This essay is being written for those who trace their birth to nearly pre-historic times. Specifically, it is being written for those of us who have passed the age barrier of 80 so long ago that it must be viewed in the rear view mirror of our lives. Facts are facts and no magic hoopla can destroy their existence. We are aged but there is a certain joy that comes from our memories.
The joy of this memory traces to 1927, or 84 years ago. On that occasion the American composer Jerome Kern wrote a stage play with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. It was named “Showboat” but in point of fact was more of a commentary on the history of race relations in the American south rather than on the entertainment business. There is liberal use of the “n” word in the original manuscript, fitting the speech patterns of the day. Since that time, the “n” word has become “darkies,” eventually winding up with the term of “Afro-Americans.”
Jerome Kern’s music is elegant. It comes to fruition near the end of the show in a solo performed by a bass singer. That of course is “Old Man River.” It might be observed that the song of “Old Man River” written in 1927 still brings the house down today when it is performed by a competent bass singer. Unfortunately, solo parts for bass singers are extremely limited. There are millions of solo parts for sopranos, and nearly as many for tenors.
Those who sing in the lower registers, such as altos and baritones, find that the music for solo parts is quite limited. And the most limited of all are solos for those singers who have a familiarity with the low C range.
This is a great misfortune for Americans. On the other hand, Russian composers find solo parts for their bass singers with some frequency. Unfortunately, I do not speak Russian except for the word “da,” meaning yes, so I am at a loss to follow the music.
But in “Showboat,” Hammerstein constructed a tribute to the hopelessness of the black workers. “Old Man River” made this hopelessness powerful. There is one final verse that sums it all up as “Old Man River” begins to draw to a close. Here are the phrases.
I gets weary an’ sick of tryin’…
I’m tired of livin’ but feared of dyin’,
But ol’ man river, he jes’ keeps rollin’ along.
That is the burden of this essay. For those of us who have lived for 80 or 90 years, it is my conclusion that there are occasions when such a person says, “I am tired of living.” Whether that person might also say, “I’m sick of trying,” might also be a bit of a stretch in my imagination. I would not doubt that in periods of illness it would be quite possible for the aged person to say, “I am tired of living and sick of trying.” That is entirely feasible to me. But for the moment, I suspect that most of us would say that “I am not sick enough of living to end it all.”
There are so many things that used to come automatically which now are a trial to old timers such as myself. Getting my stretch socks on sometimes leaves me breathless. The fact that I can’t drive anymore makes me amenable to the idea that I can understand others who are sick of living and tired of trying.
And so this is an essay about understanding the feelings of those who are not necessarily exhilarated by the prospect of more life to live. For the record, it should be stated that I am not necessarily tired of living or sick of trying. On the other hand, I can understand those who are of that opinion. But when push comes to shove, and we forget about being tired and being sick, we cannot forget American and Western European composers are publishing few songs for those who sing in the bass register. And that is a crime. I know that tenors always get the girl, who is usually a soprano. But it is high time that a baritone or a bass gets in line.
E. E. CARR
May 31, 2011
Essay 556
PS: If you want to hear the best recording of “Old Man River,” try Samuel Ramey.
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Kevin’s commentary: Wow.
Singing low takes more breath, yeah? So singing like that requires a positively obnoxious lung capacity. Seriously though, wow.