Irving Berlin, perhaps more than any other composer of the first half of the 20th Century and beyond, represents America and American Music at its finest. Given his background it becomes even more extraordinary when one understands his contributions to this adopted country of his. Berlin also managed to stay right on the cusp of popular forms to which he was contributing, not mastering them, but certainly writing into them well. It is likely that he wrote AND published more songs than any other popular song writer in history, wrote hundreds of unpublished or unpublishable tunes as well, and likely created more pieces than any other 20th century writer as both composer and lyricist. He was also quirky, but in spite of not being a movie star in stature, he was a true American favorite among the public and among the stars as well. From truly humble beginnings Berlin managed to build a musical empire and a legacy that is hard to match and remains with us in the 21st century. Early Years
This great American was actually born in Mogilev (modern day Belarus) or Tehmen (according to his 1942 draft record, but at variance with other records), Russia in 1888 as Israel Isidore Baline, to Jewish parents Moses Baline and Leah Yarchin. His father was a cantor who sometimes worked as a shochet (the person who kills animals in a kosher manner for sale and consumption) as well to support his wife and eight children. In the face of the increasing pogroms and oppression of Jews in Russia, Baline moved his family to the United States when Israel, the youngest sibling, was around five. Perhaps the first hint of the coming name change, the family is shown on the arrival list of the Rhynland on September 14, 1893, as the Beilin family, but it is not clear whether they actually adopted the Berlin last name when they immigrated.
Moses found work in New York certifying Kosher meat before it went to market, while his wife kept house. When Israel was around eight his father died, leaving the boy and his older brothers and sisters (one already working as a domestic) in the position of helping their mother survive in the New York ghetto. So he and his siblings went to work as news butchers, delivery boys, and whatever odd jobs they could find, usually at the sacrifice of sufficient schooling. He picked up some singing skills as well, although the boy never had formal training in piano, voice, or even harmony and theory. He was simply a natural.
In 1902 Izzy, as he was often referred to, left home to make try to find his own way in the world. The fourteen-year-old sang in bars, or on the streets, and continued to do whatever odd jobs he could find. The hardships he encountered would stick with him throughout his life, as even though he eventually had more money that he could imagine, he was still very cautious with it. This reality may have also formed his work ethic, feeling the need to always be productive. A side job for the boy was as a song plugger or demonstrator (as a vocalist) for Harry Von Tilzer, but this was not steady work. Still, it placed him in Tony Pastor's famed Vaudeville house, and got him some notice among musicians.
By 1906, at 18, Izzy had a job as a singing waiter at Callahan's, and then Pelham's Cafe in Chinatown (some sources also cite a place called Nigger Mike's). Since a rival pub had their own song published in 1907 (it was increasingly easy to get a song into print in Manhattan by this time), the owner asked Izzy if he help to write one for Pelham's. Baline fitted lyrics to a melody by the cafe's pianist, Nick Nicholson, and in short order, Marie from Sunny Italy became the first of his songs in print. This was quite a feat as he was still having some difficulty with English, as Russian had been spoken in his home, and Yiddish was the common language on the streets, but he showed a propensity for clever rhyming. Izzy made a whopping 37 cents in royalties, but he gained something more - his famous name. The cover artist and printer misread the name and put it down as "I. Berlin," but since it sounded much more Americanized, he adopted Irving Berlin as his legal name. (Note that this is the most common story, although the Ellis Island arrival list cannot be discounted as a contributing possibility).
The published effort managed to gain Berlin some small fame, and he next found himself singing at Jimmy Kelly's establishment, a bit closer to Tin Pan Alley than he had previously been. Encouraged by the minor sucess of Marie, and in spite of what was still an English handicap, Berlin set out to contribute lyrics to more tunes. In some cases, he would create a set of lyrics and be in search of an existing melody or a potential writer for that melody. In the year following Marie this translated into a total of two more pieces. However, 1909 would prove to be the year of his emergence as a great lyricist. Remember that Babe Ruth was initially known for his pitching prowess, so that the immigrant Berlin was utilized as a pitcher of lyrics makes for a better story, once his other true talent was revealed. Berlin had been experimenting with his own melodies, which had to be hummed to a pianist who would translate them. Through watching, he soon learned enough tricks to be able to pound out his own melodies, albeit usually transcribed by a copyist or arranger.
The incident that spurred him on to be a music writer involved another early song, Dornado. Irving had his own definitive idea about how the melody for the piece should sound, but the collaborator who transcribed it came out with something quite different. So Berlin struck out to find someone who could literally translate the melody, and Dornado was born. It got him enough notice that Ted Snyder, who had recently come from Chicago and opened both Seminary Music and Ted Snyder Publishing in Manhattan, hired Berlin as a staff lyricist in early 1909. According to Berlin's obituary, he had taken a lyric to Snyder for consideration in late 1908. The newly minted publisher asked to hear the melody. Even though Irving had not considered adding his own tune to the lyric, he improvised one on the spot, hummed to Snyder's pianist/arranger, and performed it right away. Snyder was impressed enough to bring Berlin into the fold in short order. His hiring was announced in the New York Clipper on March 20, 1909: A NEW VERSATILE SONG WRITER.
Irving Berlin, a Gifted Young Composer, Signs with the Ted Snyder Music Co. A lad, scarcely out of his teens, possessing remarkable talent as a popular song writer, has just signed a five year contract with the Ted Snyder Music Company. His name is Irving Berlin, and although a little over twenty years of age, the young scribe has developed an ability of more than ordinary quality. He writes all manner of songs, with a facility that is astonishing because of the fact that he has never been endowed with any musical training.
Henry Waterson, of the Ted Snyder Company, immediately recognized in young Berlin talent out of the ordinary. Encouraging him in the pursuit of his vocation, Messrs. Waterson and Snyder induced Berlin to perfect several manuscripts which they immediately proceeded to put into press. Three of these are particularly novel and valuable. They are entitled, respectively: "Sadie Salome Go Home." a comic dialect; "Dorandor!" an Italian humorous ditty, and "No One
Could Do It Like My Father," another witty efusion.
Further oddities from this writer's pen are shortly to follow and the Ted Snyder firm will push them with the same profitable vigor as has been evidenced in their famous "My Dream of the U.8.A." and "Beautiful Eyes* numbers. Berlin and Snyder quickly turned out She Was a Dear Little Girl, which was quickly interpolated into a show on Broadway, giving them some momentum. Snyder then tried Berlin with another newcomer, Edgar Leslie, and their song Sadie Salome, Go Home eventually helped Fannie Brice land her long-time job with the Ziegfeld Follies.
While Berlin lyrics were fitted to the music of a few other Snyder composers, it soon became evident that he and Snyder were a good match, and they started turning out a number of appreciably good tunes on a regular basis. Two rags that were turned into songs with Berlin's lyrics, George Botsford's Dance of the Grizzly Bear, and Snyder's own Wild Cherries, translated into good sales for the company. Snyder also let Irving work with transcribers to turn out his own songs, including two early lasting efforts, Yiddle, on Your Fiddle, Play Some Ragtime and That Mesmerizing Mendelssohn Tune, both from 1909. In 1910, the output from Berlin as well as his collaborations with Snyder exploded in quantity, although other than Grizzly Bear there were no enormous successes. He appears in the 1910 census as Irving Berlin, head of household, living with his mother and his sister Augusta, his occupation that of Music Writer. The following year, 1911, would prove to be the turning point in Berlin's writing career, and his earliest major success was also touched with a bit of controversy. Gaining Success
Having become more competent as a pianist, albeit in a limited fashion, but more valuable also as one who could recognize good work when it came across his desk, Berlin was also utilized to review the works of other composers for publication, and became Snyder's right hand man. One of these composers was Scott Joplin, who in 1911 was shopping his opera Treemonisha around Tin Pan Alley in hopes of getting it in print, and raising money to stage it. There is a good chance that the score came across Berlin's desk. Later in that year with the help of Snyder arranger Alfred Doyle he re-purposed an earlier unsuccessful song, Alexander and His Clarinet, with a new verse, a tune we all now know as Alexander's Ragtime Band. This new verse was highly similar to the original melody of Joplin's A Real Slow Drag which closed the opera. In fact, it was reported by Joplin's surviving wife, Lottie Stokes Joplin, that he likely altered the melody afterwards so it did not match the verse to Alexander's Ragtime Band. A newspaper notice of that time also noted that Joplin was looking for Mr. Berlin on a certain matter, which may have been concerning the potentially subconscious plagiarism. The issue was never fully resolved, but the facts seem plausible.
The chorus of Alexander's Ragtime Band is similarly constructed from existing tunes, including the Reveille bugle call and Stephen Collins Foster's Old Folks at Home (Swanee River). While there is not a lick of actual ragtime syncopation in the piece, it quickly became and has stayed as an anthem of the ragtime era, and it permanently cemented Berlin's name in the songwriting world. The piece was immediately recorded by the Victor Military Band, and even played on the Titanic's maiden (and final) voyage the following year. It has been recorded endlessly by all stripes of music artists, including Ray Charles in a unique arrangement. In the late 1930s a movie was made based on the song. Even in its original printings at least 40 different entertainers were featured on the various covers of the piece. A piano solo version was also available for a while, likely arranged by Doyle. All of this success from one publication, and yet Irving was just beginning his contributions to the Great American Song Book.
With Alexander's Ragtime Band, Berlin readily found the pulse of the American music consumer, and did all he could to feed it. It would be some time before he started turning out his famed romantic ballads, but for now he simply became a song machine, with many songs centered around dance or ragtime. He turned enough ragtime-centric songs to be deemed "King of Ragtime Songs," (which should not be confused with syncopated piano ragtime). Even though there were only a couple of scant mentions of him in the news prior to May of 1911, he was suddenly a big item in music and entertainment stories, and his name remained in the press for decades to come.
In 1911 and 1912 Berlin and Snyder continued to turn out a tidal wave of tunes, and all told there was a new Berlin song every four to five days, an astonishing feat. His output in 1911 and 1912 alone eclipsed that of the lifetime output of most successful ragtime writers and many popular writers as well.
It should be noted that because of his limitations as a pianist, which were extreme in 1911 and 1912, that Berlin never wrote piano ragtime, nor would he write true jazz or stride. He was and would remain a writer of popular songs. However, Irving was in some sense a proponent of ragtime, reporting on it and encouraging it through his songs. During the ragtime era the ratio of popular songs (verse and chorus tunes that were about any number of topics but not classically composed) to rags, or even rags and intermezzos combined, was at least 20 to 1, and maybe higher. So with Alexander's Ragtime Band, That Mysterious Rag, Oh, That Beautiful Rag and similar tunes, Berlin was simply voicing, or in some cases creating more interest in the music. The success of a song was clear even back then. It needs a good topic and a good musical hook that is easy to remember as well as hum. So for capturing the essence of the ragtime era and making it live far beyond its rumored end in the late 1910s, even with limited syncopation in some of his 1910s pieces, Berlin could very much be considered a viable composer of ragtime, even if not piano rags.
Riding high on his successes, Irving gained confidence in himself and his stature as a musician. It should be noted that throughout his career this was never a solo effort, as he never completely gained the necessary skills to notate and arrange his own tunes. With his rudimentary piano skills, which as legend tells it centered around playing the black keys, usually in F# major (unkindly referred to by many as the "nigger key"), he was able to play sufficient melody and chords to get the general notion of a piece across. It may have influenced many of the pentatonic qualities of his early melodies. However, there was usually a ghost writer at his side who turned his ideas into a salable product. Usually in the music industry this person was cited as an arranger, and indeed a few Berlin pieces did have an arranging credit. But for the most part, whether it was initially his decision or that of the other firm's partners, Berlin's name usually stood alone. Among the assistants were composer Cliff Hess, who worked with Berlin from around 1913 to 1918, and later Arthur Johnston, and then Helmy Kresa. In some cases a co-composer credit might have been fitting as they worked out some of the chord changes, but it became a Berlin tradition that if it was his melody it was his song. It also became increasingly clear during 1912 and 1913 that he was better able to fit his own lyrics to a proper melody, and collaborations with a handful of lyricists started diminishing, particularly as his solo efforts flew off the store shelves.
Irving's induction into ballads came about in a somewhat tragic way. Riding high on the success of his great ragtime hit, Berlin dated Dorothy Goetz, sister of one of his earlier lyricists, E. Ray Goetz, and they married a few weeks later in February of 1912. They took a honeymoon in Cuba where she contracted typhoid fever, finally succumbing to it in June. Berlin was devastated and unsure how to express his grief over the loss. Goetz suggested that he simply write a ballad about his feelings, and When I Lost You became the first of his many heart-wrenching ballads. He would show up as still single on his 1917 draft record, and remained a widower in the 1920 census. However, a tragedy of this proportion would not strike again in his otherwise charmed life.
That same year of 1912 he had another monster hit with When That Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam' which quickly found its way to the vaudeville stage, and the following year would yield a number of fine tunes, including the comedy hit Snooky Ookums. On two tunes of that year, published with another firm, he was credited as Ren. G. May, an anagram for Germany, of which the principal city was, of course, Berlin. He also used this credit to record the tunes, still being a pretty fair singer. As for his introduction to Hess in 1913, it set in motion his paradigm of having a personal assistant at his beck and call for most of the rest of his career. Hess had been hired by the Chicago branch of Waterson, Berlin & Snyder as a song demonstrator, and perhaps a copyist as well. It was there he first met his future boss in early 1913, as was later notedas per a later account in an Edison Records flyer advertising Billy Murray's recording of In My Harem.: Mr. Berlin has had little practical instruction in music, and, although he plays the piano exceptionally well he plays by ear only. At the time "In My Harem" was written, Mr. Hess was working in the Chicago office of the Waterson, Berlin and Snyder Company. Berlin went to Chicago on the 20th Century Limited and worked out this tune in his head while on the train. When in Chicago he played it over (all on the black keys, as he always does) and Mr. Hess sat by him and wrote it down on paper as he played it. This struck the composer as a great time-saving device, for Mr. Hess afterwards transposed it into a simpler key, and arranged it in its less complicated commercial form. Almost immediately, in early 1913, Hess found himself in Manhattan, having been hired by Berlin as a full-time "private secretary," which really was more like his right hand assistant in regards to Berlin's composing. Up to this point, Irving had engaged other composers or arrangers at associated with Snyder at need in order to help him flesh out his tunes with a simple accompaniment. Hess resides with Berlin at the latter's apartment in Seventy-first Street; he attends to the details of the young song-writers's business affairs, transcribes the melodies which Berlin conceives and plays them over and over again while the latter is setting the lyrics. When Berlin goes abroad Hess accompanies him.
Hess' position is not so easy as it might at first appear, for Berlin's working hours are, to say the least, unconventional. And right here is to be mentioned the real basis of Berlin's success. It is industry—ceaseless, cruel, torturing industry There is scarely a waking minute when he is not engaged either in teaching his songs to a vaudeville player, or composing new ones.
His regular working hours are from noon until daybreak. All night long he usually keeps himself a prisoner in his apartment, bent on evolving a new melody which shall set the whole world to beating time. Much of the night Hess sits by his side, ready to put on record a tune once his chief has hit upon it. His regular hour for retiring is five o'clock in the morning. He arises for breakfast at exactly noon. In the afternoon he goes to the offices of Watterson [sic], Berlin and Snyder and demonstrates his songs. That Hess could, in some regards, be considered a co-composer of many of the fine Berlin tunes of 1913 to 1918 creates a question without an easy answer in most cases. Yes, he provided some of the harmonic content that supported the melodies, and may have even worked some lyrical alterations by suggestion. But, as with Irving's other long-term assistants, he was paid to write and advise, and the words and music were still Berlin's. Later case law would suggest otherwise, as there were rulings showing that the harmonic direction of a song, such as in the blues, could provide sufficient difference between similar melodic lines, so history would be in favor of Cliff and his successors as per that credit. In the end, while some of Cliff's contributions are evident to even amateur Berlin scholars, including the piano accompaniment, other facets are hard to separate from between the pair. Indeed, in spite of the output of Hess compositions, with more than two dozen other writers, Berlin's name does not appear with his on any one of them.
As far as the effectiveness of their methodology for turning out popular tunes in short order, Irving demonstrated this ability during a trip to England to perform at the Hippodrome, as recounted in the Music Trade Review of July 12, 1913: WRITING RAGTIME TO ORDER.
Irving Berlin Gives Representative of London Newspaper Interesting Demonstration of the Manner in Which He Dashes Off Hits in Record Time. With the ragtime craze at its height in England, the recent arrival of Irving Berlin, the successful song writer and exponent of that form of melody, created about as much interest as would a visit from the head of one of the reigning houses on the Continent.
Following the stories from New York regarding Mr. Berlin's ability to dash off a song and sell it for a couple thousand dollars, all in a few minutes, a representative of the Daily Express, of London, called on him for a practical demonstration, and from it wrote the following story:
"Upon receiving the request for a song to order, Mr. Berlin said:
"'Usually, I get my rhythm and melody complete before I give them to the "arranger." This is a pretty hard test, but I'll try.'
"He did. He walked about four miles doing it, in the course of two hours. He was never still a moment. "At the finish a new ragtime had grown before its listeners, all complete, from the introduction and vamp to the final chord of the chorus. Afterwards he made up the words.
"This is how he did it. The 'arranger' [Cliff Hess] sat at the piano, pencil and paper ready. Irving Berlin started a one-step up and down the room, snapping his fingers and jerking his shoulders as he went. He did this for some time. It was the divine afflatus on marionette wires.
"Suddenly he stopped, leaned over the 'arranger,' and 'La-ta-ta-ta-tatata,' he began. 'That's the
opening line.'
"The 'arranger' wrote down the precious notes and played them.
"'Fine,' said Irving Berlin; and off he went again, up and down, to and fro, dancing a one-step to imaginary tunes rollicking through his mind.
"'Play it again,' he said, with a snap of his fingers. A minute passed. Irving Berlin clapped his hands to his ears and changed the direction of his walk. It came slowly, but when it did come there was a burst of half a dozen bars.
"So, gradually, the ragtime is built up."
'Play it once more. I want to get back to the key,' he says, after a half-hour's ineffectual lum-tum-tums.'
"Finally, the chorus, the most difficult of all. It has to be catchy, it has to trip and slide, and stop, and drop from key to key and be lifted back again. It has to 'go.'
"With a rush the thing is finished. It has been fitted together like a puzzle, intricate little pieces of melody running haphazard nowhere and fading abruptly as other strains follow, with just a semblance of the motif to keep it together." The title of the on-the-spot song was "That Humming Rag." By the end of the hour it was evident to the press that Cliff Hess might have been the real talent in the room, and some items were published suggesting that Berlin was perhaps not so talented after all, barely able to play and unable to notate. Actually, this incident could have gone another way, and with the help of his loyal secretary, he managed to found a way out. When trying to plan his subsequent performance at the London Hippodrome the next day, and overcome any potential bad press all at once, Irving came to the conclusion that all of his existing material had already been spread around London, and that he needed something new as a diversion. With the dutiful Hess at his side, they worked far into the night, having to mute the piano in the hotel room at the Savoy as best they could using bath towels to address complaints from other guests, and had at least half of That International Rag completed by sunrise. Before show time the song was completed and Berlin had it memorized. Berlin sang this piece in a modest tone with Hess at the piano, and quickly silenced the critics while engaging the audience with something new and effective. With Cliff's support, and yet while keeping him in the background, Berlin triumphed over the British, and then Europe, and never looked back. Like his other "rag" songs, there was virtually no "ragtime" in That International Rag other than the word "rag," but with Cliff's peppy accompaniments, the melodic issues in terms of the lack of syncopation were readily overcome.
While popular songs and ragtime-oriented and dance tunes were helping Berlin make his name, there was another inevitability awaiting him, and it was literally just up the street from his office. Broadway Beginnings
Almost since his collaboration with Snyder began, Irving Berlin songs had found their way into shows on Broadway and 42nd Street through interpolation, and given his past dealings with Tony Pastor he was no stranger to the stage either. However in 1914, Berlin finally released one of the first ragtime-based (more in name than in style) musicals (by today's standards musicals of that time would be considered revues) on Broadway. Few stage musicals at that time, perhaps with George M. Cohan's (who wrote a song lauding Irving Berlin melodies a year later) being the exception, had songs by any one composer, but Berlin did provide the majority of them for Watch Your Step. His original stated intent was to write a "ragtime opera," although he ended up with a pretty decent revue featuring some syncopation and lots of dancing.
For the debut Berlin and his producers already had an ace in the hole, utilizing the recent popularity of the famous dancing couple Vernon and Irene Castle as his stars. Taking some queues from the Ziegfeld Follies, there were even some extravagances displayed on the stage, including a sizable medley of popular opera themes with some syncopation added. The combination of talents in the show made it a great success, and it played initially for 175 performances, a good run at that time. Most of the songs also ended up in print and were sold in the lobby as well as in stores, an added bonus. For the purposes of publishing this show the composer formed his own company, Irving Berlin, Inc., but still remained with Waterson and Snyder who published his popular tunes. One of the tunes in this show quickly gained hit status and eventually became a standard, the finely double-layered Simple Melody (later renamed Play a Simple Melody). The following year he contributed the majority of pieces for Stop! Look! Listen!, which ran for a respectable 105 performances. The standout hit of that show, still with us today, was I Love a Piano, reportedly his favorite tune of all time.
After a rather uneventful, and somewhat less prolific year in 1916, Berlin contributed to another show in 1917, Dance and Grow Thin, and tackled the latest musical craze - jazz - with some supposed jazz of his own. The word, which had proliferated into popular usage from late 1916 on, was new, but many song titles started featuring it, including Berlin's own Mister Jazz, Himself. He then did a rare collaboration with the other more established big fish in the Broadway pond, George M. Cohan, and their co-written The Cohan Revue of 1918 previewed on New Year's Eve and ran for 96 performances. Berlin also published the bulk of Cohan's pieces from this period.
Some time before that, not yet a U.S. Citizen, Irving was drafted into the United States Army late in 1917, and assigned to Camp Upton at Fort Yiphank. He very quickly took advantage of this situation by writing about it, one of the earliest pieces being a protest song (especially for the musician's lifestyle), Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning. In an effort to keep to his true talent, he persuaded the brass to let him stage an Army-based show utilizing enlisted men, and they agreed. Now not having to keep to regulation hours, Berlin completed Yip Yip Yiphank and staged 32 performances of it utilizing 350 troops. While there was no Over There embedded in the work, two of the songs went on to become big standards, one of them held back for two decades. Mandy, which many associate with the Ziegfeld Follies of 1919, was actually first heard in the Army show, but retooled a year later.
However, a more somber tune which was prepared for the Army show ended up being pulled, perhaps even before the first performance. It would not be until 1938 that Berlin would pull out the everlasting God Bless America for its first public performance by singer Kate Smith on Armistice Day of that year. It has since become the most revered and most sung tune in America composed by a Russian Jew simply trying to survive the army. The publications of Yip Yip Yiphank were printed with his promotion clearly shown, composed by Sergeant Irving Berlin. On February 6, 1918, Irving Berlin became a naturalized citizen of his adopted country.
Since Irving ended up not actually going into combat he was able to maintain a good songwriting pace, and soon after the war he increased the scope of his own firm, taking on works by other composers as well, finally leaving Waterson, Berlin & Snyder at the end of 1918. In 1919 Florenz Ziegfeld, no stranger to Berlin tunes, asked him to contribute as much as he could to that year's Follies. Along with a revamped version of Mandy he came up with what would become the signature Ziegfeld anthem, A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody.
In the January 1920 census he is shown as a widower living in Manhattan with a secretary and a housekeeper, his occupation as an author of songs. That same year, Berlin similarly contributed a bounty of tunes to Ziegfeld for the 1920 Follies, but he had something else in the works. Carefully using his considerable profits from his musical endeavors, Berlin decided to exercise more control over the environment that his musicals would be in, as well as the availability of a place to stage him, and along with his new partner Sam Harris financed the construction of his own 1025 seat Music Box Theater on 45th Street. The opening show there was his Music Box Revue of 1921 which ran for a rather astonishing (at that time) 440 performances. Three more similar revues were staged over the next four years, each with declining attendance and shorter runs, although still far from tepid. The last of these Music Box Revues in 1925 featured Fannie Brice, but ran for only 194 performances.
The Music Box Theater remained busy with other productions that leased it, and is still in business in the 21st century. In 2007 ownership passed from the Berlin estate to the Shubert Theater Organization.
In 1924 Irving started to date socialite Ellin Mackay, 15 years younger than himself, who would become his second wife. But there seemed to be many obstacles in the way of his convincing her to marry him. Among them, his Jewish heritage and upbringing in poverty, contrasted with the fact that she was a devout Irish-American Catholic and heiress to the Comstock Lode mining fortune. Some of his more stirring ballads came as a direct result of songs he wrote for Ellin, including All Alone, Remember, and the wistful weeper What'll I Do. Finally he won her with singing (a plot theme repeated in the movie Holiday Inn several years later), and just before they were married in January of 1926 he wrote the simple and elegant Always for her as well, assigning all of the (considerable) income from the song to Ellin. She was immediately disinherited by her father, and for a time they were snubbed by many members of society for the inter-faith marriage. Irving and Ellin had a daughter, Mary Ellin, within the year. Linda Emmett and Elizabeth Peters would follow, as would Irving Berlin Jr. who would sadly die in childbirth.
Following the traveling patterns of Berlin throughout the 1920s, particularly after marrying Ellin, becomes quite an endeavor, since he is listed on dozens of ship manifests going to Europe, the United Kingdom, the Bahamas, Hawaii, and other exotic ports of call. Berlin liked cruises, but when called upon to perform or accompany (as best he could) on these trips he was often stymied by his F# playing. So he had either four or five special transposing pianos built for him which allowed the keys to slide back and forth underneath the action, facilitating his playing in a suitable key for any occasion. One of these usually accompanied him on a cruise ship, one in the theater, one at the office, one at home, and there may have been a spare. One of these unique pianos resides today in the American History collection of the Smithsonian Institution.
Irving's cleverness would pay off for both him and a group of brothers looking for a vehicle that would exploit their singularly unique talents. So in 1925, based on a book by playwright Irving Kaufman, he came up with a nearly schizophrenic set of songs for The Cocoanuts starring the Marx Brothers in their recently redefined personas as Groucho, Chico, Harpo, Zeppo and Gummo. The first incarnation would run 276 performances, with the brothers constantly adjusting the material to the point where it worked flawlessly. It was revived in 1927 with an additional tune for another healthy run, cementing their inevitable success.
Berlin's biggest song of 1926 would turn out to be Blue Skies, soon to become a standard through the voice of a new kid on the block, crooner Bing Crosby, who would be a great proponent of Berlin songs. His final contribution to the stage in the 1920s was for the 1927 Ziegfeld Follies, one of the most ambitious years of Ziegfeld's career in which the entrepreneur staged four shows at one time. That same year brought the beautiful instrumental Russian Lullaby. However, through Bing and the Max Brothers and other connections, a new medium was soon to call for the great Berlin. Hollywood, Then Back to Broadway
While Berlin songs sold well throughout the country, they were mostly performed live in New York through the 1920s. However, in 1927, as synchronized sound film became a possibility, a Vitaphone short came out called The Little Princess of Song starring 13-year-old Sylvia Froos, singing Blue Skies. There was enough interest in the piece that Al Jolson, no stranger to Berlin songs by this time, used it for his pivotal "live dialog" scene in The Jazz Singer shortly thereafter, with Bert Fiske playing an offstage piano while Jolson mimed his own playing. The movie, that scene in particular, was a sensation, and Blue Skies certainly did not suffer. It went on to be heard on recordings and in movies a panoply of styles, including one 21st (or 24th) century rendition by singer/actor Brent Spiner as Data in the tenth Star Trek movie. But it also meant that Berlin songs could potentially be heard virtually anywhere as performed by stars of the screen. In the early days of sound when dialog was still difficult to capture, but music was much easier to record, many of the earliest sound films became musicals, and they drew on whatever they could find in order to both have new material and capitalize on the subsequent sales of sheet music or records. Berlin was happy to oblige this new trend, and stepped up to the plate.
The Cocoanuts finally made it to film via Paramount in 1929, but more than half the tunes were cut from the movies, because without intermissions like live stage shows, people seemed less likely to sit through a full two hour production. However, MGM and other studios would eventually find a way to pack almost as much music into a film as a stage production, often focusing on a single composer for those films. One Berlin song composed in 1929 for a film released in 1930 would actually have four more resurgences over the next few decades, and is clearly an exciting standard today. Written just ahead of the depression, Puttin' On the Ritz (for the film of the same name) combined ragtime and jazz with danceability in a song about snooty rich people. It was retooled in 1946 for Fred Astaire in the movie Blue Skies, becoming much more popular with the newer lyrics. Mel Brooks made it a centerpiece of his 1974 film Young Frankenstein, and later in 2007 as a huge production number for the stage version of the story. And in the early 1980s Danish singer called Taco Ockerse made it into a techno-pop retro-hit in Europe and the United States.
In 1929 ragtime veteran Al Jolson asked for more material for his new film career, and ended up with five new Berlin songs in My Mammy, released 1930. One more film keeping Irving busy was Hallelujah with another pair of songs. While traveling to Hollywood to facilitate the incorporation of his tunes into film from time to time, Berlin still stayed firmly based in Manhattan while not off on a cruise ship. He is shown there in the 1930 census with Ellin and Mary Ellin, a self-employed composer of music.
Notable films over the next decade that would feature Berlin music include Top Hat (1935), featuring Cheek to Cheek; Follow the Fleet (1936), featuring Let's Face the Music and Dance; the all-Berlin film On the Avenue (1937); another Berlin song extravaganza filled with ragtime-era classics
Broadway took quite a hit during the Great Depression as it was much less expensive to create and distribute a film than it was to employ fifty or more people every night for a stage production. So some of them were scaled back or less performances held. Just the same, there were enough people in Manhattan well enough off and in need of entertainment that the producers pressed on, including Berlin and Harris. In 1932 he came out with the political satire Face the Music, and the following year with a play lauding the new president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, in As Thousands Cheer, a play in which cast members played several different roles, perhaps a cost-cutting measure. This show ran more than a year, achieving 400 performances in the first run. It also had an embedded tune called Heat Wave which found plenty of favor in the 1950s when sexy new star Marilyn Monroe infused new meaning into it.
Another piece, which started out in 1917 as Smile and Show Your Dimples, was retooled with the same melody into the piece Her Easter Bonnet. It eventually found success when it was later retitled as Easter Parade, although it took five film appearances before the piece would take off. Berlin's publishing empire remained consistent and busy throughout the 1930s as well, and he had the good fortune to have been contracted by Walt Disney to put many of that studio's works into print, including all of the songs from the stellar hit, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and later Pinocchio and Dumbo.
The face of Broadway would change in the wake of musicals such as Snow White and The Wizard of Oz where gradually the songs featured in these stories would actually be part of the story, forwarding the plot, rather than just assembled for the sake of putting a song at a certain point in the story. Many consider the dawn of the modern musical to be Rodgers and Hammerstein's Oklahoma in 1943, and it does contain the elements of character-based songs that have more context within the story than if sung alone. However, Berlin approached this concept fairly successfully in 1940, at age 52, with the satirical comedy Louisiana Purchase, a similar idea to that of Oklahoma. It ultimately ran a respectable 444 performances, and in 1941 was made into a less than successful Paramount film with Bob Hope in the lead. Given the tone of the musical and the story emphasis on the songs, it yielded no lasting hits. In the 1940 census the Berlin family was living together in Manhattan, including Ellen, and their daughters Mary Ellen (13), Linda L. (8) and Elizabeth I. (3). They also had 1 live-in nurse and four servants. In spite of how well things were going for the other composer, there were other worries in the world at that time, and they came to a head in December of 1941 with the American entry into World War II. Again, Sergeant Irving Berlin would be there to rally for the cause. The Berlin Renaissance
Patriotic was once again very much in vogue in 1942, and this time it was Uncle Sam that approached Berlin, asking him to repeat what he had done for morale in World War I with Yip Yip Yiphank. He quickly revived some of the old tunes, came up with new ones, and This Is the Army was born. It cleverly included the staging of Yip Yip Yiphank in the plot, spanning both of the wars. While the initial run was only 113 performances, as personnel were constantly being shipped off, but continued to tour the country and the world throughout the war. The unit formed to stage this and other shows for the military still exists into the 21st century. This Is the Army was made into a fairly successful movie in 1943 featuring future California politicians George Murphy and Ronald Reagan, with a cameo by Berlin himself singing Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning, which required some technical prowess by the sound crew to pull off since his voice recorded so softly. Berlin also toured extensively during the war, playing in the African, European and Pacific theaters, often shortly after a location had been liberated. After the war, President Harry Truman awarded him the American Medal of Merit for his contributions to troop morale.
His contributions to morale at home were also important, and again extended to film, with the big hit of 1942 yielding quite a surprise. Asked by Paramount to come up with pieces for a film based on American holidays, with a special song for most of them, Irving was sure that his Easter Parade would finally be the hit he had hoped for when featured in Holiday Inn with Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire. What he didn't see coming was that Bing would turn a simple Christmas tune written by a Russian Jewish immigrant into the biggest song hit in history, White Christmas. Except for the initial surge of Elton John's special recording of Candle in the Wind honoring the late Princess Diana of Wales, White Christmas has consistently been the top selling song on records, CD, and digital media combined, the standard to end all standards. Written in the summer of 1940 while he was in Los Angeles, but not released, Berlin found it difficult to capture the religious spirit of Christmas, so called upon the feeling of the season instead. He used the contrast of heat in Beverly Hills in the verse with the desire to be back in the North or Northeast, and seemed to tap that desire in everybody in the country during the difficult war. White Christmas handily won the Oscar for best song at the 1943 Academy Awards as well. There were only a few song releases over the next couple of years, but he did make a handful of contributions in 1945 to the film Blue Skies, again with Astaire and Crosby, released in 1946. Just the same, Berlin, now approaching 60, had something up his sleeve, and the best was yet to come.
Rodgers and Hammerstein, after successes with Oklahoma and Carousel, decided they wanted to produce as well, and hired the stalwart and similarly successful Jerome Kern to write a musical based on the life of Annie Oakley. However, he suddenly and literally dropped dead, leaving them with a project and no composer. They decided to take a chance on the aging Berlin, who even though he was getting on in years seemed to be able to turn out viable contemporary melodies. Berlin was concerned at first, given that since Rodgers and Hammerstein had also brought out those two groundbreaking musicals that integrated the plots with the songs, he felt that he might not be able to meet their expectations in writing for a "situation show." Hammerstein convinced him take home a script and see what he could write. After a weekend, Irving came back with three stellar songs that were included with the show, including the big hit of the production. With the help of libretto writers Dorothy Fields and her brother Herbert, the show came together quickly. The end result was Annie Get Your Gun, which became a prime vehicle for an already seasoned Ethel Merman. Yet it could have been different, as Irving nearly pulled one of the songs from the production because he was under the impression that his musically-inclined producers did not like it. Fortunately, they kept it in and There's No Business Like Show Business proved to be the show stopper, and put another lasting Berlin hit into the American Songbook. Annie Get Your Gun ultimately ran for an astonishing 1147 performances with the original cast, and was made into a similarly successful movie with a couple of new songs added in 1950.
In 1948 Berlin contributed new songs to the film which finally made a hit of the title song, Easter Parade. He then put his efforts into another stage musical called Miss Liberty which proved to be somewhat of a disappointment in the shadow of Annie Get Your Gun. Based on events around the Statue of Liberty, and starring Eddie Albert St., it somehow managed 308 performances in the first run, but very few since that time. Determined to score again, Berlin cast Merman in Call Me Madam in 1950, this time with a greater measure of success at 644 performances, and a movie version in 1953. Even more fine hits and recycled favorites appeared in the now-perennial hit White Christmas in 1954, again giving Crosby, this time teamed with Danny Kaye, Vera Ellen, and newcomer Rosemary Clooney, a chance to croon what was by now his most famous tune. The 1950 census showed him and Ellin with a houseful, including their three daughters, one of them being recently divorced Mary, and a house staff of four, listed as a composer with his own company.
A conservative in his politics, Berlin took up the cause of General Dwight D. Eisenhower in the late 1940s, helping him in song as well during his two presidential campaigns with "I Like Ike" songs. In 1955 he was rewarded with a special gold medal for his efforts in contributing to American song. Except for some reprints of earlier material, 1955 appears to have been the first year in almost five decades in which no new Berlin songs materialized, an astonishing run. It appeared that the 67 year old composer was approaching retirement, and there was very little output over the next 6 years. However, at age 74, Berlin graced his Music Box Theater with one last production, Mr. President, starting Nanette Fabray and Robert Ryan. A fictional account of life in the White House, trying to capture the magic of the Camelot idyll of the Kennedy administration, it was not well received by critics or theater goers. After 265 performances it retired, and so did Irving Berlin.
In 1966 Berlin would add one final song to his extensive list, An Old-Fashioned Wedding for a revival of Annie Get Your Gun. As he was turning 78 that year, Berlin was interviewed by William Glover of the Associated Press about his possible retirement and lust for life: "I do it now because I'm a ham," observes the very chipper elder statesman of Tin Pan Alley. "You try to justify yourself to yourself.
"You don't quit working because you get old, but because you want to. Not that I've got anything against people who like to golf or fish. I just don't care for such things, so maybe I'm the one who is pathetic."
The first Berlin item just 60 years ago was a set of lyrics for "Marie From Sunny Italy," which earned him 37 cents. Since then there have been more than 900 melodies and the pay has gotten a lot better. The basic task of creativity, however, for such a top-echelon member of the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers is neither harder nor easier now than it was way back then.
"The only inspiration is having a job to do," he succinctly comments. "You start with a talent, but there's got to be a lot of energy and push."...
The dean of popular music regards recent trends in the area with equanimity.
"You can't judge show business today in terms of yesterday," he says of those who detect a decline in melodious entertainment. "I think it's doing damn good."
And although the rock 'n' roll fad has continued longer than he expected, Berlin tolerantly observes, "It's just the kids in revolt. This thing they call the beat - these songs can't possibly live because no one can whistle a beat." [Author: How does one explain Wipeout or My Sharona, much less rap?]...
"The days of plugging a song to success are gone," he says. "If you could pick a hit in advance there wouldn't be any failures."
Sometimes success is a matter of timing - "If I had published 'God Bless America' when I wrote it in 1918, it wouldn't have been nearly as big as it was in 1938 when Hitler was overrunning Europe.
Sometimes it's a matter of astute revision - "I wrote a bad song for Al Jolson in 1929, 'To My Mammy,' but I took a phrase out of it later to become 'How Deep Is the Ocean,' the best ballad I ever did." Then there was a 1917 item, "Smile and Show Your Dimples," which with new lyrics went on to fame as "Easter Parade."...
The man who has been called "the last of the troubadours" has a phrase of advice he likes to share. Looking down the years, Berlin repeats it again: "You've got to take your blessings as they come." In spite of his talk of forging forward, Irving and Ellin started spending ever more time in their country home in the Catskill Mountains rather than their Beekman Place townhome in Manhattan. He would soon be relegated to the status of an American Icon who appeared on talk shows and the occasional tribute. One of these was the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1968. By the mid-1970s Berlin had all but disappeared from view. His final public appearance was at the 1986 Centennial Celebration of the Statue of Liberty, but due to the onset of health issues he was a no-show for his 100th birthday celebration held in 1988.
Ellin Berlin died in 1987 at age 85. Irving Berlin finally was taken by a heart attack at the remarkable age of 101, and this humble Russian Jew who honored his adoptive home by giving it lasting musical voice was interred in Woodlawn Cemetery in The Bronx, New York. He left behind his three daughters, nine grandchildren, six grandchildren, and a grateful public who still enjoy his creativity today.
Famed composer Jerome Kern, when asked about Berlin's place in American music, said that Irving Berlin has no place in it. "Irving Berlin is American Music." God Bless America and the memory of Irving Berlin. |