University of California Press Blog

Ethel Merman at 100 by Caryl Flinn

Caryl Flinn's recent book, Brass Diva: The Life and Legends of Ethel Merman, is an account of the life of Ethel Merman, is a marvelously detailed account of how the stenographer from Queens, New York became the queen of the Broadway musical in its golden age.  January 16th, 2008, is the 100th anniversary of Ethel Merman's birth.  Flinn takes some time to reflect on Ethel Merman at 100.

January 16 2008: Happy birthday, Ethel Merman.  You are 100 years old today.  For five years now, I’ve taken note of the date while writing Brass Diva. 

Merman, of course, was the Broadway belter who introduced some of the 20th century’s classic songs to the public: “I’ve Got Rhythm” “Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries” “Anything Goes,” “Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better” “You’re Just in Love” “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” and her anthem–and Broadway’s–Irving Berlin’s “There’s No Business Like Show Business.”

Merman died in February,1984, but 76 birthdays never slowed her down–she was still doing concert specials and TV guest spots. For a woman who got her start performing with Jimmy Durante, Rudy Vallee and even Betty Boop, it’s striking to see her interacting with 70s icons like Donna Summer and Kermit the Frog nearly 50 years later.

Merman entered Broadway history on October 14, 1930, singing “I Got Rhythm” in the Gershwin Brothers Girl Crazy.  A second-billed player (a young Ginger Rogers was the star), Ethel blew the house open when she held the “I’ in the chorus for somewhere between 16 to 32 measures.  Producer Alex Aarons thought a gun had gone off .

Ethel was an overnight sensation.  Here was a 22 year old stenographer in Queens by day who’d never had a singing lesson and now was the toast of Broadway.  Merman later told a biographer that she had it easier than Cinderella---and there was no Prince Charming to help her.  She went on do do twelve other shows such as Anything Goes, DuBarry Was a Lady, Annie Get Your Gun, Call Me Madam, and Gypsy.

In the 60s and 70s, she turned to TV cameos in shows like Batman, That Girl, and The Love Boat.  In 1979 she released “The Ethel Merman Disco Album,” an instant camp classic.  And her hysterical turn as the traumatized war vet in the disaster spoof Airplane!—the poor Lt. Hurwitz believes he’s Ethel Merman—wins over even die-hard Merman detractors.

And there is no shortage of those. “She was coarse and uneducated,” said one co-star of the Brass Diva; “She didn’t sing, she honked!” recalled an elderly man from New Jersey.  Similarly, the voice—that famous, big voice, can send some screaming out of the room (particularly with the aforementioned Disco Album).  Others were wowed by the voice they called a force of nature, comparing it to the Hoover Dam or the atom bomb.  The Merm’s personality was just as tough.  Famous for her lack of stage fright (What’s to be scared of? I know my lines),) and her robust, X-rated jokes, Ethel was a shrewd business woman–and someone you didn’t want to cross.  Her cut offs were as permanent as they were icy.

No one ever called Miss Merman nice, but a surprising number of intimates attested to her shy, child-like, even vulnerable side.  Maybe those contradictions describe a lot of strong celebrity women, but all those disconnects among “Ethel Mermans” have intrigued me these last five years. 

For the centenary, I am thinking of putting on a Merman recording–probably not the Disco LP—and toasting the Brass Diva with a champagne on the rocks, her drink of choice.

Bach in the Subway: New York Does It Better by Lawrence Kramer

Occasionally, UC Press has the opportunity to bring you brief articles written by our authors. The following is by prolific author, Lawrence Kramer, whose newest book is Why Classical Music Still Matters:

"Whenever classical music makes news these days the news is likely to be bad. So it was with a recent Washington Post article by Gene Weingarten. Weingarten persuaded Joshua Bell, a world-class violinist, to take his world-class Stradivarius into a Washington Metro station and play Bach for spare change. The outcome? Of over a thousand people who walked through the station, only seven paid any attention. The world seemed literally to be passing this great music by. Not even a great performer could get it a hearing.

The story interested me because the concluding chapter of my new book, Why Classical Music Still Matters, centers on a similar incident I witnessed in the New York subway. The violinist, a young woman, probably a music student, was playing an Adagio from a Bach solo sonata. But unlike Bell, she captured the attention of the passersby, who not only ringed her to listen but also applauded when she was finished. This was hardly typical behavior under Times Square. It got me thinking about how and why it happened and what it said about the music. The results are in the book. But given Joshua Bell's experience, one has to wonder: Why was Bach a hit in New York and a bust in Washington? Why did a good violinist succeed where a great one failed? One explanation is that Bell was badly placed. He was playing-and at rush hour--near both a kiosk with a brisk Lotto trade and an escalator, both sites of purposeful action that stopping to listen to music, any music, would disrupt. The New York violinist was on the train platform, where the only real action is waiting. Hearing Bach there is unusual but it is no disruption. The platform gives the music a chance to be heard, despite the rumble of passing trains. And when one person turns to listen, others follow until an audience assembles-which was exactly what happened. If that first listener had never materialized, the New York violinist might have shared Bell's disappointment. Both incidents involve an element of happenstance. But the contrast of outcomes argues against overreacting to the Washington flop. In New York Bach's music got heard and it moved its hearers. This music still mattered-and proved it."

UC Press Author, Peter La Chapelle, on Merle Haggard's Politics

In Proud to Be an Okie, author Peter La Chapelle explores the political and cultural history of the Los Angeles country music scene, illuminating the evolution of politics and musical expression from the early songs of the liberal Woody Guthrie to the later conservative views of Merle Haggard and his "Okie from Muskogee" anthem. Merle Haggard is now making headlines for penning his recent song "Hillary," which seems to endorse Hillary Clinton for President. Could Haggard be serious? La Chapelle examines the debate:

Just as my book Proud to Be an Okie was beginning to hit the store shelves, country music legend Merle Haggard, one of the central figures I write about, was making headlines with a new song titled "Hillary."

Often cast as a working-class conservative for such patriotic anti-counterculture numbers as "Okie from Muskogee" and "Fightin' Side," Haggard appears to endorse Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's presidential bid in the new song, which argues it is time to "put a woman in charge."

The brouhaha that followed resembled in an inverse way the original uproar that broke out over "Okie from Muskogee," his seemingly pro-war, hippie-bashing anthem, in 1969.

With "Hillary," fans on the Right voiced confusion, disappointment, and a sense of betrayal. Fans and bloggers on the Left either applauded it or criticized Haggard, who has been unabashedly opposed to the Iraq War, for endorsing one of the few Democratic presidential candidates who has not officially renounced an earlier pro-war stance.

In 1969, left-wing country-rock fans and critics of the Vietnam War expressed a similar disappointment at "Okie," while right-wing audiences turned out in droves at places such as the Anaheim Convention Center Arena to cheer and sing along.

The one through-line between "Hillary" and "Okie from Muskogee" may be a question of interpretation: Is Haggard singing these songs at face value or are they to be understood as statements of irony?

Haggard's intent has always been a difficult item to nail down. In 1969, even academic folklorists were unsure if "Okie" was meant to be sarcastic, while many longtime fans will swear to this day that Haggard was really lampooning his own small-town boot-wearing narrator.

Although the New York Times blog that brought "Hillary" to light claimed Haggard was serious, longtime fans writing on his website swear it is a lark.

If Haggard is indeed serious, then this, along with the Dixie Chicks' multiple honors at the Grammy Awards, suggest that the earlier liberal populist trend I describe in the book has not completely trailed off in country music--even if today's mainstream country remains dominated by a more-or-less conservative outlook.