A Pantoum and Four Parodies
A Pantoum and Four Parodies
by AuntShecky
All Rights Reserved
In the latest of Auntie’s Fairly Flailing Tales posted in the Short Story Sharing thread the other day, featured an allusion to Allan Sherman, who back in the early Sixties, was a wildly successful parodist. More about Allan in a little while, but listening to a few of his numbers on the Web brought to mind how I used to “enjoy” (if that’s the word) composing parodies of what is called “American standards.” The songs I’d choose were well-known, at least to yours fooly. But, alas, not to everybody.
It finally occurred to me that there exists a musical generation gap. Even within the same generation! My musical taste tended to go backward to the two decades before I was born. The songs I loved were already “oldies” when I listened to them. I guess preferring Sinatra over the Beatles made the adolescent Aunt Shecky the oddball of the neighborhood.
On the other hand, when James Corden does his Carpool Karaoke, the repertoire is completely foreign to me. And when Jimmy Fallon sings a couple of bars of some pop hit, odds are it’s a ditty ne’er before heard by neither me nor - assumedly -Doc Severinson. (“Google” him.)
In any event, I love the old songs and will defend to my death their innate excellence:
They don’t write songs the way they used to,
do they? Ever wish the old songs were true?
Whenever the guys play a sweet old tune -
unlike the modern baying at the moon –
do they ever wish the old songs were true?
They don’t really write ‘em like they used to,
unlike the modern bayers at the moon
who almost cry for need of a still drink.
They don’t really write ‘em like they used to.
This way, it brings up hope and memories
almost cried for. Need a stiff drink?
For no one can tell me that I’m wrong to think
this way. It brings up hope and memories
whenever the guys play a sweet old tune.
For no one can tell me I’m wrong to think
they don’t write songs the way that they used to.
Case in point, re the sentiment above. The Cole Porter tune, “You’re the Top” originally appeared in 1934, way, way before yours fooly’s time. (To reiterate: I’m old, but I’m not that old.) Nonetheless, the bouncy tune inspired the following parody six decades later. Around 1998 or so, it attempted to ask a musical question:
Where’s a cop?
Not around when you need ‘im.
Where’s a cop?
I promise to feed ‘im.
He’s in Zanzibar
or a coffee bar
and entirely unfazed.
Put a latte in his belly
with a doughnut of jelly
or even glazed.
Where’s a cop?
All I see are druggers.
Where’s a cop?
Here come the muggers.
I’ll be on the ground
if I’m still around
when that Uzi loudly pops –
But, if Baby, I’m a victim
Where’s a cop?
The music for of this next parody goes back even farther to 1930, when a still quite young Ginger Rogers introduced the Gershwin classic, “Embraceable You.” The lyrics of this particular parody also go back to 1998 (for real!) , though in this later version the subject has been updated for this penultimate day of 2017. No names were mentioned in either parody.
Impeach me? I’m not impeachable. Gee–
Impeach me, your most unteachable me?
Just one tweet from me
will make news about me.
I and I alone
Create fake news about me.
Fans love all
the bigly brands named for me,
and That Wall,
and these little hands you can’t see.
I’m not a naughty baby!
No collusion, no collusion, b’lieve me.
I’m not impeachable, you’ll see!
Next up is another ode to municipal employees, with a seasonable theme. The tune comes from “Send in the Clowns” by Stephen Sondheim for A Little Night Music, 1973.
Aren’t the roads slick?
Nothing’s been cleared.
Snow keeps falling and falling–
worse than last year.
Send in the plows.
There ought to be plows.
We’re getting snowed in.
Travel’s risky, I fear.
No milk runs or quick trips
to pick up cold beer.
But where are the plows?
Send in the plows.
Just when I thought
I’d could dash outdoors,
I found that it’s our town
the road crew ignores.
The storm’s getting dense,
another foot it will bring.
Even a 4-wheel drive
won’t mean a thing.
No sign of a plow–
we’re stuck anyhow.
Stiffed by the plows,
Till maybe next spring.
And finally, here’s a little ditty first posted on the “Parodies Found” for the NitLet back in Ought Nine. As I mentioned back then, here’s a post-modern conundrum – a parody of a parody for a neophyte tourist in Sin City who learns that what happens in a parody should stay in a parody, namely the ageless “Hello, Muddah, Hello, Faddah by the aforementioned Allan Sherman.
Hello Muddah, hello Faddah
Here I am out in Nevadah.
It’s exciting and amusing,
And I think I’ll have some fun when I stop losing.
Tried my luck at the one-armed bandit–
Lots o’ lemons, I can’t stand it!
I was getting a rotten deal
With the run-around from the roulette wheel.
I placed a bet, oh, Muddah, Faddah,
on blackjack yet!
I don’t know what to do –
I keep hitting twenty-two!
Now I’m losing five-star pokah
and I’m going even brokah.
Hope that we don’t become beggahs
Wish I’d gone away to camp instead of Vegahs!
