By Jeffrey Sweet
Wilfrid Sheed argues the primacy of George Gershwin and Irving Berlin in his book, The House That George Built: With a Little Help from Irving, Cole, and a Crew of About Fifty. His subject is the group of songwriters who wrote the bulk of the great American song catalogue, most of them doing their magic within the framework of musicals for Broadway and Hollywood.
Though every now and then Sheed lapses into stylistic flourishes that makes me wish an editor had weighed in a little more aggressively, I’m relishing House. What particularly impresses me is the amount of space he gives to Gershwin’s generosity to and enthusiasm for other writers.
This is something of which I’d heard little before. His ego and confidence were legendary, as were his appetites for sports, painting and women. But what Sheed makes a particular point of is how excited Gershwin would get about the writing of others. He reportedly put a lot of energy into promoting and supporting the writing of newcomers and complimenting the work of those he would have had a right to view as competitors.
Gershwin seemed to see the creation of new American songs as a joint mission of which he had the good fortune to be a point man. He would grab writers new to him and pull them into cabs to personally introduce them to publishers. He surprised one struggling writer with the gift of a piano. And time and again he is quoted praising the work of others, not just complimenting but viewing a great new song as a challenge to him to try to match or build on. One rarely hears the word “sportsmanship” in reference to songwriters, but that’s a recurring image in Sheed’s portrait of Gershwin. He’s the guy who appreciated another person’s best game, even if he (rarely) was outplayed.
I’m glad to say that this spirit is alive and well today. I know one top-rank theatre composer who has dipped his hand into his pocket more than once to pay the rent of a lesser-known composer whose music he admires. Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens, through their work with the Dramatists Guild’s education program, have mentored a small army of younger musical theatre writers. I once was surprised to see Stephen Sondheim show up at a one-act musical I had written that was produced off-off-Broadway. After the performance, he took me to lunch and gently but with great firmness disabused me of some of the rhymes I thought I’d gotten away with.
Lehman Engel, who created the BMI Musical Theatre Workshop that trained many of the composers, lyricists and book writers who went on to write several of the major musicals of the last forty years, once referred to those of us who were lucky enough to study with him as his children. Most of us were flattered to be thought of in this light. But it leads me to speculate that a lot of established musical theatre writers – more than a few gay – might indeed view the younger talents whom they encourage, mentor, lend money to and occasionally reprimand as filling the place that those with other more traditional family lives fill with biological children.
Are there some mean, competitive SOB’s out there? Sure. But most of the writers I know are fans of each other and get particular satisfaction out of doing what they can to make sure that when the time comes for them to leave the stage, they will have done their part to see that the good work goes on.
Wilfrid Sheed argues the primacy of George Gershwin and Irving Berlin in his book, The House That George Built: With a Little Help from Irving, Cole, and a Crew of About Fifty. His subject is the group of songwriters who wrote the bulk of the great American song catalogue, most of them doing their magic within the framework of musicals for Broadway and Hollywood.
Though every now and then Sheed lapses into stylistic flourishes that makes me wish an editor had weighed in a little more aggressively, I’m relishing House. What particularly impresses me is the amount of space he gives to Gershwin’s generosity to and enthusiasm for other writers.
This is something of which I’d heard little before. His ego and confidence were legendary, as were his appetites for sports, painting and women. But what Sheed makes a particular point of is how excited Gershwin would get about the writing of others. He reportedly put a lot of energy into promoting and supporting the writing of newcomers and complimenting the work of those he would have had a right to view as competitors.
Gershwin seemed to see the creation of new American songs as a joint mission of which he had the good fortune to be a point man. He would grab writers new to him and pull them into cabs to personally introduce them to publishers. He surprised one struggling writer with the gift of a piano. And time and again he is quoted praising the work of others, not just complimenting but viewing a great new song as a challenge to him to try to match or build on. One rarely hears the word “sportsmanship” in reference to songwriters, but that’s a recurring image in Sheed’s portrait of Gershwin. He’s the guy who appreciated another person’s best game, even if he (rarely) was outplayed.
I’m glad to say that this spirit is alive and well today. I know one top-rank theatre composer who has dipped his hand into his pocket more than once to pay the rent of a lesser-known composer whose music he admires. Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens, through their work with the Dramatists Guild’s education program, have mentored a small army of younger musical theatre writers. I once was surprised to see Stephen Sondheim show up at a one-act musical I had written that was produced off-off-Broadway. After the performance, he took me to lunch and gently but with great firmness disabused me of some of the rhymes I thought I’d gotten away with.
Lehman Engel, who created the BMI Musical Theatre Workshop that trained many of the composers, lyricists and book writers who went on to write several of the major musicals of the last forty years, once referred to those of us who were lucky enough to study with him as his children. Most of us were flattered to be thought of in this light. But it leads me to speculate that a lot of established musical theatre writers – more than a few gay – might indeed view the younger talents whom they encourage, mentor, lend money to and occasionally reprimand as filling the place that those with other more traditional family lives fill with biological children.
Are there some mean, competitive SOB’s out there? Sure. But most of the writers I know are fans of each other and get particular satisfaction out of doing what they can to make sure that when the time comes for them to leave the stage, they will have done their part to see that the good work goes on.