In addition to its deadly physical health consequences, there is a certain kind of sadness which COVID19 transmits unlike other tragedies. One never gets over 9/11 except that murderous shock, once absorbed, we frail human beings went through Kübler-Ross’ five stages of grief, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, arriving at some form of acceptance. Not so with this virus as it a slow-motion tragedy, one of our own making, and now failing to manage, with no real end in sight, other than civil discord which just exacerbates the issue. Thus we are stuck at the grief stage, almost like an LP record reaching the end and then skipping in a loop, skipping, skipping …skipping.
Nothing has prepared us emotionally for these times, its dangers and its disruption. Although we can escape to streaming forms of the arts, for many of us it is difficult to bear for long periods of time. It’s even hard to read and write as this stage of grief is a barrier to thinking. I find my piano to be an escape at times but the programs I usually play were for other, better times, so increasingly I’ve been turning to uncharted territory, playing pieces I’ve rarely played before. In the process, I’ve learned some about Broadway history outside my zone of familiarity. These pieces are not the well-worn ones I’ve played throughout my life by Rodgers and Hart, or Rodgers and Hammerstein, Stephen Sondheim, George Gershwin, etc.
I recorded a couple on YouTube but, now, with some unease as a few view the platform as a form of competition. I don’t pretend to be a pianist of any consequence, other than playing for myself, those who have enjoyed my work in retirement homes, and a few fund-raising luncheons I’ve played at. My work in the theatre has been as a lobby pianist on opening night where background music was desired, not a performance.
So, although I know what I’m posting for this particular entry is not at the level that everyone has come to expect with current streamed performances, and we’ve seen some remarkable ones, YouTube is the only platform I can use for playing on all devices.
First on my “COVID19 discovery quest” is a little known,
but Tony nominated 1974 musical Over Here. It derives its title from a plot involving WW
II but was happening “over here.” It played
for a year on Broadway 
and was still playing to full audiences when it shut
down over a salary dispute between the stars, the two remaining members of the
Andrews Sisters, and the producers.
The song writers were the enormously successful team of the Sherman Brothers (Robert and Richard) who, previously unknown to me, may be the most prolific songwriting team of all time as they wrote mostly movie musical scores and in particular, when they were under contract with Disney for all of their hit musicals. Over Here was their lone Broadway hit, and it included a number of good, solid Broadway melodies and one in particular hit me during these times, its title almost defining our unreal era as well, "Where Did the Good Times Go?" Indeed, where did they go and will they ever come back in my lifetime?
It’s considered the musical’s “big number” sung near the end of the second act. It’s plaintive melody and lyrics are perfectly married…
What fun we had, then laughter turned sad.
Oh, Where Did The Good Times Go?
Our hopes and plans slipped right through our hands.
Oh, where, Where Did The Good Times Go?
Some place some-where, instead of despair is the love we used to know:
Why can’t we return?
Won’t we ever return?
Oh, Where Did The Good Times Go?
Those are the simple lyrics but with a poignant message for our times as well.
From there I move back in time (1959), to a much less successful musical, The Nervous Set, which was written by an unknown team, Jay Landesman and Theodore J. Flicker, with lyrics by Fran Landesman, who was a poet of the beat generation, with music by Tommy Wolf who Fran Landesman met when he was a pianist on a gig. The musical closed after only 23 performances.
Landesman had a fascinating, unconventional life which the New York Times’ perfectly captured in her obituary when she died almost ten years ago.
Wolf began to transcribe some of her poetry to music
after they met, c
ulminating in this musical about a publisher (Fran’s husband,
Jay) and his wife who leave their Connecticut suburb to visit Greenwich Village
during the peak of its beat popularity.
Although the best-known song is undoubtedly “Spring Can Really Hang You
Up the Most” which is a jazz standard, I turn to the lesser known "Ballad
of the Sad Young Men."
These are the partial lyrics…
Sing a song of sad young men, glasses full of rye
All the news is bad again, kiss your dreams goodbye
All the sad young men, sitting in the bars
Knowing neon nights, and missing all the stars
All the sad young men, drifting through the town
Drinking up the night, trying not to drown
All the sad young men, singing in the cold
Trying to forget, that they're growing old….
This song, which has also been adopted by the jazz circuit, became a mainstay of gay bars. It is mournful, and what can be sadder than the current time we are living through – pandemically, politically, and racially?
