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Notes on the Program
By Steven Blier
Unless you abscond to a Tibetan mountain on December 24, there is no way to avoid dealing
with Christmas in our culture. For observant Christians it means midnight mass; for the less
devout a day spent with kids, model trains, and mulled cider. And for Jews, Christmas plays
beautifully into our penchant for confusion and guilt. Do you gather with friends and overeat? Is it
all right to have a tree in your house—as long as you call it a Hanukkah bush? Can one safely
exchange gifts without feeling that Yehovah will reach down and smite you with a Mighty Hand?
In recent years American Jews have invented their own December 25 traditions, the most
prevalent of which involves a meal at a Chinese restaurant followed by a trip to the movies. This
is our one chance to eat pork without guilt: if you make sure not to ask what’s in the dumplings,
you get a free pass on trayf (good for one day only). And tonight, we get another delicious free
pass: the pleasure of pigging out on Christmas songs cooked up by a starry roster of Jewish
composers.
NYFOS has never done a Christmas show before, and (truth be told) neither had I until last
December. The musical joys of the season have been a little foreign to me. Several decades ago
I was asked by a good friend to man the 88s at his holiday party and play the seasonal carols. I
was happy to oblige but I’d had a few drinks and my take on them was on the raucous side.
Apparently my Jerry Lee Lewis-inspired interpretations rubbed a lot of the guests the wrong way.
I was asked to hand the keyboard over to a more sedate pianist. Having been reprimanded, I
renounced Christmas carols once again.
How, then, did tonight’s program come about?
In 1989, a year after NYFOS first started, Michael Barrett came up with the title. We were making
our first recording (the Grammy-Award winner Arias and Barcarolles) and we were thinking about
future recording projects. All of a sudden Michael said, “Hey, we ought to make a Christmas
album and call it A Goyishe Christmas to You!” It became a joke that we rolled out at cocktail
parties, always to great effect. Flash forward 21 years. I am at my home-away-from-home,
Henry’s Restaurant, batting ideas around for the cabaret series I do there half a dozen times a
year. Henry Rinehart (the eponymous restaurateur-owner) said, “What are you thinking about for
December?” I blurted out, “Well, we always talked about doing A Goyishe Christmas to You!”
Henry’s eyes lit up. “Christmas songs by Jewish writers! We’re doing it!” Henry’s will be done: A
Goyishe Christmas filled his restaurant to capacity in December 2010, and the show brought
down the house. It became an institution at its very first outing.
Michael created the title; Henry fleshed out the concept. But it fell to me to make the actual
program. When I began do some research, I found out to my joy that many of the standard
Yuletide songs were in fact composed by Jewish musicians—not just “White Christmas,” the
famously Gentile creation of Irving Berlin (né Israel Baline, born in Russia) but also “Winter
Wonderland,” “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire,” “Silver Bells,” and many others. Of the
twenty-five most popular Yuletide classics, twelve are by Jews. It’s easy to see why: many, if not
most, of the Great American Songbook composers were Jewish, and it made good commercial
sense for them to contribute to the Yuletide airplay. Our culture loves its holiday songs, and that
is precisely what these men wrote: celebrations of the season, hymns to snowy landscapes, the
aroma of roasting chestnuts, and the evocative sound of Salvation Army bells on city streets.
More than anything, tonight’s songs are about the warmth of family and the poignant sweetness
of being at home for the winter solstice—the universal joys that span all cultures and religions.
Many of the composers need no introduction. Irving Berlin (“God Bless America”), Jule Styne
(“Make Someone Happy”), and Frank Loesser (“Heart and Soul”) are among the most famous
musicians our country has produced. Mel Tormé, “The Velvet Fog,” was a revered jazz singer
and also the composer of over 250 songs. From the works of these iconic artists we chose one
rarity: Jule Styne’s “I’m Naïve,” which comes from The Dangerous Christmas of Red Riding Hood,
a 1965 television musical Styne wrote with Bob Merrill. Liza Minnelli had the title role, and Cyril
Ritchard flounced around as the Big Bad Wolf (known in this revisionist version as Lone T. Wolf).
Vic Damone played an enchanted woodsman, and the rock band The Animals played, well, a
band of animals. It was a campy delight, filled with gay subtext and a Women’s Lib slant. Not the
equal of their finest work—Funny Girl (which they wrote together), Gypsy (Styne and Sondheim),
or Carnival! (for which Merrill supplied both music and lyrics)—Dangerous Christmas is an
interesting curio of the 1960s peppered with some terrific songs.
“I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” “Silver Bells,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “Santa Baby,”
and “Winter Wonderland” are in another category: classic songs written by composers whose
names you might not recognize. New York-born Walter Kent (1911-1994), who gave us the first of
these, changed his name from Walter Kaufmann; his lyricist Kim Gannon was also Jewish. Kent
led a double life as an architect and composer/conductor—the only time I have come across this
intriguing dual career—and he mostly wrote songs for movies. His other big chart-toppers were
“The White Cliffs of Dover” and “I’m Gonna Live Till I Die,” a Sinatra hit from the early 50s. Jay
Livingston (1915-2001), who gave us “Silver Bells,” also doesn’t sound like a Jewish composer,
but he too Anglicized his moniker—he was born Jacob Levinson. He formed a partnership with
Ray Evans (yet another Member of the Tribe with an Anglo-Irish name) and together they created
a string of hit songs including “Que sera sera,” “Tammy,” and “Mona Lisa.” While in Hollywood,
Evans and Livingston also wrote two songs that will echo forever in the ears of baby boomers: the
theme songs to the TV shows Bonanza and Mr. Ed (“A horse is a horse, of course, of course…”)
If the name Felix Bernard doesn’t ring a bell with you, don’t chastise yourself. Bernard (18971944), born Bernhardt, was a Brooklynite who had a busy career that started in vaudeville (where
he supplied specialty material for Sophie Tucker and Al Jolson) and continued into the big band
era when he had his own orchestra. He wrote many songs, but his only other standout was
“Dardanella,” the first song to sell over a million recordings. Guy Lombardo launched Bernard’s
song “Winter Wonderland” in 1934, and it assumed classic status after World War II when the
Andrews Sisters and Perry Como included it in their holiday offerings.
If you want to feel guilty because you don’t know Johnny Marks (1909-1985), I’ll allow it. He was
a one-man Yuletide factory whose holiday songs include “The Most Wonderful Day of the Year,”
“I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” “A Holly Jolly Christmas,” “Rockin’ Around the Christmas
Tree,” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” “Rudolph” was originally an idea dreamed up by
his brother-in-law Robert May, who worked for Montgomery Ward. In 1939, May wrote a poem
about Santa’s ninth reindeer—one with a schnozz that functioned as a headlight. Fancy cards
bearing the poem became a popular Christmas give-away item at the store. Marks eventually
turned his brother-in-law’s story into a song, and he was able to persuade Gene Autry to record it.
“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” swept the charts in 1949 and instantly entered the Christmas
canon.
“Santa Baby” has now been recorded by everyone from Madonna to RuPaul; last year Michael
Bublé even butched it up as “Santa Buddy” with a few devilishly clever changes to the lyrics. But
for me this song will always belong to its original interpreter, Eartha Kitt. I was lucky enough to
hear “Santa Baby” for the first time in a live performance—at a church!—by this irreplaceable
performer, who at age 70 could still out-vamp anyone on the planet. The sheet music lists three
creators: Joan Javits (the niece of longtime U. S. Senator Jacob Javits), Philip Springer, and his
brother Tony Springer. Tony actually had nothing to do with the song; he lent his name to the
published version because he had a connection with BMI that helped get his brother’s song
recorded. There was, however, a third, uncredited writer involved: Fred Ebb, who would go on to
be the legendary songwriting partner of John Kander (Cabaret, Chicago, Kiss of the Spider
Woman). Phil Springer was one of Ebb’s early mentors; he credited Springer with honing his
technique as a lyricist. “Santa Baby” comes from the first days of their collaboration.
Urban Jews are traditionally the class clowns, so it stands to reason that they have written some
of the best Yuletide comedy numbers. We’ve sprinkled a few of them among the classics tonight
to spice up our holiday cider. “Don’t Let Gramma Cook Christmas Dinner” is by folksinger Roy
Zimmerman, a San Francisco-based, left-wing satirist in the tradition of Tom Lehrer and Phil
Ochs. His slogan is “Funny Songs about Ignorance, War, and Greed,” but tonight he focuses his
laser wit on the family battles that crop up like clockwork every December. Ervin Drake supplies
us with “What Makes Santa Run,” a sly take-off on his 1964 Broadway musical What Makes
Sammy Run? Drake spent much of his creative life working in television, but he does have a few
mega-hits to his name: “It Was a Very Good Year” and “I Believe,” as well as a slew of songs for
which he wrote the lyrics, including “Tico Tico” and “Good Morning Heartache.”
I was introduced to “My Simple Christmas Wish” by its first interpreter, Helden-belteuse Alix
Korey. She offered it at a 2003 NYFOS summer benefit, a concert that marked our very first
appearance at Merkin Hall. “It’ll bring down the house,” she said matter-of-factly, “it always does.”
Alix was right, and the song has now gone on to be a standard item not just in my repertoire but
in those of numerous cabaret performers, each of whom has tweaked the lyric as needed.
Composer/lyricist David Friedman has had an illustrious career as Broadway conductor,
Hollywood vocal arranger, and record producer. Diana Ross, Barry Manilow, and Nancy LaMott
are among the many stars who have championed and recorded his music. Sweetness and
sincerity are the hallmarks of most of his songs; “My Simple Christmas Wish” seems to be
Friedman’s rudest lyric—and therefore my favorite among all of his songs.
New York-based composer Howard Levitsky sent me “Candle in My Window” by email about five
weeks ago. As you can imagine, I receive a fair amount of artist submissions and all too often
they reveal a poignant misunderstanding of NYFOS’s philosophy and taste. The title of this piece
didn’t seem promising, but I dutifully clicked on the PDF attachment…and within 30 seconds I
realized that Howard had sent me the perfect opening song for A Goyishe Christmas to You!
“Candle in My Window” was written in 2001 to a lyric by Marc Miller, who perfectly captures the
angsty joy so many of us feel as Christmas approaches. The song draws on Miller’s own feelings
about Christmas growing up in a Jewish household; Howard Levitsky wraps the gift with charm
and perfect timing—as well as a hilarious disco riff that turns out to be a quote from the
“Hallelujah Chorus,” among other embedded carols.
French composer Adolphe Adam (1803-1856) is remembered today for his ballet scores to
Giselle and Le corsaire. Opera fans know at least one of his arias—the tenor tour de force from
Le postillon de Longjumeau, famously recorded by Nicolai Gedda and still trotted out by any guy
who wants to show off a sustained high D. Adam wrote many songs, but pride of place certainly
goes to his “Cantique de Noël,” more familiarly known as “O Holy Night,” an over-the-top bel
canto celebration of Jesus’ birth. Adolphe Adam’s Jewishness is a matter of conjecture and
circumstantial evidence; he was born in the Rhineland provinces of France, which was the only
area where Jewish families were allowed to live before the French Revolution; and he was listed
as Jewish in a nineteenth-century reference work. But Adam certainly lived his life as a devout
Catholic, and was buried in the Notre Dame de Lorette church in Paris.
So…was Adolphe Adam actually Jewish? Well…maybe just for this one holy night.
I never heard “O Holy Night” when I was growing up, or most of the other religious carols. We
didn’t have a single Christmas LP at home. When I was a kid my parents seemed resolute about
not making Christmas a special day. This was compounded by the fact that we also didn’t eat
Chinese food, so we lacked even that alternative tradition. While other families ripped open
presents or gorged on chop suey, my mom and dad breezed through the day as if they had taken
half a Xanax, dusted with a thin layer of Quaalude powder. My brother and I were expected to
combine industriousness with wholesome leisure activities. Whining about not getting a bicycle
(or a blue Royal Futura typewriter, which is what I truly craved) was considered a major lapse of
etiquette. After all, I’d already received my Hanukkah gelt.
My first prolonged encounter with many of the famous carols came when I bought Joan
Sutherland’s Christmas album in 1965. Her always-cloudy diction was at its absolute mushiest at
those sessions, and her version of “The Holly and the Ivy” sounds more like “Thaw Holla Ootha
Oo-vey,” which is how I sing it after a few drinks. I am still not clear as to whether she sings “O
Holy Night” in English or French.
But I have one beautiful memory of Christmas music at home. I must have been about five years
old. My mother, brother, and I had taken stencils and decorated our window with white
snowflakes, which seemed like a miracle. My grandparents had just shipped their old Mason &
Hamlin piano down to us, and my mother sat down on the bench in between my brother and me.
She got out the Fireside Book of Folksongs and opened it to “Silent Night,” which she proceeded
to play, hesitantly. She probably hadn’t touched the piano since she was a girl, and it took every
bit of her concentration to get through the song. I had issues with “Silent Night” because I thought
the lyric was “Round young virgin,” and though I didn’t know what a virgin was, it sounded a bit
louche to me. Still, I begged her for another song and I think she may have stumbled through “O
Tannenbaum.” The whole event seemed shrouded in secrecy, and I got the sense we should not
share it with my father.
It was the only time I ever heard my mother play the piano. But clearly she felt that magical
holiday spirit. Tonight I feel as if I am continuing my mom’s fragile serenade from 55 years ago,
and breaking through another barrier as NYFOS throws its first Christmas party. In the words of
our first song, “Bless the Christian and Jew—the other guys too!” May your days be merry and
bright, and filled with song.