There are a lot of songs in our various songbooks that might seem silly to us today but, in their day, were popular. Times have changed but, gentle readers, we can still have a bit of fun with what our parents and grandparents enjoyed. For openers, let’s take a look and listen to this hit song of the 1930s.
“Bei Mir Bist Du Schon” is one those variously spelled songs now mostly forgotten. The title language probably throws most of us off today and we quickly move on. Actually, this is a “Germanized” title of a swing era song that—believe it or not—became a world-wide hit when recorded by the Andrews Sisters back in 1937.
Remember their names, “M . . .”, “P . . . “, and L . . . ?” Click or tap on the triangle in the next image for the first earworm of the day!
The song is a couple of years older than 1937, however. It was originally written in 1932 by Jacob Jacobs (1890-1977), lyrics,
and Sholem Secunda (1894-1974), music,
for a New York Yiddish theater musical comedy—“I Would If I Could.”
Alas, the musical was a flop and faded away quickly; but the song lives on and on in a serious shift of cultures, to say the least! Click or tap on the triangle in the next image for a look and listen to the original.
In the 1930s, Yiddish theater in New York was big as Yiddish was the at-home and street language of much of the huge Jewish population of the city.
The story goes that Secunda, a well-respected musical theater composer, rejected the young upstart George Gershwin as a co-writer in favor of his pal Jacobs. Later, he tried to sell the song to Eddie Cantor who rejected it as being “too Jewish” for him. He finally sold the song to a publisher for $30 and it was picked up by the Tin-Pan Alley songwriter Sammy Cahn. Cahn then collaborated with Saul Chaplin to rewrite it with English lyrics and a more “swing-style” rhythm. Then, for a fee of $50, a little-known, close-harmony trio—calling themselves The Andrews Sisters—recorded Cahn’s swinging English language rewrite. Whew!
Of all the “players” in the back-story of this song, the only ones who were not Jewish New Yorkers were the three sisters—Lutherans from Minnesota. Go figure!
In another bit of irony, in 1938 the song became a surprising hit in Germany. Initially assumed to be an uncontroversial song in a southern German dialect, an uproar occurred when its Yiddish provenance was discovered and pounced on by the press. Following this embarrassing discovery, music by composers of Jewish ancestry was forbidden under the Nazi regime and the song was promptly banned. A sad bit of history in our songbooks, but there it is.
Moving onward and a bit farther to the west, here is a silly song from the islands. Sorta . . .
While it does show up in a lot of songbooks, most of us have glanced askance at the tune “Princess Poo-Poo-ly Has Plenty Pa-Pa-Ya.” While musically obscure, I do think that it’s worth a listen, if not a strum. And, it does gives us an interesting back-story.
Published in 1939, the sheet music for “Princess Poo-poo-ly . . . “ credits the song to Harry Owens (1902-1986), the well-known conductor of the then popular Royal Hawaiian Hotel Band. But did he really write it? A tradition of the time was that a few music publishing experts, like Owens, would assist local songwriters in publishing their works in exchange for a co-writing credit that would then get them a share of any royalties. It was actually written by one Donald McDiarmid (1898-1977), a member of Owen’s orchestra and a songwriter who, in a bar, wrote the whole tune in one evening.
Owens and his orchestra recorded it, but rarely if ever played “Princess . . .” at any of the sophisticated tourist hotels in Waikiki. Anyway, click or tap on the triangle in the next image for a listen to this oldie.
Owens considered it as “low-brow, mildly ribald, comic hula,” and was simply content with the royalty money. He and his hotel band stuck with the sweet and haunting island ballads and love songs that Mainland tourists came to Hawaii to hear and dance to. His best-known song is “Sweet Leilani,” written for the 1934 movie “Waikiki Wedding” and was the first Hawaiian song to win an academy award.
Owens was an early devote of what became known in Hawaii as “hapa-haole.” Literally “half foreign,” this was music with a Hawaiian theme and sound written and performed by non-natives.
Ensconced at the Moana Hotel in Waikiki, his live shortwave radio broadcasts were transmitted around the world.
Using tricks like a microphone planted on the beach to underscore his show with surf sounds, his show was instrumental in building up the Hawaiian mythos—and attracting ship- and plane-loads of tourist cash. At the same time, however, a lot of hapa-haole perpetuated a somewhat benign, but still stereotypical, view of Hawaiians and island visitors.
In retrospect, the period from 1900 to 1940 was a period in which “hapa-haole” ripened into its own in all the popular styles of the day—ragtime, blues, jazz, foxtrot and waltz time—often with a hula tempo, but jazzed up a bit.
It was a unique period marked by the enormous response by mostly Tin Pan Alley songwriters (who seldom set foot on a beach let alone one in Hawaii) to write songs and Mainland bands to perform and record them. A few were tasteless, many simply humorous, and a lot quite romantic about life and love in the islands and, particularly, with those lovely hula girls. It’s a testimony to the Hawaiians’ grace, humor, and sense of perspective that they make room for this music in their polyculture society of today.
After all, we mainlanders still play ukuleles and wear Hawaiian shirts. Go figure!
Oh Yes. “Poo-Poo-Ly” is a play on the Hawaiian word “pupule” (pu-PU-lee) which translates as “crazy; mad; insane.” Also, her “papayas” is Hawaiian slang for, well, your guess is as good as mine . . .
Time to move a bit further back in time . . .
“Ja-Da (Ja Da, Ja Da, Jing, Jing, Jing!)” was written in 1918 by a piano player, Bob Carleton (1894-1956), while he was serving in the Navy during World War I.
He was stationed at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center, just north of Chicago, and performed with a trio on the base and in local bars.
The simple tune became a jazz standard over the years and was recorded by just about every performer from that day to this—a simple 16-bar tune with a long, long life. How simple is it? Click or tap at the triangle in the next image for a look and listen.
In his definitive American Popular Songs, Alec Wilder writes about the song’s simplicity: “It fascinates me that such a trifling tune could have settled into the public consciousness as “Ja-Da” has. Of course, it’s bone simple and the lyric says almost nothing. Perhaps the explanation of its success lies in the lyric itself—”That’s a funny little bit of melody—it’s soothing and appealing to me.” It’s cute, it’s innocent, and it’s “soothing.” And, wonderfully enough, the only other statement the lyric makes is “Ja-Da, Ja-Da, Ja-Da, Ja-Da, Jing, Jing,
Jing.” There are, however, more verses!
Click or tap on the triangle in the next image for a listen to all the verses. Another earworm!
Carlton went on to be a prolific songwriter/performer and published over 500 songs. He wrote ditties like “Teasin'”, “I’ve Spent the Evening in Heaven”, “I’ve Got to Break Myself of You”, and “Where the Blues Were Born in New Orleans.”
Ever hear any of these? Thought not. But, just for fun, here is Carlton himself at what he describes as his “Bar Room Baldwin.”
Well, is that enough silliness for the month of May? Three silly earworms today but not silly in their day! What’s not to like? In Yiddish, Hapa-Haole, or Ragtime, no less.
Giggle, Share, and STAY TUNED!
NOHOBANJO OF NORTHAMPTON, AND NOW EASTHAMPTON, "MUSICAL MUSINGS" 