As I don’t usually succumb
to the quasi succoring nature of schmaltz, I would nevertheless like to turn to
a performance so rare in its own opposition that to qualify it as a human one
almost defiles its god-like otherworldliness. Patti LaBelle, a singer with the
pipes of a Wurlitzer performed in 1995 before a packed auditorium audience for
a television special commemorating Frank Sinatra’s 80th birthday. The show was
titled "Frank Sinatra: 80 years My Way" and was peppered with the
usual suspects of the time. Tony Bennett, Bono, Ray Charles, Natalie Cole, Vic
Damone, Bob Dylan, Gregory Peck, Angela Lansbury, Edie Gorme, Little Richard,
Hootie and the Blowfish and Don Rickles all paid the vig to the Chairman of the
Board. Everybody bowed and scraped appropriately. Even Dylan, a fish out of
water in this milieu, referred to Old Blue Eyes as “Mr. Frank”. The show
motored along as if it was on cruise control. The performances were
reverential, but workmanlike and it wasn’t until Miss Labelle’s Cri de Coeur
did the fireworks officially begin.
Frank won an Oscar in 1945
for a 9-minute short subject he starred in called The House I Live. It was
perfectly representative of the time when the United States coming out of 2
world wars wanted to promote the very essence of what made it the most revered
nation on earth. In the film Frank portrays himself as he takes a break in the
middle of a recording session. He goes outside for a smoke and sees a gang of
kids getting ready to beat up a young Jewish boy. Needless to say, the boys get
a lesson in tolerance and everybody goes home happy in the ways of Hollywood.
After this life lesson
Frank sings the title tune. He gives a very safe, white, respectful reading. According
to the website Songfacts www.songfacts.com, this song became an
anthem during the second world war with the lyrics describing with great
hopefulness a country that is both tolerant and inclusive of all races and
creeds. The tune was written in 1943. Earl Robinson composed the music and Abel
Meerpol under the pseudonym of Lewis Allan wrote the lyrics. Meerpol was a
ferocious liberal, but had mixed views toward his own country. He loved the
tenets it was based on, but loathed the ways cultural and religious minorities
were treated. The words were meant to be about America’s potential. The ‘house’
in the title is a metaphor for the country.
Now that you have a little
background, it is time to get to Patti LaBelle’s great hammer blow and the
enormous irony of her interpretation. Miss LaBelle begins slowly as the song
was written, but 30 seconds into it you realize she has a much different
agenda. Through the magnificence of her enormous talent, she begins the heavy
lifting of a doubly repressed minority to scale the mountain of prejudice this
country has been trying to get out of the shadow of since it was a gleam in the
eyes of the founding fathers. By a minute 30 you know that this isn’t your
Grandpa’s version of The House I Live In, but a diatribe from an artist railing
against the hate that still permeates the zeitgeist. Her gospel backing vocals
add a beautiful seriousness that seasons the big fish that Miss LaBelle is to
beginning to fry. At 2 minutes 50 seconds you know you are witnessing genius.
Miss LaBelle pile drives the audience with her vast range and ultimate command.
It is almost too beautiful to endure and you ache for her to stop. She does but
only for a few seconds, relieving you of the moment’s immensity and weight.
However, it is all for naught. Miss LaBelle lets the melody slow to a crawl
before gearing up again for one last ride to the to the top of the craggy
precipice before pushing us to our ignominious deaths. This is the house that
Miss LaBelle wants everyone to live in.
It is a performance I can
only describe as artistic expression of the highest order. Patti LaBelle takes
the tune by the cojones and makes it what you see here; a paean to everything
good about America and democracy...interpreted by an African American woman no
less! How this woman sang it with such naches is anybody’s guess but
suffice to say it was not only a national call, but a cosmic one as well. Early
in the clip there is a close-up on Frank’s face. You can see in his rheumy-eyed
expression that he knows the jig is up for a man who once resided on Mt.
Olympus. It is a bittersweet moment and only punctuates the power of Miss
LaBelle’s brilliance. Since that special originally aired, I have watched this
masterpiece at least 100 times and it always gets to me as only great art can.
The wailing crescendo at the end, steeped in a combination of bluesy misery and
abject joy, is as thrilling as anything I’ve ever heard. I would rank this as
one of the greatest performances in the history of the popular arts. Here is an
artist not only at the peak of her powers and in full control of her
instrument, but also able to hold up a mirror as well.
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