On July 26, we lost one of my heroes of surreal and satirical humor, pianist/singer/songwriter Tom Lehrer. As were millions of people across the globe, I was saddened by his passing, even though he reached the age of 97. He had an extremely small body of work, and after a rather short career as a live performer, returned to teaching mathematics at MIT. His singing wasn’t terrific and his piano playing was only somewhat above adequate. Yet his witty lyrics, the way he matched them to the perfect melodic line or rhythm, and the timing of his delivery make him America’s greatest musical satirist. Diverse musician/performers “Weird” Al Yankovic, Randy Newman, and the group Steely Dan openly acknowledge their debt to Lehrer, especially emulating his unmatched ability to draw humor out of serious situations and issues while creating ear-worm ditties that linger in the mind. Contemporaries Allan Sherman and Stan Freberg, no slouches themselves and more prolific, sang his praises as they all three plied their musical crafts making people laugh with their barbed humor that provoked audiences to think in between the chuckles.
Most appropriately for these pages, I’ll concentrate on Lehrer’s use of American pop styles, especially those of ragtime, jazz, Tin Pan Alley, Broadway, and various related genres, to write his tunes. Often, he’d take a style and turn it upside down while retaining the fundamental characteristics. For instance, he transforms “The Old Lamplighter,” the classic character from 1936 imagined by Nat Simon and Charles Tobias, 17 years later into “The Old Dope Peddler” with words sung to a melody referencing the original without a single bar of plagiarism.
Unlike his predecessor Spike Jones, who imposed virtuosic sound effects and absurd situations onto well-known pop songs, or his contemporary Allan Sherman, who was brilliant at taking existing pieces and writing new lyrics for them—thus, “Dance of the Hours” from Amilcare Ponchielli’s opera La Gioconda becomes “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh,” with lyrics concerning a boy at camp writing home to his parents that were cowritten by Sherman and Lou Busch (who recorded as Honky-Tonk pianist Joe “Fingers” Carr—how’s that for a thread??); “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” is rewritten as “Somewhere Overweight People”; “Hava Nagilah” is reimagined as “Harvey and Sheila”; and “Pop Goes the Weasel” becomes “Pop Hates the Beatles”—Lehrer simply sat at the piano accompanying himself singing his lyrics to melodies HE composed.
As a child, Tom Lehrer encountered, enjoyed, and absorbed many different genres of music, particularly ragtime, Victorian waltzes, light jazz, society (or “cocktail”) piano, Tin Pan Alley, Swing, Latin, show tunes and so on. A true chameleon, he drew on his multifarious musical experiences to simultaneously evoke and poke fun at the style he’d choose for his subject, all the while singing lyrics which seamlessly flowed from homage to burlesque, from pastiche to pasquinade. Functioning throughout his songwriting career as both composer and lyricist, Tom Lehrer was the Cole Porter of satire. Moreover, he was one of the earliest singer/songwriters in American music.
His humor assumed many levels and layers. In the aforementioned “The Old Dope Peddler,” he’s simultaneously parodying the time in which he wrote the tune (during which drug sales and use were beginning to draw increased attention), the specific tune (both his melody and his way of playing it reference the lush harmonies and styles of the 1930s) and pop music’s penchant for nostalgia (“The Old Lamplighter” hearkens back to a half-century prior, electric street lamps having been introduced in the late 19th century).
This multilayered feat and feast of humor reaches its zenith when the style Lehrer is playing is at direct odds with the subject matter of his lyrics. “I Hold Your Hand in Mine” mimics as good a lyrical waltz from the 1890s as you could ask for, but it’s about madness, murder, implied necrophilia, and confirmed cannibalism (which, as I blatantly outline the material, finally explains to me why William Bolcom and Joan Morris never included it in their nostalgia programs). “So Long Mom” is a song for World War III (he figured he’d better write one before the event actually happened) and while the melody is worthy of any flag-waving ditty by George M. Cohan, the lyrics drip with hysterical, over-the-top anti-war sentiment.
No style was safe from Lehrer’s poisoned pen (NOT the device used in his frolicking “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park”): College fight songs get ribbed with “Fight Fiercely, Harvard”; Patriotic service songs are skewered in “Send the Marines” and “It Makes a Fellow Proud to Be a Soldier”; the folk song movement of the 1960s is lampooned in Lehrer’s “Folk Song Army” (my favorite lyric from that one is “The tune don’t have to be clever/And it don’t matter if you put a couple extra syllables into a line”); Latin rhythms are used to bring “Pollution” and “The Masochism Tango” to life; torch songs get torched in “She’s My Girl”; eras and locales are parodied in ear-worm songs with catchy titles such as “The Wild West Is Where I Want To Be” and “I Wanna Go Back To Dixie.” Really, no one was safe from his razor sharp wit: Hunters are stalked in “The Hunting Song”; the Irish are limerickly laughed at in “The Irish Ballad”; the Boy Scouts are gently mocked in “Be Prepared”: and everyone is the butt of the joke during “National Brotherhood Week!”
Tom Lehrer also had a deep affection for (and ability to parody) the style of the Savoy Operas of Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. This is most evident in the patter section outlining the ailments of aging in “When You Are Old And Grey, Dear,” the farcical (because it was true) “New Math.” Both tunes pay homage to one of Lehrer’s greatest idols, the legendary Danny Kaye, whose signature playful vocalizations and rapid-fire delivery brought life to such songs as “Tchaikovsky” (from the 1941 Broadway show Lady in the Dark) and “Anatole Of Paris” (from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty).
In one of his most famous songs, “The Elements,” he lists all of the chemical elements to the tune of the Major-General’s song from Pirates of Penzance. (At the time of conception in 1959 there were 102 known elements; Lehrer later updated it in 2015 to include 16 additional entries to the Periodic Table.)
As the 1960’s unfolded, Lehrer’s material grew increasingly pointed and political. My first encounter with his music was at age 10 when I found the LP That Was The Year That Was in my mother’s record collection. To be honest, I was unable to understand some of the references in “Who’s Next?”, “Wernher Von Braun,” “The MLF Lullaby,” or “Pollution” (being from Connecticut, I didn’t know what “The Bay” was or why San Jose was drinking the breakfast garbage dumped therein for lunch, and where was “San Jose” anyway?), but as my mom explained the contexts to me, I began to understand that I was listening to a genius.
However, one tune resonated with me above all others on that album due to the musical style of the piece and its subject matter: “The Vatican Rag.” I’ve chronicled in this column my love affair with all things ragtime beginning with the soundtrack of The Sting. What’s less known is that I was a dedicated altar boy in the nearby Catholic Church by the time I’d reached 10. This was not due to some overflowing piety on my part; my mom wisely realized that the busier I was kept during the mass, the less likely chance my ADHD would kick in and cause mayhem for the other parishioners. Once I’d heard “The Vatican Rag,” I couldn’t wait to go behind the altar into the sacristy the next Sunday and ask Father MacDonald and Father Johnson about it. Father M. made a face of disapproval; Father J. bellowed with laughter.
Of course I learned it right away, to the joy of some and the horror of others subject to my primitive rendering. Jump ahead to 2002. I included it as part of a live concert in the UK at the Keswick Jazz Festival and the resulting CD release Relaxin’ at the Queens; JACD1111 (2003) (now out-of-print). With nearly twenty previous albums to my credit, I knew the routine. I had to license any tune on the CD that was not in public domain. It was rare for me to perform a tune by someone still taking nourishment, so I researched Mr. Lehrer, discovered his contact info, and had the temerity to contact him by phone. The conversation was delightful; he was gregarious, patient with a disciple, and as wry as he was on the recordings. When we finally got round to the reason I’d phoned, the chat went something like this:
“Mr. Lehrer, I’ve recorded what I think is your masterpiece, ‘The Vatican Rag.’”
“You have extraordinary taste, young man. I got in a bit of trouble over that one, you know.”
“Yes, but did you care?”
“Very much so…all that attention got me better gigs.”
“Well I’d like to release it, but I need your permission. I know I can license your tune through Harry Fox, but I thought I’d send you the [then] $100 fee directly rather than you having to wait for the ninety-two cents you’d likely receive after HF took out all of their commissions and padded expenses.”
“A wise young man to boot! By all means!”
“May I request a signed letter stating your permission so if the copyright squad abseils into my studio I can wave it as proof I’ve your blessing?”
“Of course, young lad, and toot sweet! That’s such a fantastic image, I might have to write a song about it.”
He never did, but I’ve got that letter and it’s one of my most prized possessions. RIP, Tom Lehrer. Paraphrasing the master, “Ave Maria; Gee, it was good to hear ya!”
Jeff Barnhart is an internationally renowned pianist, vocalist, arranger, bandleader, recording artist, ASCAP composer, educator and entertainer. Visit him online atwww.jeffbarnhart.com. Email: Mysticrag@aol.com
