Without a Song

The days when people couldn't live without a song

We all know what started in 1929. You won't find this in history books or on Wikipedia, but when you ask the old-timers when did the Great Depression end, they all say "when the war started."

They were there. They oughta know.

My late husband Gil was born in 1929. He said when he was old enough to talk he'd ask his mother "what's for dinner?" Often the reply was "Nothing."

We're coming up on the 84th anniversary of Hitler's invasion of Poland on September 1, 1939, the beginning of World War II. 1929-1939 was a good ten years of regular folk struggling to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. How did they make it through?

In what may have been a portent of what was to come on October 29, 1929, a scant twelve days earlier saw the opening of the Broadway musical Great Day, which birthed the hit "Without a Song" composed by Vincent Youmans, with lyrics by Billy Rose and Edward Eliscu.

Without a song, the day would never end
Without a song, the road would never bend
When things go wrong, a man ain't got a friend
Without a song

That field of corn, would never see a plow
That field of corn, would be deserted now
A man is born, but he's no good no how
Without a song

I've got my trouble and woe, but sure as I know
The Jordan will roll
I'll get along, as long as a song
Is strong in my soul

I'll never know, what makes the rain to fall
I'll never know, what makes the grass so tall
I only know, there ain't no love at all
Without a song

“Without a Song” has been recorded numerous times over the decades, including versions by Mahalia Jackson, a young Stevie Wonder, Willie Nelson, Al Jolson, Frank Sinatra, Billy Eckstine, and The Supremes. Back in the hard bop heyday in New York we used to play it uptempo, but this is one of the few tunes that can support any tempo from superslow long meter to a flag waver!

My favorite versions might be the stunning a cappella and strings arrangement by The Carpenters, originally done on a 1980 TV special called "Music, Music, Music" as well as this wonderful arrangement by the James Cleveland Singers:

Cleveland's version was so popular it was used as the theme song to the Martha Jean the Queen’s radio show (she was one of the first female radio announcers) on WCHB out of Detroit in the 60s. The sentiment of the song is clear. For music lovers and connoisseurs the idea that our world would end without songs is quite literal. A sage once remarked, "sometimes you need a song more than you need food."

My husband Johnny told me that when he was a teenager working for his uncle down on the coast of Ecuador, he was obsessed with the song “Midnight Train to Georgia” by Gladys Knight and the Pips. He used to go to a Chinese restaurant that had the single on its jukebox. After unsuccessfully trying to buy a copy elsewhere, he offered the Chinese owner a month's salary for the one in the jukebox. "No, not mine, not mine," said the owner. Apparently he was renting the jukebox.

Some weeks later Johnny's uncle, knowing of his nephew's obsession, approached the Chinese guy asking to buy the record from him. Johnny's uncle Julio was THE MAN in town, Director of the biggest oil firm in Ecuador. The oil (and the song) had both been discovered in 1974, prompting Julio to return to Ecuador from France, where he had acquired a PhD in petroleum engineering from the Sorbonne. You didn’t say ‘no’ to Julio. When he asked to buy the record, the Chinese guy just handed it over, declining any payment. Later on Uncle Julio would regret his decision to get the record for Johnny, as it entered perpetual rotation over at the house, over and over again.

For me, the song I'm currently obsessed with changes periodically. I don't choose the songs–they choose me. I know this because these are not at all the songs I would choose, were I choosing.

The first song I can recall falling in love with was "I Think I Love You" sung by David Cassidy of The Partridge Family. I was all of 11. As my music studies became more intense over the years, my obsessions ran more toward The Great American Songbook–the core repertoire of a jazz musician–with a plethora of gems in both music composition and lyric writing.

In later years composers like Sondheim, Legrand, Joni Mitchell, Stevie Wonder, Jimmy Webb and many more added to the list of songs that jazz musicians liked. So it was a big thrill to see that music guru Rick Beato was interviewing the great Jimmy Webb on his YouTube channel a few weeks ago! Born in Oklahoma-on Rt. 66 no less–in this illuminating interview Webb speaks of the days when many people could not live without a song.

Webb was already a professional songwriter at the age of 17, but naturally there were ups and downs. He was asked to write a song for Paul Peterson, which resulted in “By the Time I Get to Phoenix.” The producer came back to Webb and said, "don't take it personal or anything, but he really hates it." Webb was released from his contract and the company said "here, take this “By The Time I Get To Phoenix”, we don't want that. Oh and here's “Up Up and Away”, and “Didn't We”....we don't need those." Webb gave Phoenix to Johnny Rivers, who turned it over to Glen Campbell. “I don’t get it,” said Campbell. Why are you giving me this hit song?” Rivers, already at the top of the charts, replied “I can only have one number one hit at a time.”

Webb elaborates on an early experience that bolstered his confidence as a young songwriter: He was in a dressing room at the Riviera Hotel back when acts did 7 shows a day, getting ready to audition “Didn’t We” for Tony Martin. Musicians would often take cat naps in the dressing rooms between shows. As the young Webb was humming his song, music in hand, a voice from a sofa in the shadows at the far end of the room said "What's that? Gimme that music." The man took the music and played the opening phrase of “Didn't We” on his trumpet.

"At that moment the world opened up. I realized it was Louis Armstrong!" says Webb.

Pops gave the music back to Webb, saying "Hey kid, this is pretty good. You stick with it."

Lead alto part for the 24-year-old author’s arrangement of Up Up and Away for big band

Webb discusses songwriting in Hollywood and the incredible arrangers and sidemen who brought the songs to life on recordings. He says "the sidemen were living in mansions....there was an insatiable demand for good songs."

Jazz flutist Bud Shank is mentioned several times as a first call studio woodwind player. During audio clips Rick plays in the video, Webb points out backgrounds and fills by Shank that elevated the recordings. In those days, in the studio (I caught the tail end of that scene when I arrived in New York in the 80s) the lead player or soloist in the section would often play improvised fills in a chart, sometimes indicated by the arranger and sometimes not. It was at the player's discretion.

Like all truly great songs, "Didn't We" is timeless. I used to accompany Irene Reid doing it when I worked with her in New York. She recorded it more than once in her career, but her “mature” version is still my favorite. The spoken intro is great but the melody starts at 2:58 if you’re in a rush.

One of Webb's biggest hits was MacArthur Park ("someone left the cake out in the rain"). When I was in my high school jazz ensemble in the 70s we played the popular instrumental arrangement by Maynard Ferguson's big band. Years later I went to see Webb perform and speak at an ASCAP presentation. Seated at a grand piano in the ASCAP theater, Webb played and sang MacArthur Park. But it was completely different than the original. He had changed it! During the Q&A someone asked him about that. "Oh, I'm still writing the song," said Webb. Wow. A #1 hit and he's re-writing it?

For some reason this reminds me of when a reporter asked Don McLean "Don, what do the lyrics to American Pie really mean?"

"They mean I only have to work if I want to," replied McLean.

Webb tells us of a time when songs meant more than they seem to today. I'm not sure if that's true. Maybe it’s just that the content of the songs has changed, moving from Romance in the 40s and 50s to Rebellion in the 60s, the existential 70s, back to Romance and whatnot for awhile, and look where we're at now: When "Rich Men North of Richmond" by Oliver Anthony (real name Chris Lunsford) went viral 3 weeks ago, it was speaking to everyone who feels economically disenfranchised by the present state of affairs in the world.

Oliver is a self-described "idiot with a guitar." He's already turned down multi-million-dollar music industry offers resulting from the viral global success of "Rich Men." The sincerity and the message has hit home with millions of people. Don't believe me? Read the comments on the vid!

Screen shot from Oliver Anthony’s social media

I wouldn't be surprised if this song spearheaded a revival in protest songs. As it should. The smart city/smart meter/smart device/CBDC rollout/Big Pharma/Agenda 2030/digital ID/health 'passport'/hyperinflation/cost of living/24 hour surveillance/1st Amendment death/lockdown/divide-and-conquer/censorship/food water air and soil Juggernaut is approaching at warp speed.

Maybe it’s possible that, once again, songs can change the world. At least, they’ve changed my world, and for that I’ll be forever grateful.

Next week: Part III of Sound Healing East to West!