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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=91TT2053>
<title>
Sep. 16, 1991: The Most Snappy Fella
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
Sep. 16, 1991 Can This Man Save Our Schools?
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
SHOW BUSINESS, Page 67
The Most Snappy Fella
</hdr><body>
<p>Broadway and the opera rediscover the deft lyrics, soaring tunes
and raffish nogoodniks of the late Frank Loesser
</p>
<p>By Richard Corliss--With reporting by William Tynan/New York
</p>
<p> What's playin' at the Opera?
</p>
<p> I'll tell ya what's playin' at the Opera.
</p>
<p> Musical by a Broadway kinda guy who wrote an operatic show
that'd please everyone from Hedda Gabler to Hedda Hoppra.
</p>
<p> That's what's playin' at the Opera.
</p>
<p> If you see a guy whose star shines in the musical-comedy
sky right now, you can bet it'll be Frank Loesser. Though the
songwriter died in 1969, his work is enjoying a burgeoning
revival. Last week Loesser's "musical with a lotta music," The
Most Happy Fella (1956), opened to bravos and bouquets at the
New York City Opera in Lincoln Center. A more intimate version
of Fella will come to Broadway later this season, as will
Loesser's damn-near-immortal Guys and Dolls (1950). This
summer's straw-hat circuit was brightened by Where's Charley?
(1948), starring Loesser's widow Jo Sullivan and their daughter
Emily Loesser. The American Stage Festival mounted a reading of
Greenwillow (1960), with an eye to a full staging next spring.
Now if someone, please, will only pull How to Succeed in
Business Without Really Trying (1961) out of mothballs--and
it's still as fresh as a Paris original--all of Loesser's
Broadway shows will be accounted for.
</p>
<p> Loesser's output as a Hollywood songwriter, in the years
before the composer-lyricist-librettist ganged up on Broadway,
needs no revival. It already ornaments every TV late show.
Loesser's catchy titles and skewed wit helped lodge many a song
in the musical muscle memory of anyone who loves vintage pop:
Heart and Soul and Two Sleepy People (music by Hoagy
Carmichael), I Don't Want to Walk Without You (Jule Styne),
Jingle Jangle Jingle (Joseph Lilley), Hoop-Dee-Doo (Milton
DeLugg). And when Loesser began marrying his own music to his
words, he hatched even more smashes: What Are You Doing New
Year's Eve? On a Slow Boat to China and a few instant standards,
including No Two People and Wonderful Copenhagen, for the 1952
movie Hans Christian Andersen.
</p>
<p> It couldn't happen to a more deserving fella. Loesser
would tell you that. As brash as any gravel-gargling high roller
from Guys and Dolls, he was famous for telling his singers,
"Loud is good," and he applied that maxim to his professional
life. For Loesser, a song was melodrama in miniature: he loved
the counterpoint of two hearts and voices in seductive
competition, as in Baby, It's Cold Outside and many other
contentious duets. They were an expression of his own tumultuous
personality. During Guys and Dolls rehearsals, exasperated by
Isabel Bigley's tentative attempts at I'll Know, Loesser stormed
onstage and punched his leading lady in the nose. The show's
Adelaide, Vivian Blaine, remembers him more fondly: "A lovable,
raucous man with a deliciously evil laugh." Ever restless, he'd
catch a few hours' sleep, start his composing (on a silent
piano) at 4 a.m. and be ready for a martini at 8 a.m. "After
all," says Sullivan, with whom Loesser fell in love when she
sang the female lead in Most Happy Fella, "it was lunchtime for
him."
</p>
<p> Born into an erudite New York City family in 1910, Loesser
for a while seemed the least likely to succeed. His father
Henry was a respected piano teacher. After being widowed, his
mother Julia translated and lectured on modern literature. His
elder half brother Arthur was a pianist and musicologist who
ultimately headed the piano department of the Cleveland
Institute of Music. Friends of the family were surprised that
Frank, not Arthur, achieved top musical renown; they
affectionately called him the "evil of the two Loessers."
</p>
<p> In 1931 he teamed with William Schuman--later a
distinguished classical composer and president of Lincoln Center--to write songs and skits for vaudeville and radio performers.
"He was an intellectual," Schuman recalls, "who'd go to the ends
of the earth to hide that from anybody. Altogether brilliant."
He moved on to Hollywood in 1937, fashioning bright novelties
for comedy and dramatic actresses. Marlene Dietrich memorably
mooed See What the Boys in the Back Room Will Have, and Bette
Davis croaked the wartime lament They're Either Too Young or Too
Old. It was all 'prentice work for a man who would become one
of Broadway's great sketch artists, whose songs could propel the
story even as they stopped the show.
</p>
<p> Loesser the Hollywood lyricist was Mr. Do-It-All. He wrote
torchy stuff for gangster dramas and sarong songs for Dorothy
Lamour. When collaborating, Loesser usually devised the lyric
first, along with a "dummy tune" to suggest tempo and rhythm.
Jimmy McHugh could compose a long, languid melodic line for
Let's Get Lost because Loesser had compressed the intensity of
new passion into the narrowest meter: "Let's defrost/ In a
romantic mist./ Let's get crossed/ Off everybody's list."
</p>
<p> World War II made Loesser a complete songwriter. Eager to
contribute an anthem to the infantry, he wrote Praise the Lord
and Pass the Ammunition, and this time the dummy tune became the
published song--and a big hit. When he returned to movies,
writing pile-driving boogie-woogie (Rumble Rumble Rumble) and
patter songs (Can't Stop Talking) for hyperactive Betty Hutton,
he had the credit he wanted: songs by Frank Loesser.
</p>
<p> Too many songs, George S. Kaufman thought. "Good God,"
muttered the director of Guys and Dolls during the volatile
rehearsals, "do we have to do every number this son of a bitch
ever wrote?" You bet, when every number is a small ruby; the
first act alone comprises its own Top 10 eternal hit parade. The
ballads If I Were a Bell and I've Never Been in Love Before and
the up-tempo Fugue for Tinhorns and A Bushel and a Peck
distinguish any musical. But the savor of Guys and Dolls is in
Loesser's capturing of the Damon Runyon Broadway wit, and by
extension the unique pizazz of big-town America. No one had put
a medical dictionary to music and turned it into a declaration
of psychosomatic desperation, as in the nonpareil Adelaide's
Lament. Nobody ever heard a love plaint like Nathan Detroit's:
"All right already, I'm just a nogoodnik./ All right already,
it's true. So nu?/ So sue me, sue me, what can you do me?/ I
love you."
</p>
<p> In the nearly unprecedented role of composer, lyricist and
librettist for a Broadway show, Loesser adapted Sidney Howard's
1924 play They Knew What They Wanted, the story of a naive
Italian-American grape grower who tricks a pretty waitress into
marriage. The result, after five years' work, was The Most Happy
Fella, a rich and deeply felt pastiche of popular and operatic
vocabularies. If none of its 40-plus songs have quite the
lasting power of Guys and Dolls' tunes, the show has an emotive
force rare on Broadway; the feeling is big enough to fill an
opera stage.
</p>
<p> After Greenwillow, a daring flop, and How to Succeed, his
longest-running hit, Loesser worked on two more shows: Pleasures
and Palaces, which closed in Detroit, and Senor Discretion, for
which he had composed drafts of all the songs. This workaholic
was a smokeaholic too; in his study, cigarette butts would pile
up like a Watts Tower of spent nicotine. Loesser called them
coffin nails, and he was right: he died of lung cancer at 59.
</p>
<p> He left behind legacies that perhaps only Frank Loesser
could turn into hit songs. Music, no matter what its pedigree,
can be great music. A tempestuous composer can be a sweet guy--a goodnik. Loud, of course, is good. And Loesser is more.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>