can be dif- ficulties for. united thoueh Britain and America may be by a (roughly) common lan- guage, 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 in two or 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, clas- sically-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 per- former might as well be skate-boarding over a ploughed field. As soon as you find yourself

straining to make out the lyrics, and are hence

concentrating o n your inability t o hear them

rather than enjoying them, the game is up.

Articulation, enunciation and diction (not t o

ment ion intonation) are things you do not

worry about when listening t o Miss

Applebaum sing.

T h e piano is the usual partner i n this

enterprise, infinitely more malleable and ver-

satile than, say, a string quartet o r piano

accordion. T h e guitar is an 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

to swing, let alone let their hair down. Tonal

discrimination and a bravura technique are

not pre-requisites for accompanying the

comic song, but if these attributes are o n

hand, i t would be churlish to t u rn them

down. Mr Hamelin has both with spades but is

also musician (and man) enough t o be able t o

$ay this stuff - and o n occasion t o contribute

vocally - with all the sassy conviction of 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 be a barrel o f laughs. Listen t o the disc for that - and

have some serious fun. This is the best pro-

gramme of its kind to appear for years. Jeremy Nicholas

2001

J e r e ~ y Nicholas is a composer, actor, author, and award- winning 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. On 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~onal Copyright 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 on that geometric way There swaggered a big, bold eube With a haughty stare, and he made that square Have 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 on her kids, oh such cute pyramids! In a world of three dimensions.

Reprinted by permission.

S o ~ ~ e o n e Is Bending .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 ~ ~ o n of 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 on 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~mrner Is 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. Of 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 cry,

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 on 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 willingly pay 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.

(lb Spending) 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 on the old rubber gloves And very gently wrung the nech 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.

On 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 adminis- tered 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, on 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; 1 laughed 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 u Cottsge 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 in 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 in 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: One 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 on with a safety pin To a prize I had no wish to win: it's a lasting memory my true love gave to me.

0 1950, 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 or 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 or 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 per- mission.

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. One 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 in 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~emy Mcholas

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 of 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, on my knees, don't let them see me undressed!

Rcpnnted by permission.

W Word On N y Err words: T.ltchah,el Fbnders, 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 on 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 1987 Novello & Company Limited, U.K. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Reprinted by per- mission.

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 or 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.

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.

Ev'ry Friday afternoon I drive to Boston; two hundred miles. In Boston I get lost in my subterranean lifestyle.

The acclaimed partnership of soprano Jody Karin Applebaum and her husband, pianist Marc-And& Hamelin has been hailed as "truly exceptional" (LeDeuoir, Montreal), "cap- tivating" (Siiddeutsche Gitung, Munich), and "out- standing" (composer William Bolcom). Drawing on an extensive, often eclectic reper- toire, 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. In the United States their recitals have been heard on public radio; in 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 pro- gram Onstage!; and Deutschland Radio Berlin broadcast a recital given at the summer 2000

Raritaten der Klaviermusik festival in 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; Villa- Lobos' Bachianas BrasileirasNo. 5 ; Gorecki's mov- ing 3mphonyNo. 3 and Poulenc's stirring one- act solo opera La VoixHumaine, and she created the title role in John Philip Sousa's operetta Deside.

Mr. Hamelin is universally regarded as one of today's masters of the keyboard. His exten- sive discography includes Alkan's Concerto for 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 record- ings 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

ALBANY RECORDS U.S. 91 5 BROADWAY, ALBANY, NY 12207 EL: 518.436.8814 FAX: 518.436.0643 WWW.ALBANYRECORDS.COM ALBANY RECORDS U.K. BOX 137, KENDAL, CUMBRIA LA8 OX0 TEL: 01539 824008

WARNING: COPYRIGHT SUBSISTS I N ALL RECORDINGS ISSUED UNDERTHIS LABEL.

MADE IN THE USA u

dm 0 2 0 0 5 ALBANY RECORDS ,, ,