Welcome to The World of Woodhouse, a series of
podcasts from the P .G. Woodhouse Society UK
to commemorate the work of P .G. Woodhouse. I'm
Alexander Armstrong and I have the huge privilege
of being president of the P .G. Woodhouse Society
UK, a literary society of enthusiasts that celebrates
Woodhouse and his work. And it is my delightful
duty to introduce the latest guest in this series
of podcasts. Hello, my name's Hal Cazalet, and
I'm delighted to have been invited to be part
of this podcast series, celebrating the literary
genius of my step -great -grandfather, P .G.
Woodhouse. Well, we were just treated to a piano
solo from my great pal, Stephen Blyer, playing
the glorious music of George Gershwin. And it's
on Woodhouse's Broadway career and the two significant
American composers he worked with, Jerome Kern
and George Gershwin, that I want to very briefly
cast a spotlight. I think what is less known
is that Plum Woodhouse, the nickname he was called
by family and friends and indeed my middle name.
had a glittering first career as a lyricist on
Broadway, and so successful he became that in
1917, along with librettist Guy Bolton and composer
Jerome Kern, notched up an incredible five musicals
running simultaneously on Broadway, a record
not beaten to this day. So this was an era, as
later described by Noel Coward, in which light
music was taken seriously. And I suppose the
dynamic I find so fascinating and charming is
the quintessential Englishness of Plum's often
very educated lyrics set to the music of these
great American composers. With Plum's references
to Shakespeare and knights of old like Sir Galahad
and the lampooning of historical figures such
as the sirens from Homer's Odyssey and even Cleopatra
and Napoleon all get thrown into the mix. So
my discovery of Plum's Broadway career was in
my early 20s when delving through a suitcase
full of his theater songs at home, then rushing
down to the piano to play them through. And what
really struck me was to see that he had written
lyrics for such a vast array of composers. From
the witty operetta of Victor Herbert to the thrilling
new jazz rhythms of George Gershwin, Plum could
simply say it all, or as he put it, he would
just tag along with his lyric. So unlike Plum's
mentor W .S. Gilbert, who handed his words to
Sullivan to set to music, Plum's impulse thrived
on hearing the melody first. so he could identify,
as he put it, the emotional high spots in the
music. And it was exactly the same way Plum's
great friend and collaborator Ira Gershwin wrote
lyrics for his brother George. The tune came
first, the words followed. So to me, Jerome Kern
was the Schubert. of the American song, his DNA
very much from the German school, exquisite in
both melody and structure. Whereas Gershwin's
came from the sweeping grandeur of the Russians,
of Rachmaninoff, and the sense of freedom and
rhapsody of the French composers such as Ravel
and Debussy. And so Gershwin, with his enormous
hands and great reach, was constantly shifting
the boundaries of tonality by expanding chords
and syncopating rhythms really from his powers
of improvisation and his virtuosity as a pianist.
So as Irving Berlin, the great patriarch of American
musical theatre, was to later comment on that
golden age. George Gershwin was the only songwriter
among us who went on to become a composer. So
time for some music. Let's take a quick listen
to the sound and harmony from where these things
originated and go back a hundred years from Kern
and Plumb's big year on Broadway in 1917 to one
of Schubert's most beloved songs, Ande Musik
of 1817, which is literally an ode to music.
and Kern adopts a similar grammatic structure
to Schubert. They're both communicating in exactly
the same harmonic language with inner rising
harmony, with both composers typically adopting
simple introductions of two to four bar phrases.
So I'm going to preface this whole thing with
an apology to Herr Schubert and Herr Kern, and
I'm going to sing the end of two of Kern's well
-known songs to the end of the Schubert. So here's
the Schubert first. Now let's play that again
and I'll sing in the end of the chorus of Kearns
till the clouds roll by. And now here's the end
of Kearns chorus of the land where the good songs
go. And so now to Gershwin and suddenly boy do
we have rich texture and rhythm. So with similar
grand gestures of Rachmaninoff and in the same
sort of sound world of Man I Love and Rhapsody
in Blue. So now let's go to where I call pentatonic
land and hear the sound of the French influence
a scale of eight notes Take out the fourth one
two three four and the seventh seven and you
get a pentatonic scale which sounds like this
and if I just improvise around those notes were
floating on this dreamy, Debussy -esque cloud
of infinite possibility, which Plum might have
described, had he not attributed the description
to the voice of Veronica Wedge, as clotted cream
made audible. So put very simply it's when these
very clean chords became infiltrated over the
years with seconds and with sixths and ninths
but it's when that sound became this sound It
was the moment George Gershwin arrived, and with
him, the sound of the American musical. And I
always loved the response Maurice Ravel gave
to Gershwin when Gershwin asked him for lessons.
Why become a second -rate Ravel when you're already
a first -rate Gershwin? But it's high time for
a song, so back to Jerome Kern and Plum for their
hit song, Bill. So Bill was originally written
but cut from a show in 1918 called Oh Lady Lady,
but finally found its home in Kern and Oscar
Hammerstein's blockbuster Showboat in 1927 as
a lament to a lost lover. But for me, what makes
it stand out in contrast to the epic scale of
Showboat is that it's a composition and sound
from the era of the Princess musicals a decade
earlier and as such is a master class in vulnerability
and understatement and because the song is very
much of that time it still stops the show today.
So here's my sister Lara accompanied by the wonderful
Stephen Blyer to sing Plum's most celebrated
song in its original form and how touched I know
Plum would have been to hear Lara sing it. I
used to dream that I would discover the perfect
lover Someday I knew I'd recognize him if ever
he came round my way I always used to fancy them
He'd be one of the godlike kind of men With a
giant brain and a noble head Like the heroes
balled in the books I read But along came Bill
Who's quite the opposite of all the men In storybooks
grace and looks I know that Apollo would beat
him all hollow and I can't explain it's surely
not his brain that makes me thrill I love him
because he's wonderful because he's just He can't
play golf or tennis or polo or sing a solo or
row. He isn't half as handsome as dozens of men
that I know. He isn't tall and straight and slim
and he dresses far worse than Ted or Jim. And
I can't explain why he should be Just one, one
man in the world for me He's just my Bill He
has no gifts at all A motor car He cannot steer
And it seems clear His partner takes chances
Oh I can't explain It's surely not his brain
That makes me thrill I love him Because he's
I don't know Because he's just Now utterly sublime,
and now we've all been reduced to tears. It's
pretty much all we have time for here. But where
did all these songs go, I hear you ask? What
happened to Plum's shows? Well, in short, Plum,
now with Jeeves and Bertie, had become too successful
as the great British novelist, but he'd paved
the way for all the great wordsmiths that followed
him. Oscar Hammerstein, Ira Gershwin, and Alan
Jay Lerner of My Fair Lady, Stephen Sondheim.
I mean the list goes on and on and one only has
to see the glowing tributes which flowed in on
Plum's death a little over 50 years ago to realize
how affectionately Plum was endorsed as one of
the founding fathers of the American musical.
So Plumb's final curtain call was writing the
libretto with Guy Bolton for the 1934 Broadway
production of Cole Porter's Anything Goes, and
then anglicizing the lyrics for the London transfer
in 1935. And the English audience must have just
lapped up. You're the top, you're Mahatma Gandhi.
You're the top, you're Napoleon Brandy. You're
the green and gold and mauve of the old school
tie. You're the brother's western. You're Harry
Preston. You're custard pie. You're the top.
You're the gates of heaven. You're the cream
from the Shire of Devon. I'm just in the way
as the French would say the trop, but if baby
I'm the bottom, you're the top. Bolchirio. I
hope you've enjoyed this little canter through
Plumb's early years on Broadway, where, as he
said himself, all his characters walked off the
stage of the Princess Theatre and into his books.
Well, he's certainly given me a great deal of
joy and adventure throughout my musical career,
for which I shall forever be grateful. And as
the wonderful Stephen Fry said of Woodhouse,
it's enough to be benign. And I really believe
it is. And it's that kindness in his humour which
sings throughout all Plum's literature and inhabits
that world he takes us to. So I feel very confident
in knowing that one day we shall all find our
way to the land where the good songs go. Tinkety
Tonk. And April showers with sunshine in between
With roses blowing and rivers flowing Midrush
is growing green When no one hurries and no one
worries and life runs calm and slow and I wish
someday I could find my way to the land where
the good songs go the land where