My Pop Life #262 : America – West Side Story Cast (1961)

America – West Side Story Cast (1961)

Puerto Rico
My heart’s devotion
Let it sink back in the ocean
Always the hurricanes blowing
Always the population growing
And the money owing
And the sunlight streaming
And the natives steaming
I like the island Manhattan (I know you do!)
Smoke on your pipe
And put that in!

Stephen Sondheim passed away 5 days ago and the nation went into mourning. The gay jewish bit did anyway, the artists writers singers and actors, dancers directors and stage managers. Being the bloody-minded twerp that I am though, I was silent for three days and then walked around telling anyone who would listen that I wasn’t really a fan of musical theatre, with the exceptions of Wizard of Oz, Singin’ In The Rain and West Side Story, there was something about the form that didn’t vibe with my spirit. My brother Andrew offered Andrew Lloyd Webber as having ruined the musical for him. Then at Thanksgiving last Thursday at Aaron & Cathy Nottage‘s house up in White Plains, Tony Gerber invited me to the DGA to see Spielberg‘s loving remix of Bernstein and Sondheim (and Arthur Laurents & Jerome Robbins) masterpiece. We went last night.

I like to be in America, Okay by me in America, Everything free in America

For a small fee in America

After the seizure in September (see My Pop Life #261 Titanium) everything went weird. Doctors, pain, Aleve, acupuncture (amazing), getting Jenny onto her feet to go back onto Broadway (priority), trying to wake up and unfold before Jenny tells me to straighten up, then suddenly going to the theatre three times a week to see shows that my friends had written (Clyde’s, MJ) directed (Trouble In Mind) or were acting in (The Michaels In Europe, Caroline or Change, Harry Potter & The Cursed Child). And then studying for my citizenship exam which was face-to-face in the Homeland Security Building downtown opposite City Hall. Went through the metal detectors and up the elevator and stood in line and waited and then went into an office with a plastic shield I sat behind and was asked various questions by a tall young probably gay latin fella in uniform. Had I ever sold weapons to a terrorist? Had I ever participated in a revolution? Would I be prepared to fight in the US Military if called upon to do so?

At this last question I said “You do realise I will be 65 on my next birthday don’t you?” To his credit he laughed and said yes sir, but would you be. I said sure but I didn’t mean it. He carried on asking me these Homeland Security-style questions and I answered No to all of them, which soon became No Sir then gradually morphed into an American accent No Sir and by the end of the questions I had quite simply become American. No shit. Then we got into the exam itself. They had set 100 questions which are not secret and I simply learned the answers, which is what you’re supposed to do. I would be asked ten of them, six of which I had to get correct. Question One was

General Eisenhower fought in which War before becoming President?

(I knew it) The Second World War

Where is the Statue of Liberty ?

(are you kidding me?) New York Harbour

What is the capital of the United States?

(ummmmm…) Washington D.C.

The law of the USA is based on what?

(genuinely tricky) The Constitution

Who is The President of The United States?

(this is the same question that the paramedics asked me on the morning of my seizure. I didn’t know that day.)

Joseph Robernick Biden

I don’t remember the sixth question but I gave a correct answer. I know that because he didn’t ask me any more questions. No need. I’d answered them all correctly. I think they get a random selection from the 100 possible questions but I did hit on three of the very easiest ones didn’t I?

And then four weeks later I was invited back to the same building for my Naturalization (with a z) and Oath Ceremony. The September seizure was part of a pattern of my brain becoming perhaps a little undependable – for example one night in August I took Luke Cresswell – here to rehearse Stomp back onto the stage – to see Eddie Palmieri at the Blue Note in the Village and : we were four weeks late. Oh how he laughed, fair dinkum, we got drunk – I was embarrassed and shamed to be frank, but what can you do? Palmieri is 81 and who knows if I’ll get that opportunity again. So then I turned up for my Citizenship Ceremony a day early too.

I was through the metal detector, up the elevator, stood in line reached the desk. Give us your Green Card. What’s your name? Couldn’t find me. Consternation. Some bright spark suggested checking the date. It’s tomorrow sir. Then I went back home.

That night Jenny and I went out. It was the opening night of Caroline, or Change starring our friend Sharon D. Clarke in her Broadway debut, playing the lead role of the maid in 1960s Louisiana. She’d been doing the part for years in the UK and won the Olivier award for it – then last March 2020 they got as far as a Broadway dress rehearsal before the pandemic shut the production down. This was a night delayed by eighteen long months and was all the more emotional for it. A magnificent score by Jeanine Tesori and wonderful words by Tony Kushner. They were both present. I don’t think I’ve ever wept like that in a theatre – behind a mask like everyone else – tears rolling down my face. I think I was crying for myself as much as Caroline, and Sharon. Why? I don’t really know to be honest. We went back to her apartment perched over 8th Avenue overlooking the theatre district and the Hudson River and drank gin for a couple of hours with Susie McKenna Sharon’s wife, our friends Heidi Griffiths & Edna Benitez and – familiar folk kept arriving – sweet Ann Yee the choreographer (that Jenny had also worked with on Julius Caesar, the show that took us to New York), Michael Longhurst the show’s director, whose partner Des Kennedy directed Jenny in Harry Potter and who was helping remount the show again. It felt so familiar to be having a first night party, and yet so rare, so precious, so very missed. Most triumphs appear to be about deferred gratification and it was a memorable night. And by the way, everybody congratulated me on becoming an American. I can write that line without feeling anything but it doesn’t seem real to me at all.

The following morning, keeping the hangover at bay with milkthistle, I take the 4 train to City Hall, walk through the metal detector, travel up the elevator, wait on a chair opposite a guy from Guyana and a guy from Kosovo then wait on line and finally get called back to that familiar window from the day before and pow ! I receive a small flag called the Stars and Stripes, and a copy of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. I took an oath of allegiance, and denied my (non-existent) allegiance to the UK, although I will never abandon the England football team. Don’t test me. I handed in my Green Card. Bye bye Green Card. In return I received a certificate of Citizenship which I had to send away when I applied for a passport earlier this week. Then in eight weeks I’ll get an American Passport. I’ll get to keep my British Passport. I’ll have dual nationality. It means I can travel with freedom back and forth without being asked at JFK or LAX “How long have you been away sir?

Buying on credit is so nice,

[One look at us and they charge twice]

I have my own washing machine

[What will you have though to keep clean?]

I registered to vote straightaway. I didn’t tick the Democratic box though, stayed independent. I’m allowed to run for office too. If I seriously decide to do that, (you never know) it will have to be on a Democratic ticket, because I guess it’s really hard without some organisation behind you. Jury Service suddenly becomes compulsory. I feel slightly less foreign. I can join the fast track in customs. Hooray. Not that grateful though. I still have my white European entitlement in other words. Hard to tell what everyone else was feeling, truly, in that room.

But my life goes on pretty much as it always did. Kind of. Tony and I go to movies, go to gigs – Angelique Kidjo at Carnegie Hall – she’s an interesting cat by the way. She opened at 8pm singing McCartney’s Mother Nature’s Son accompanied by acoustic guitar, and later sang with guests Phillip Glass, Josh Groban, Andra Day and Cyndi Lauper. Afterwards we walked down to 52nd Street and Tony introduced me to The Vodka Bar where there’s a piano in the corner and folk sing Russian comic songs or Piaf and we sampled the vodka menu. And of course Tony has just produced Takeover – a documentary about the Young Lords, a Nuyorican civil rights group who occupied a hospital in the Bronx for 24 hours in 1969. The doc is getting an Oscar push and will be a drama at some point too. I wrote about it in My Pop Life #260 Pa’lante when we went to see it this summer in Soundview Park in the Bronx. Meanwhile I’ve started a course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy in Ditmas Park about 40 minutes away. I’m at the beginning of The Reckoning. Which started with the pandemic – same as everyone else – then was punctuated severely by the seizure. A wake-up call, literally, as I was waking up, which I don’t remember. Undiagnosed. But stress is the cause. Who knows if I can find out where that came from.

Skyscrapers bloom in America
Cadillacs zoom in America
Industry boom in America
Twelve in a room in America

The immigrant experience is the American experience of course. At Thanksgiving Dinner Lynn wanted to read an acknowledgement of the previous incumbents, the Lenape tribe who lived in this area before Europeans started to seek “Freedom”. And the racism of Old Europe is alive and well in the New World, built by slaves from Africa and serviced by the Spanish-speaking descendants of Cortez the Killer.

West Side Story is based on Romeo & Juliet but at its heart is racism, voiced in this song, and in the story. The four original auteurs – the four gay jews (as Kushner called them last night) wanted a jewish Tony and a Catholic Maria, and it was set on the East Side before the switch to what we know now. Stephen Spielberg and Tony Kushner have lifted this angle up and spotlit it for 2021. The Puerto Ricans speak Spanish to each other except when Anita – the amazing Ariana Debose – shouts “Speak English!” because they need to practice

ANITA
Lots of new housing with more space

BERNARDO
Lots of doors slamming in our face

ANITA
I’ll get a terrace apartment

BERNARDO
Better get rid of your accent

But in Spielberg’s re-examination of New York in 1957 (the year of my birth) the Spanish is not subtitled. This is a radical decision and places the Spanish language on the same level as English. Tony – played beautifully by Ansel Elgort – asks his ‘aunty’ Valentina played by Rita Moreno (lovely touch since she played Anita in the 1961 film) – how to say “forever” as he prepares for his date with Maria (Rachel Zegler). “I want to be with you forever”. She looks at him quizzically : “Don’t you want to start with “Shall we go for a coffee somewhere?” then gives him the word he wants – siempre – ‘always‘. Forever. And everyone who sees the movie will know how to say siempre afterwards. Babysteps. I am relearning Spanish and Jenny is joining me. We’ve been to Costa Rica for a week’s break just before the pandemic, seen monkeys on the telephone wires and spoken bad Spanish. The fellas who work for the landlady are from Panama and Ecuador. We’re surrounded by the language in New York – there are over a million Puerto Ricans here for a start – salsa was born here in the 1960s – and West Side Story was very much ahead of its time in this respect and in others.

ANITA
Life can be bright in America

BOYS
If you can fight in America

GIRLS
Life is all right in America

BOYS
If you’re all white in America

It is my favourite song from the show, from the film, I’ve always loved it. It’s not Puerto Rican music, there was no salsa beat in 1957, but there was plena and bomba then and the Cuban music on which much Puerto Rican music is based such as son and bolero, and the country music called jibaro. But there’s little of that. Leonard Bernstein has written a kind of hybrid of Spanish tropes and Mexican ritmo which is completely fantastical and which I find totally irresistible, catchy and thrilling in its rhythmical construction and rhyming couplets – a total dose of energy and an affirmation of life. When the song started last night at the Director’s Guild with the three-two clave beat a shiver went down my neck, then when the girls started singing, pins & needles tingled down my head to my spine, a completely physical reaction. By the end of the song I was weeping.

GIRLS
Here you are free and you have pride

BOYS
Long as you stay on your own side

GIRLS
Free to be anything you choose

BOYS
Free to wait tables and shine shoes

This is still very much the case. Of course there are middle-class latin families and businesses, but the majority are service workers who live an hour out from Manhattan where they can afford it. Our cleaner Claudia is from Guatemala. Taxi drivers, delivery workers in vans or on bikes, construction are almost all latino.

Of the white characters in the film, apart from Tony (a Polack) played by Elgort, and The Jets who are largely racist and open the film throwing paint at a Puerto Rico flag graffiti on a wall, we have the NYPD played by Corey Stoll and others and Officer Krupke played by Brian D’Arcy James who played Quinn Carney in The Ferryman with me on Broadway in 2019 and is here doing sterling work. The cast are actually fantastic, most of them singing, dancing AND acting. Triple threats. The choreography is thrilling as it must be. After the film and the Q&A we walked down to The Vodka Room again. It was calling us.

BERNARDO
Everywhere grime in America
Organized crime in America
Terrible time in America

ANITA
You forget I’m in America

Jenny was in England when I applied for Citizenship, and I couldn’t apply for her. So she’ll go through the system just like I did in a few month’s time. And then we’ll go on holiday to Puerto Rico. Which is part of the United States. Don’t actually need a passport. It just isn’t a State. One day though, it will be.

BERNARDO
I think I’ll go back to San Juan

ANITA
I know a boat you can get on (Bye Bye!)

BERNARDO
Everyone there will give big cheer!

ANITA
Everyone there will have moved here

*

America from West Side Story (1961) :

Trailer for the new film :

My Pop Life #81 : The Virginian Theme – Percy Faith Orchestra

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The Virginian Theme   –   Percy Faith Orchestra

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He was a cowboy in a black hat and a black shirt.   He didn’t have a name.  Played by James Drury for nine years between 1962 and 1971 he was The Virginian.  Blond blue-eyed Doug McClure playing Trampas became the star of the show with more back-story and affection than the mysterious Virginian.  We tuned in like clockwork.  This was the imprinting of young minds with propaganda – how the west was won, with hard work and punch-ups, no black people or chinese, a few dodgy characters here and there, but The Virginian always won the day, tidied them away and restored calm and peace on the ranch.  How we longed for the world to be like that.  A key show in my village youth, both in black and white and later in colour.

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And of course the show became the fertiliser for my cowboy games with Steven Criddle in the village fields and barns, using bits of wood as rifles and shotguns, running behind bales of straw and hay to avoid those pesky arrows being fired from the Comanche  or Sioux raiders.  Peeeow !  went the imaginary bullets.  We ducked, scrambled, shimmied along on our bellies, made frantic hand signals from behind tractors and hedges.  Steven Criddle’s house was full of dogs.  He lived nearest to the railway at the bottom end of the village.  It was a busy house, full of people, his mum, his dad, other kids, and pugs,  loads of pugs and puppies.  We would cycle from his house over the railway line and into the far-flung territory of Chalvington and Ripe, finding streams to fish in, learning the network of country roads.  The more complex army games would be in Selmeston itself, and probably took over from cowboy games when we were about 9 years old.  Against The Germans of course.  Still fighting World War 2 in my village in 1966.

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Now I’m a grown up cowboy I can see what a one-sided view we were all given.  In 1971 Soldier Blue came out but I’ve never seen it.  Buffy Saint Marie did the haunting song.  We all became aware of the story of the United States being drenched in blood.  And it was a story that we had started back in 1504, in Virginia, a story re-told in Terrence Malick’s outstanding film The New World.   Growing up, we had Bonanza, Rawhide and The Virginian.  Films like The Big Country, High Noon, My Darling Clementine, Rio Bravo, The Magnificent Seven, Cat Ballou.  All had these sweeping soundtracks which seem to my untrained ear to be linked in some vague musical way.  Stephen Wrigley would know the answer to this – maybe they’re all major chords with 6ths or something, anyway, by the late 60s and 1970s the spaghetti western took over, darker stories with darker characters, with outstanding soundtracks by Ennio Morricone.   The Wild Bunch directed by the great Sam Peckinpah, McCabe and Mrs Miller directed by Robert Altman, The Outlaw Josey Wales directed by Clint Eastwood are all among my favourite films.  The western always had a basic appeal to me, the scenery, the scenario.

Featured imagePercy Faith wrote the music for The Virginian.   A Canadian bandleader and orchestrator, he became known as the king of easy-listening, softening the big-band arrangements of the swing era and heralding a new era of pipe-and-slippers lounge music.  This music dominated “The Light Programme” on the BBC which pre-dated Radio 2 – the kind of music you simply have to hate when you’re a teenager – gentle light arrangements of famous tunes, elevator music, stuff that Brian Eno would be getting into by the mid 1970s, but which Percy Faith was exploring in the 1950s.  Theme From A Summer Place was his big hit in 1960, but there are many many great tunes including this evergreen theme song from the hit TV show The Virginian.  I could write at least a dozen different pages for TV theme songs for some of them are simply outstanding, but this one I believe is head and shoulders above the rest.

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My Pop Life #12 : Rubber Ball – Bobby Vee

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Rubber Ball   –   Bobby Vee

…bouncy bouncy, bouncy bouncy…

This Pop Life series started out as a one-day-at-a-time Favourite Songs Of Me but I realised after a while that the songs which had an actual story behind them were a lot more interesting and got a lot more reaction from people than simply “great songs” which were just that, and about which I had little to add other than “isn’t this great?“.   Not that I won’t be adding the odd great song – c’mon, this is My Pop Life after all…. But now it means that the songs aren’t necessarily my favourites, or even songs I like that much, but they’re big songs from big moments in my pop life one way or another.   And this one – Bobby Vee’s Rubber Ball – is the first song I can ever remember hearing on the radio.   Portsmouth 1961.   I’m at my nan’s with my mum.   My grandad is there too – my Dad’s parents.   And I knew some of the words to this song at the age of 3 and a half.   Not that surprising given the lyrical content, and I’m certain that I was unaware of the actual meaning of the tune, of an elasticated love affair – no I’m sure I thought it was about a ball, a rubber ball indeed.  A bouncy rubber ball.

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My dad was brought up in this terraced house, on Manners Road not far from Fratton Park in Southsea.  His dad Frank ( large white-haired man) had been a batman in the Royal Navy and fought in two World Wars, and his mum Pauline I remember as a sharp little smiley lady with a bun. I don’t think we had the radio on much in our house, but we must have done – how else would I have known the song ?  

This is me with grandma and grandad, my father’s parents

Grandad’s house had a coal stove, a poky kitchen and a front room which was never used and showed no clues as to the diocese of the people therein, and thus served its purpose and its name.   Upstairs in the bedroom where we stayed occasionally there was a mysterious bowl and jug arrangement on the large dark dresser, and actual china chamberpots under the beds.   Both remnants, I realised later in life, from a time before proper plumbing.  The furniture was heavy and brown, the curtains mustard-coloured with accompanying net.   Incredibly, my mum must have been 24 years old, my dad 25.

The song itself is as bouncy as you’d expect, was co-written by Gene Pitney in the Brill Building in Manhattan, and has no particular lasting hold on my affections, except that it alone can conjure this reasonably clear picture, like a sepia snapshot, of my dad’s parents and my young mum and dad in Pompey, in early 1961.