Bruz Fletcher Project: Remembering A Gay Voice | ||
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Songs of Bruz Fletcher | ||
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Lyrics
Drunk with Love Hear the song at Radiolulu
I’ve lost all my friends, I’ve lost all my pride I’ve lost all my money, it’s true. I’ve given up everything, really I’ve tried to do the just the best that I knew.
I’d never have thought that this could happen to me but it has and I’m here for the whole world to see.
I'm drunk, drunk with love. My body aches. Just one shot that’s all it takes to make me cry and tell you why I’m drunk, dead drunk with love.
Rotten liquor, mostly gin, every club I stumble in, round and round because I've found she likes me drunk with love.
Every morning I swear that I am going to try something new. Then I feel her lips, her hands, her hips and I don't care what I do.
Someday she'll walk out my door. I guess that's what doors are for; and when I slam it, she'll say, "God, damn it! he’s just drunk with love.”
She's My Most Intimate Friend
She's my most intimate friend. And naturally, I shan’t say a word. It doesn’t make a bit difference to me what the papers have printed and what anyone’s heard. I like her.
Of course I don’t entirely approve of her killing her husband, but never-the-less, he was the logical person for her to kill. And she did do it nicely, we all must confess.
...
And after all I did try to defend her. I said she was drunk when she shot him. Why, she’d been drinking like crazy for days, she was blind. It’s miraculous really that she got him.
And dope. Lord, she has stuck herself with that needle. So many holes front and back, if she had any inner radiance she’d be a living tower of jewels. It’s a shame for the tourists that her soul is so black. I like her.
There isn’t anybody in the world that could get me to say one thing about her. She’s what she is and, of course, she’ll never mend. She’s an intro-ultra-extravert, but so what? She's my most intimate friend.
I know she’s diseased. I know she’s insane. I know she can only be appeased with a lash and champagne.
I know Wellesley fired her for her actions with the girls; and I know what inspired her to poison her mother-- she wanted the pearls.
I know all about the battalion she left too weak to walk; and I know about the stallion but that was only talk...
The Hellish Mrs. Haskell
The hellish Mrs. Haskell, a roguish ritual rascal waited 40 years to give a tea; but when her husband died the city of Tacoma found he’d left a million dollars and removed a vile aroma. Mrs. Haskell had been frowned on by society for her husband’s business had been far from chic. This ostracized old miser had made his wealth in fertilizer and the odor from his stew pots left the upper crust quite weak. In fact in cloistered circles there had been much talk of it this fortune this old man had made entirely out of- bits and pieces of deceases. But Mrs. Haskell they agreed, now worth a million dollars and, of course, now entirely freed of any nasty smell was now well worth cultivation so they greedily decided to accept her invitation so with furs and handkerchiefs heavily scented lest there still be a trace of the recent unlamented they crossed the tracks one very bon soir and arrived at the house by the old abatoir. (* - see Glossary below)
“Ladies,” they were greeted, “take a load off your feet the hellish Mrs. Haskell has the floor, and while my maid serves the tarts to you wretched old - parties I’ll explain what this meeting is for. I ‘m vulgar as vulgar can be, tra la, and I’m rich and I’m raucous as hell. I’ve had lots of fun and there isn’t a one of you women I can’t buy and sell. My jewels are all real, not like yours Mrs. Brown and my teeth are by God not by Parker. I’ve hair on my head not a wig for a crown which reminds me, Mrs. Smith’s should be darker. You’ve called me a bust and I’m quite proud of that for its my bust no rubber affair, look at Sue, the fat lummox, hers has slipped to her stomach, though no man on earth would care. Don’t give me that hauteur, Lady Grey, your own daughter made a fine Junior League and with joy (*) I can point out the dwelling where she got rid of the swelling and your son, Mrs. King, was the boy.”
“Pass the tea, Lizzie Belle, this is charming indeed, It’s delightful of you to have come, you fine feathered old frumps, here’s to the padding on your rumps,” and she tossed all five fingers around. “Oh I’m vulgar and vicious and this is delicious and how do your gardens grow? You’d not have a rose had I not held my nose, I’m the queen of the garden shows. As the dogs and the cats went into the vats, I laughed to myself as I stirred; it did seem so funny to make so much money just selling you bags, bags of - Heard a new one, Mrs Truman? About your young upstairs maid, that colossel old fossil, your husband’s not docile; the upstairs beds are not all that she made. And your trips to New York, Mrs Russell, changed the name of an airline, no less. They put a “T” on the end of TWA. What the pilots must think I can’t guess.”...
My Doctor Hear the song at QMH
...My doctor, that masterful medical miracle man. mmmmm My doctor, he’s got the biggest prrrrrrrractice in town. My doctor, he’ll pick you up the minute you’re down.
Rich and poor, black and white, ring his bell all the day and night. Some folks faint at just the sight of my doctor.
My doctor, his operation's really a joy. My doctor, with all his instruments you can toy.
He’s so big hearted it’s been known to pass he’ll say, “the treat’s on me,”and give you gas. And then you’ll get a piece of ad- vice from my doctor.
Why he’s so sanitary that his place it like a dairy where the milk of human kindness overflows. His business keeps on growing and he makes a splendid showing of his assets which the whole town knows.
Once upon his table never yet has one been able to say “no” to any treatment he’ll suggest. His smile is so contagious and his fee is so outrageous that the size of it assures you of the best.
He’ll stick you with a needle, just like that oh, very quick; which the weakly call the very neatest trick. The size of his prescription quite belies human description He’s just as well for well as well for sick.
....
My doctor, his understanding really is huge- tree-mendous. My doctor, he keeps his nurse as merely a stooge. His work is more first than last rate. The ladies take it at a fast rate; and every man would like to cast ass-pursions on my doctor.
Mrs. Lichtenfall
...The butler was gorgeous: blonde, 24. Mrs. Lichtenfall kittenish and a rounded four-score. Her marital bed had been tiresome they said but she had read and now that she should have been dead she was butler conscious, but aware.
For he was 6 feet 3 and every inch “he” and oh, how she loved to have him seat her. She would sigh with delight as he would carve with all his might and with a fine rump roast would greet her. “More,” she would cry, “it is just to wonderful that I of all women should be thrown this pantry jewel.” And the Swedish Adonis took her like a connoisseur Mrs. Lichtenfall, the fool.
Now with her breakfast tray, Mrs. Lichtenfall would say, “mmmmmmm what lovely fruit, you handsome brute.” And Lathe would reply, in a manner sly, “Cherries for my lady. I hope they suit.”
Things progressed like a hearse, from bad to worse. Her spoons were taken, her pearls and her purse; a series of strange and explicable losses not the least of them being her collection of Georgian Crosses. (* - see Glossary below)
And in the midst of all this troublesome thieving her ample and hopeful bosom kept heaving for she visualized Lathe as a little flower in a hot bed - rather quilty - and she didn’t suspect him, she knew he was guilty. But what was the loss of silver and glass to a dowager who had gone years without any- pass being made at her?
And then one night, “Lathe,” she said, “I think the time has come. Let us drink just you and I while there is something still left to drink from. You’ve taken much and now dear you’ll give unless of course you’re not eager to live. You’re on a spot, I hope you know it, and if you have that big appreciation I think you have, I’ll be more than happy when you show it. In an hour in my bower, take a shower, keep it clean I have had quite enough of this trailer, if there is a feature - let it be seen.”
Lathe was frantic. He the major-domo, (*) he the masterful, the beautiful. Only three knew that he was homo! Oh what, oh god, what was he to give her - that vulgarian of dowager, who now insisted he deliver.
39 steps he counted as he mounted to her room that frilly little chamber oh so soon to be his tomb. He opened the door and faltered, “I can’t,” he said “I’m not...” Mrs. Lichtenfall looked at him, smiled at him, felt of him. Shot.
...
Wide Open Spaces (aka The Prairie)
I’ve been living on the prairie where they tell me that men are men; with my saddle and my boots, Bullock's Wilshire cowboy suits, (* - see Glossary below) gallon hats both five and ten.
I’ve been rounded up aplenty, ask my buddies Casey and Lee. (*) I’ve had grass stuck up my - coat scampering from the wild coyot’. Now I’m back again where I should be, back in the dirt and dust of the city. yadee dah yadah dee
Give me Listerine and flint and you can keep that old mustang bit. Give me the dear old city. Give me the sin, give me the din of the city. ha cha cha ho dee ho I can make that cowboy yell “yippee” just by ringing up a "belle," (*) here in the dear old city.
There's a place not far away called the Chateau Elysee better than old Bar X, (*) where a girl can go to bed and no snake will raise its head though a son will rise and write her lovely checks, she hopes. Give me the noise, joys, boys, of the city. Give me the slickers, lickers, tickers, stock and clock. Give me men quite not so vagrant and most certainly more fragrant. Give me the dear old city.
Oh, you can’t imagine what occurs, when all your clothes are full of burrs and on your feet nasty spurs are stuck. All that they bequeath you is the horse to put beneath you, and a clout when you’re about to wish you luck. You think of luncheon at the Vendome, cocktails at the Ritz (*) and oh, how it comes home to you that this is just the... situation you said that you’d never get into.
...
You see water holes and gopher holes and totem poles and sand; totem poles and gopher holes and water holes and land - and sage. May I never hear the word. Any turkey that is superior loves it stuck in its posterior but apperance not withstanding I am no bird. (*)
I’ve tramped, I‘ve“camped,” ha, I’ve introduced a different brand. (*) The grrreat divide all on my side, means more to me now than just a crack in the land. “...Where the deer and the antelope,” can take it. Give me a penthouse instead of a tenthouse and give me a bathroom. Give me Chanel and to hell with the fellow who smells of the range. Give me beautiful faces and practical graces, and show me the man who likes wide open spaces. Get along, little doggie, get along...
Keep an Eye on His Business
The psychology of a New York lady on how to hold a man. Now Miss Harlow says to hold your man you must give him attention, (* - see Glossary below) you must be meek and sweet and put slippers on his feet; and I for one am here to say with every clean intention that I've a different plan, and I've never lost a man (so she said).
You just keep an eye on his business that’s all a girl has to do. Tell him you know when the market is low and he will worship you. They’ll come a day when you’ll try something new, help him to put the thing through; and you’ll not find a man who won’t give you all he can if his business interests you.
...
Don’t be nasty and don’t be mean. When he says,” no,” don’t make a scene. The reason you can quickly glean by watching his business.
Don’t ever make him feel that he is not as good as you. Don’t ever smile sarcastically at something he can’t do. Why you’ll hold your man forever and it's better for you too if you take a human interest in his business. Now by a human interest, Ladies and Gentlemen, I mean just this: before you married your husband you were perhaps too timid to really inquire into his business; but you were terribly interested weren’t you? And while he didn’t want to say too much about it, he was proud of what he had and anxious to show you his stock and tell you about his seat on the exchange. On your honeymoon or if you didn’t sanctify your trade union and just moved into a duplex apartment as so many of us have, you told him you were terribly eager to keep his business going build it up and make it stand for something in your community.
So, after all, a man’s business is the thing that provides you with a well filled larder. Don’t peck, and don’t pull, don’t squeeze and don’t back him up against the wall. When things go well, let him know that you are as pleased as he. And if some ass-et seems more compatible, remember that your husband has a secretary and she probably knows his true feeling even better than you do and can put her finger on it the minute you turn him away.
A man with a big business and a man with a small business are both trying to make the most of what they own. Share, Ladies, give; don’t expect him to do everything. Put a hand on the tiller yourselves and push forward. (* - see Glossary below)
...
From The Nympho Dipso Egomaniac
...She's a complex, reflex, multi-sexsation. When your done, she's only begun. She's not im- she's just un-moral and she hates a lei that's floral who doesn't - those stinking weeds. She'll never give up, give out or give in; she's the Cinderella of sin now.
The preacher said he'd teach her, but she taught him for a feature of a rainy Sunday afternoon in May. Then she got him so excited that that evening he delighted with sermon on Gomorrah, very gay.
Then a female delegation from a little congregation thought they'd call her up to call her down, and so she met them with a bevy of some sailors from the levy and the sailors laid the ladies very low - and did they love it.
She was never repetitious with her mannerisms vicious, every day some new delicious thing she'd try. Rare and novel moves exotic she'd design with joy neurotic. There was not a vice too low or price to high.
She was good for all divorces, served her sex in 7 courses. Used her whips on every thing but horses' wristsss. Though her family stock was Quakery and she'd never seen a bakery, she was one young girl who really knew her twistsss.
Just a Nympho Dipso Egomaniac...
Oh, For a Week in the Country
...Egged on by our friends - the rats- who at midnight wave goodbye we leave the sane and sanitary saloon and gaily cry:
“Oh, for a week in the country now that spring is here. With beautiful trainers and muscles like that to burnish our fancies and banish our fat. Oh, for a week with the wild things the fresh, the young, the new. No one will hoke us or poke us when we stoop to crocus and no one will care if they do.
On the green sward a 'daisy chain' we’ll make. (* - see Glossary below) Just as a mean store learning more, if we can, about each brother man
Oh, for a week primeval with a bag to sleep in and not on. With a hamper of goodies we’ll scamper thru woodies. Oh, for a week as a faun."
"Wildwood days, wildwood days among the birds and b-girls." (**)
Cause the old red barn is a clip joint now (**) you never see a pig, and you never see a cow.
But the summer stock is blooming so there’s ham sublime and fresh eggs lightly laid a dozen at a time. (*)
If you think the country’s peaceful then you’re “taiched” in the head. You never get to rest and you never get to bed.
The well known farmer’s daughter very different today. She can take the traveling salesman and make the gay hay pay.
...No one cares what anyone does or who, why, what or anything.
...
With bright green tile they’ve lined the swimming hole and the skunks all smell of tweed. The birds all sing songs by Cole and Noel, (*) we were there with the Hammond organ playing the accompaniment they need.
Oh, its really worth a week to go and take a peek at the 'Chic Sales' all in glass (*) all very, very chic and you’ll love the way all the local lads and lasses all take Lalique. (*)
...
From Miss Day
...The show must go on I have found: action, camera, sound. I owe so much to you people out here, which reminds me, send mother my check for this year - my bonus for living in this god-awful waste where the flowers don’t smell and the fruit has no taste; where everyone’s nearly as stupid as I but oh so very few get a break and can die.
GLOSSARY:
Abatoir: slaughter house.
"Any turkey..." and “Where the deer and the antelope, can take it": Double entendres for anal sex. "grrreat divide...," and "man who likes wide open spaces" are more examples of the same.
Barn: Stuart Timmons writes: the Barn was a Hollywood gay bar in the early 30s, so all those jokes about the cocktail bar there the pump oncewas, jugs bands that swing, etc. might mean "the Barn;" from what I've found, this was one of the earliest gay places in Hollywood, likely from his late 20s days. On the other hand, there's strong suggestion this was outside LA -- I thought for a moment it might mean San Simeon. (Marion Davies was "known friend of the boys" so it's likely he'd have been in her circle.)
Belle: is an old term for a cute young gay guy. This makes me think that part of what he is talking about is trade -- which was more common back then, according to Stuart. From a 1937 Howard Greer letter: "...my little villa was thronged with belles. (I'd very carefully asked no women!)"
B-girl: A woman employed by a bar to encourage customers to spend money freely or to act as a companion to male customers.
Bullock’s Wilshire: LA landmark department store built in 1929.
Camp: term used to mean homosexual in the way that "gay" is used today. It also meant silly and over the top as it still does today. Double entendres for "tramped" -slept around, and "introduced a different brand" -bisexuality.
Chateau Elysee: Hollywood’s first residence hotel, home to many stars.
Chic Sale: (pronounced chick) a term widely used in the 20's & 30's meaning an outhouse named after a popular mid western humorist/author/vaudevillian of the same name.
Clip Joint: A restaurant, nightclub, or other business where customers are regularly overcharged. A place of entertainment where high prices are charged for poor entertainment.
Daisy Chain: a link of lovers. Hymie goes with Shirley, Shirley goes with Pearly, etc. It can also be is a line of people joined end to end (or front to back) in sexual union.
Georgian Crosses: Saint Nino (or Nina) is the patron saint of the country of Georgia. She made a cross of vine branches. This gave the Georgian crosses their slightly hanging arms. From a culture with a rich history of metal work, the crosses can be iron, bronze or precious metals.
Junior League: an organization of women committed to promoting voluntarism founded in 1901. Its purpose is exclusively educational and charitable.
Lalique: highend collectible glassware. Georgia adds, double entendre = take a leak / "la" leak.
Lee: possible reference to Lee Riders, a heavyweight jean for cowboys, introduced by the H.D. Lee Company in 1924 and rodeo sponser in the 30’s. Or "Casey" may refer set decorator Casey Roberts who worked with, traveled with, lived with and drew Bruz, a long-time lover. Lee could be friend Gypsy Rose Lee.
Mayo Bros: The Mayo Clinic evolved from the frontier practice father and his two sons, William and Charles Mayo. In 1889 they opened a hospital in Minnesota and developed a revolutionary new group approach to practicing medicine.
Major-domo: butler or head butler.
Miss Harlow says to hold your man: Jean Harlow starred in "Hold Your Man" in 1933.
Noel and Cole: Noel Coward and Cole Porter.
Summer Stock: a theater that generally produces mulitple plays each summer with the same cast. The name combines the seasonal aspect with a tradition of reusing "stock" scenery and costumes. Ham = overacting, Laid an egg = a poorly recieved joke or performance.
Tiller: bar that steers the rudder in a small boat.
The Vendome: was a Hollywood restaurant owned by Hollywood Reporter owner Billy Wilkerson frequented by stars and the smart set according to Stuart.
Wildwood Days: refers the song 'Memories' written by Gus Kahn and Egbert Van Alstyne: “Childhood days, Wildwood days/Among the birds and the bees/You left me alone/With a dream all my own/In my beautiful memories.” | ||
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From Hello Darling
There’s nothing so gay as a stinking café A club where the night lights rally There’s nothing so vicious or costly pernicious As the life we all lead in the alley
For birthdays and weddings and airing our beddings The home is no longer a boon A private pleasure or vex we now make public as sex The salon of today’s the saloon
From The Simple Things of Life
I want a cozy little nest, somewhere in the West Where the best of all the worst will always be I want an expensive extensive excursion To the realms of in, per, and di version * It’s the simple things in life for me
* Invert and Pervert were used by the mainstream to mean homosexual.
From Stuart Timmons' November 2006 article in The Gay and Lesbian Review Worldwide:
A key to Fletcher’s surge as a celebrity was his ability to appeal to multiple audiences by creating characters and exchanges between them that could be read officially as heterosexual “blue humor,” but the girls could easily be boys beneath, especially in an era when gay men often considered each other “sisters” and when drag names abounded. “Get It Up Kitty” presents an attractive waif whose manipulative “faking and taking” resonate to gay men of any era. Fletcher’s narrator rejects Kitty’s offer to be his “sister,” lamenting, “I’ve relatives galore, what I’m looking for’s a – more or less undressed company,” and concluding with the order to “get it up and keep it up Kitty.” Fletcher also waxes lyrical about another type of sister – the gay male pal whose adventures, real or imagined, serve to enliven one’s own life. The subject of “She’s My Most Intimate Friend” (1937) he describes thus: “I know she’s diseased; I know she’s insane. I know she can only be appeased with a lash and champagne.” The above-referenced Nympho-Dipso-Ego Maniac, too is a creature as easily bad gay boy as bad straight girl. “Nobody’s sister, nobody’s mother,” Fletcher trills, “just a gal about town.” This casual cleverness resembles an updated riddle of the Sphinx: A sexually ravenous woman who is sister and mother to no one is no woman at all, but a man in drag. The Maniac seduces a well-meaning preacher who, as a result, delivers “a sermon on Gomorrah, very gay.” Though such references may seem thuddingly obvious today, in the 1930s such language raised just the right eyebrows and flew over most heads.
For those who watch ‘30s movies and wonder about the true leanings of the witty fellows in tuxedos, Bruz Fletcher testifies to an undeniable queer streak within Hollywood’s imagination. In “Wide Open Spaces” (1937) seemingly a satire on Cole Porter’s “Don’t Fence Me In,” he pays homage to sodomy on the rough frontier (“where the deer and the antelope can take it”) then renounces it in favor of refined urban sodomy, extolling “the great divide all on my side”:
Give me men quite not so vagrant and most certainly more fragrant…. Give me a penthouse instead of a tent-house and give me a bathroom. Give me Chanel and to hell with the fellow who smells of the range. Give me beautiful faces and practical graces And show me the man who likes wide-open spaces…
He lampoons the sexual maneuverings of sexuality in high society straights in “The Hellish Mrs. Haskell” and “Mrs. Litchenfall,” who tried to seduce a thieving butler who “only three knew was homo.”
With his sweet singing voice, Fletcher could pull his intonations like taffy, camping, vamping, and, in the argot of his day, dropping hairpins everywhere. Fletcher sighs, shudders, and cackles when performing “My Doctor” (1934), a phallic rhapsody about a personal physician who has “the biggest prrractice in town”; to drive the point home, he adds, “the size of his prescription quite belies human description.” A similar song, “Keep an Eye on his Business,” offers pointers on how to literally hold a man, Fletcher makes it clear that he is talking about more than stocks rising; and every time he says “ladies,” one knows that, depending on the audience, he often meant “gentlemen.”
March 2007 letter to Tyler from a Bruz fan with a perfect memory for lyrics:
Dear Tyler,
Thank you so much for your preservation of Fletcher's work. I was fascinated by your bio of him and your collection of his lyrics. I heard some of his recordings when I was in college in 1953. The one I nearly memorized and still can recite much of it was the "Nympho, Dipso, Egomanic....One portion of this song that I remember after some fifty or so years was a reference to her doctor. As well as I can remember it was something like this: Now her one real brainy acquistion was a second-rate physician, a gentleman more fully described on the other, opposite, or reverse side of this bit of old, flat, black wax. | ||
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