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NICE WORK IF YOU CAN GET IT MY LIFE IN RHYTHM AND RHYME AUTOGRAPHED BOOK
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First published July 30, 1995
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
October 24, 2009
Michael Feinstein regards himself as a song stylist in the model of… Perry Como??? Yes, Perry Como is the treacly crooner he name-checks. Now, if you read this book or know anything about Feinstein's artistic preferences, this may come as something of a surprise given Feinstein's extensive criticism of Bing Crosby for his melodic liberties -- a criticism in this context it seems to me akin to dismissing an Ellington performance in favor of one by Liberace -- but if you ever force yourself to listen to a Feinstein recording (especially any of his adult contemporary bits of treacle released within the last 20 years), the Como worship comes to make a lot of sense. Through this light, it's also easy to take Feinstein's word for it when he says he's no interpretational purist.
While the Como-Feinstein style of crooning is obviously not to my taste (being more of a Bing Sinatra kind of guy), I do have a few Feinstein recordings in my collection. These are the ones he made in the 1980s with classic Broadway songwriters Burton Lane and Jule Styne at the piano. Don't look at me like that; the banter on the Styne recording alone is worth rehearing. In fact, this is the primary reason that I picked up Feinstein's book over the summer after reading through all of Ira Gershwin's lyrics. (Yes, I realize this review comes a bit late.) Few living entertainers know, let alone understand the history and catalogue of the "classic" American theatrical songwriters from the first half of the 20th Century with the depth that Feinstein does, a depth of knowledge that he has mined to embroider his cabaret performances and liner notes. Reading this mixed-bag memoir of Feinstein's early years as an entertainer certainly reveals his reverence for early show tunes and Tin Pan Alley, along with his affinity for Golden Age MGM gossip and a natural archivist's obsession to the provenance details to what is (annoyingly) called the American popular songbook. (A short digression - this is a stupid nickname for a genre which (a) is insensitive to the sweep of musical history, (b) completely overlooks the contributions of Weill, Coward, a host of Central European expats, and (c) for no good reason relegates contemporary African American talents the likes of Joplin, Morton, Armstrong, and others to a whole different part of the record store).
But back to Feinstein. His preferences are as much a matter of privileged immersion as taste. Feinstein never went to a college or conservatory, but went from high school in Ohio to serving what ended up as a six-year-long apprenticeship as the personal music librarian to then still-living Ira Gershwin, Oscar Levant, and Harry Warren in L.A. So when I say that Feinstein is THE living authority on these artists and their contemporaries (as well as someone with professional insight into how to carve out a living as an idiosyncractic cabaret performer), I really mean it. There are those in the Music Collections department of the Library of Congress who owe him an extensive debt of gratitude for his literal and figurative contributions to date.
It is when Feinstein speaks from his authoritative well that I like this book. Did you know that Leonard Bernstein purportedly used a Ralph Vaughan Williams theme as inspiration for "West Side Story's" Cool? Or a theme from Benjamin Britten's brilliant opera "Peter Grimes" for A Boy Like That? (p. 317) I didn't. Or that the original Tin Pan Alley form actually evolved and crystalized in the early 1910s into a genre whose principal requirements were a 32-bar melody divided into four 8-bar sections (called alternatively the "chorus," "refrain," or as Jerome Kern would have it, the "burthen") in AABA form? Apparently, the introductory 16-bar verse was generally considered an incidental and musically insignificant expository introduction (pp. 294-295).
I didn't know this, either, and I find it interesting to look further down the road as this (distinct from music derived from the much more straightforward repetitions/I-IV-V chord harmonies of the blues) evolves further into today's AABABC(A)B pop superstructure (for those of you scoring at home, turn on the radio and count verse1, verse2, chorus, verse 3, chorus, bridge, (verse), chorus-repeat-to-fade). Along these lines, Feinstein can talk about the need to structure a live set with a song that introduces one's performance persona to the audience, brings in a few upbeat numbers before shifting to ballads, and overall must be structured in a grand dramatic arc to "work."
Given his historical bent, it's a bit weird is that Feinstein does not extrapolate these insights to narrative or poetic structure writ large or care to consider the overall continuity of American theatrical and popular music from its commercial emergence in the beginning of the 20th Century through to today. He has steadfastly maintained snobbery for works outside the body of material to which he devoted his early years, championing such 'gems' as Warren's I Yi Yi Yi Yi, I Like You Very Much or Vernon Duke's Gazooka over more substantial crowd-pleasers of more recent vintage. Feinstein takes pains to acquit himself of the charges of being a "purist," but has always had so little tolerance for mash-ups, anachronistic rearrangements, or genre-bending changes to his beloved catalogue that as a bare 24 year old nobody he found himself in screaming matches with Tommy Tune over Tune's Gershwin jukeboxer "My One and Only" (p. 157). Add in Feinstein's embarrassing confessions about his ongoing patronization of astrologers and fortune tellers with his Glinda-like belief in the power of positive thinking to achieve material ends, and what emerges is someone who sees his life as one of transcendental pursuit after the transformative power of music less than an intellectual engagement. I suppose given his charmed, charming existence, you can't really fault him for harboring such a naive world view.
Ultimately, the less you share Feinstein's obsessions, the less you'll get out of this book, which is why only three stars from me here, even for light bathroom reading. This memoir is chock full of nuggets from the heyday of Broadway, and if therefore a bit uneven (one with less myopic tastes must keep wading through chaff to unearth the next juicy nugget), nonetheless marks a pleasant way of passing the time. But, really, I ask you… Perry Como?!
While the Como-Feinstein style of crooning is obviously not to my taste (being more of a Bing Sinatra kind of guy), I do have a few Feinstein recordings in my collection. These are the ones he made in the 1980s with classic Broadway songwriters Burton Lane and Jule Styne at the piano. Don't look at me like that; the banter on the Styne recording alone is worth rehearing. In fact, this is the primary reason that I picked up Feinstein's book over the summer after reading through all of Ira Gershwin's lyrics. (Yes, I realize this review comes a bit late.) Few living entertainers know, let alone understand the history and catalogue of the "classic" American theatrical songwriters from the first half of the 20th Century with the depth that Feinstein does, a depth of knowledge that he has mined to embroider his cabaret performances and liner notes. Reading this mixed-bag memoir of Feinstein's early years as an entertainer certainly reveals his reverence for early show tunes and Tin Pan Alley, along with his affinity for Golden Age MGM gossip and a natural archivist's obsession to the provenance details to what is (annoyingly) called the American popular songbook. (A short digression - this is a stupid nickname for a genre which (a) is insensitive to the sweep of musical history, (b) completely overlooks the contributions of Weill, Coward, a host of Central European expats, and (c) for no good reason relegates contemporary African American talents the likes of Joplin, Morton, Armstrong, and others to a whole different part of the record store).
But back to Feinstein. His preferences are as much a matter of privileged immersion as taste. Feinstein never went to a college or conservatory, but went from high school in Ohio to serving what ended up as a six-year-long apprenticeship as the personal music librarian to then still-living Ira Gershwin, Oscar Levant, and Harry Warren in L.A. So when I say that Feinstein is THE living authority on these artists and their contemporaries (as well as someone with professional insight into how to carve out a living as an idiosyncractic cabaret performer), I really mean it. There are those in the Music Collections department of the Library of Congress who owe him an extensive debt of gratitude for his literal and figurative contributions to date.
It is when Feinstein speaks from his authoritative well that I like this book. Did you know that Leonard Bernstein purportedly used a Ralph Vaughan Williams theme as inspiration for "West Side Story's" Cool? Or a theme from Benjamin Britten's brilliant opera "Peter Grimes" for A Boy Like That? (p. 317) I didn't. Or that the original Tin Pan Alley form actually evolved and crystalized in the early 1910s into a genre whose principal requirements were a 32-bar melody divided into four 8-bar sections (called alternatively the "chorus," "refrain," or as Jerome Kern would have it, the "burthen") in AABA form? Apparently, the introductory 16-bar verse was generally considered an incidental and musically insignificant expository introduction (pp. 294-295).
I didn't know this, either, and I find it interesting to look further down the road as this (distinct from music derived from the much more straightforward repetitions/I-IV-V chord harmonies of the blues) evolves further into today's AABABC(A)B pop superstructure (for those of you scoring at home, turn on the radio and count verse1, verse2, chorus, verse 3, chorus, bridge, (verse), chorus-repeat-to-fade). Along these lines, Feinstein can talk about the need to structure a live set with a song that introduces one's performance persona to the audience, brings in a few upbeat numbers before shifting to ballads, and overall must be structured in a grand dramatic arc to "work."
Given his historical bent, it's a bit weird is that Feinstein does not extrapolate these insights to narrative or poetic structure writ large or care to consider the overall continuity of American theatrical and popular music from its commercial emergence in the beginning of the 20th Century through to today. He has steadfastly maintained snobbery for works outside the body of material to which he devoted his early years, championing such 'gems' as Warren's I Yi Yi Yi Yi, I Like You Very Much or Vernon Duke's Gazooka over more substantial crowd-pleasers of more recent vintage. Feinstein takes pains to acquit himself of the charges of being a "purist," but has always had so little tolerance for mash-ups, anachronistic rearrangements, or genre-bending changes to his beloved catalogue that as a bare 24 year old nobody he found himself in screaming matches with Tommy Tune over Tune's Gershwin jukeboxer "My One and Only" (p. 157). Add in Feinstein's embarrassing confessions about his ongoing patronization of astrologers and fortune tellers with his Glinda-like belief in the power of positive thinking to achieve material ends, and what emerges is someone who sees his life as one of transcendental pursuit after the transformative power of music less than an intellectual engagement. I suppose given his charmed, charming existence, you can't really fault him for harboring such a naive world view.
Ultimately, the less you share Feinstein's obsessions, the less you'll get out of this book, which is why only three stars from me here, even for light bathroom reading. This memoir is chock full of nuggets from the heyday of Broadway, and if therefore a bit uneven (one with less myopic tastes must keep wading through chaff to unearth the next juicy nugget), nonetheless marks a pleasant way of passing the time. But, really, I ask you… Perry Como?!
April 29, 2017
I loved this book. I was expecting a memoir, but it was a very in-depth discussion of Feinstein's relationship and work with Ira Gershwin; the great songwriters of the 20th century; Oscar Levant and Rosemary Clooney (both of whom I love); the practice of writing lyrics; performing cabaret; and much more. Very well-written; I'm an editor and can rarely read a book without finding typographical or other errors. I found none in this book. My only beef was with Feinstein's statement that Mandy Patinkin's "Over the Rainbow" is "overwrought and excessively dramatic." Of course it is! That's Mandy, and that's why I love it. :)
I'd highly recommend this book to anyone interested in any way in 20th century music. Just a pleasure to read.
I'd highly recommend this book to anyone interested in any way in 20th century music. Just a pleasure to read.
July 16, 2010
This book taught me how to appreciate and sing a well-written lyric without weakening it! Such an interesting look into the values of the Gershwin family, through the eyes of an archivist who bacame a friend. I also never recognized some of the great songwriters - Harry Warren, Burton Lane, etc. This book increased my appreciation for the "greats" - and helped me define why some performances have always just bothered me, even when I love the song!
May 7, 2013
I am a fan of Michael Feinstein, so I loved this book, but I also became more of a fan of Ira Gershwin. He worked as Ira's personal assistant for the years before he died and provided wonderful insight into the life of both Ira and George Gershwin. Great read for music lovers.
May 23, 2008
This was a fun book for me. I love jazz, and Michael had the opportunity to get to know Ira Gershwin. The book provides a behind-the-scenes look at the making of some of our classic show tunes.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews