Showing posts with label Ella Fitzgerald. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ella Fitzgerald. Show all posts

Monday, June 9, 2014

DB's Song of the Day (day 160): "ALWAYS TRUE TO YOU IN MY FASHION" (1956) Ella Fitzgerald



Today’s birthday boy is Cole Porter, one of the greatest songwriters who ever lived, and whose work I mainly know as performed by the inimitable Ella Fitzgerald on Ella Sings the Cole Porter Songbook. Today’s song is from Porter’s most successful musical, derived from the plot of The Taming of the Shrew, called Kiss Me, Kate (1948). So the song is sung by a character who likes to play the field; more to the point, she protests to her lover that, though she steps out often with well-heeled older men, her heart still belongs to him.

I suppose one might wonder, what with “Boots” a day ago, why I’m featuring these songs of young women chiding men by brandishing their desirability and their ability to use sex appeal to get what they want. No clue. Suffice to say, I’ve always been the type to believe that it’s “lady’s choice” when it comes to the give and take of “will she, won’t she” and so find nothing off-putting about the women in these respective songs stating their cases. I should note, though, that the lyrics they mouth so coyly were written by men.

In the case of “Always True,” we’re dealing with a fictional character in a musical, and that character gets to “speak” in the kind of winning and wonderfully witty lyrics that only Cole Porter could fashion. And “fashion” is a key word here: “true in my fashion” is a way of saying that the girl knows enough to assert her personal style as both the thing her lover loves about her as well as the thing that attracts a slew of sugar daddies, but, as well, her fashion (in terms of what she is able to wear) is dependent upon the favor of rich men. We might, uncharitably, say she’s whoring herself, but Porter’s tongue-in-cheek lyric encourages us to accept her viewpoint as sensible and practical. In any case, anyone who is able to put it out there the way Ella does in this song should be welcome to whatever rewards are showered upon her.

It’s not quite the song I would choose as a really breathtaking showcase of Ella’s vocalizing—and she sings it brightly, giving full attention to its flippancy. The slightly (deliberately) cloying tune that comes in the chorus (sounding a bit like something from the nursery delivered for her “big baby,” crying over what he must accept) finds Ella, as ever, inserting changes in emphasis and phrasing that make it, each time, a new discovery. We might say that each man introduced, in all his ample attendance on her, must be given a send-off in a slightly different manner.

As a song to showcase Porter it’s not his most tuneful nor his most intricate, nor even his cleverest, but it is plenty clever. And Ella’s fun with Porter’s fun is lots of fun for us too. The swift characterizations are wonderful: “Mr. Horn once cornered corn and that ain’t hay!” or “Mr. Fritz invented Schlitz and Schlitz must pay,” giving us a kind of rogue’s gallery of CEO types who are able and willing to pay for charming company. I have to admit that the first time I heard this song, I envied these guys, while I toiled away on a dissertation on the novel. Yeah, like that’s gonna be my ship come in.

The men with money make the world go round and live that “emperors of the world” kind of thing, one imagines. “What of that,” Hamlet says, “those of us with free hearts, it touches us not.” Maybe not, but when we notice the girl of our dreams shying toward the high rollers (“a girl has to get by” she may be thinking) we have to accede that there are other ways to play the game than that of earnest schnook. Anyway, that’s what Porter’s wry little tune lets us contemplate. My favorite verse:

Mister Harris, plutocrat,
Wants to give my cheek a pat
If a Harris pat means a Paris hat, pay, pay!

That’s the kind of fun with words that make a song work so well on the stage, a kind of tripping the light fantastic that wins the day. Similarly, another date, a vet, gets: “when the vet begins to pet, I shout ‘Hurray!’” That line, in the opening verse as Ella sings it, lets us know our girl is out for fun wherever it can be found. None of that “heart of gold” stuff, this gold-digger is irrepressible and stylish. And who’s to say she’s not “always true in her fashion”? The means by which each man is given something to hope for, something to be pleased by, and something elusive is where the skill comes in, we imagine. But something true? That’s in her baldly calculating appraisal of the men in her life.



Friday, April 25, 2014

DB's Song of the Day (day 115): "LOVE FOR SALE" (1956) Ella Fitzgerald



Today’s birthday girl is the greatest singer I know of, Ella Fitzgerald (1917-1996).  And Ella’s recordings of some of the cleverest songs ever written—the Cole Porter songbook—are some of the best versions ever of those songs, oft-recorded as they are.  When I was in grad school, I house-sat at my advisor’s place one summer and he had both volumes of Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook on CD. I became quite enamored of them that summer of '93.

Which song to choose for today?  I picked “Love for Sale” because, while people may throw around the phrase “it gives me chills,” this song truly does. Begin with the fact that it’s a slow and sensual song, with wafts of late night melancholy stirring it here and there, though with plenty of Porter’s celebrated wit: the moon “gazing down on the wayward ways of a wayward town” so long “her smile becomes a smirk.” Then listen to how Ella draws out “Iiiiiii go oooo to work . . .”

Place this against any ditty sung by a teenage prostitute you can think of, or even any song celebrating young love, and see if the weary, wise and wry voice of Ella on this track doesn’t add something to your appreciation. And don’t forget this is “appetizing young love for sale.” “Who’s prepared to pay the price / For a trip to paradise.” The girl knows what she's got on offer, I’d say.

Because Porter is so wry, we don’t have to get all bathetic about this bit of stuff and her clientele. The point is that the singer knows of which she speaks: she’s “been through the mill of love,” she’s seen it all, knowing “every type of love” even better than the poets (or the songwriters). “Old love, new love / Every love but true love.” And that’s both Porter mocking her and her mocking the world of song. The “mill of love” might make us all, sufferers in that regard ourselves, sympathize, and, when we’re ready to pity her, perhaps, she tells us that every type of love does not include “true love.” Those of us who might think we have that are fools and those others who think they might yet find it are naĆÆve. Our girl is neither.

All this is fine, as is the oh-so-sultry, “If you want to try my wares / Follow me and climb the stairs” (I’ll let each of you decide, in your own imaginations, what she’s wearing as she climbs those stairs ahead of you . . .). But let’s not just talk about the song, as it might be in anyone’s version. This is Ella’s version, and hers is a vocal that takes my breath away with its grace notes galore.

Listen to the way, the first time, she goes from “true love” to “love for sale”—it happens in a breath and that breath is all the difference between the two: your dream of true love and the speaker’s quid pro quo of “love for sale.” Then when she comes around again, listen to how she positively skips in glee (vocally speaking) over these things: “old love, new love, every love but true love.” Then when she glides into “love for sale” the horns start scorching, kicking her into that long fond goodbye that sounds like money well spent.

Ella has such a great low register too, with that huskiness that is so pleasing to my ears, as when she drops down to say “love for sale” the second time she utters the phrase, giving us a full-bodied, lazy-hearted, almost blue sense of it—and it’s not the “blues” of selling sexual favors. It’s the blues of no one buying. Of wanting, and not getting.