If you were asked, "What is a one-act musical comedy?" you might answer: "Let's see, a one-act musical comedy is—is—. Well, all I remember is a lot of pretty girls who changed their clothes every few minutes, two lovers who sang about the moon, a funny couple and a whole lot of music."
Hazy? Not at all. This is really a clear and reasonably correct definition of the average one-act musical colnedy, for this type of act is usually about fifty per cent. girl, twenty per cent. costumes and scenery, twenty-five per cent. music, and usually, but not always, five per cent. comedy. A musical comedy, therefore, is not music and comedy—it is girls and music. That is why the trade name of this, one of the most pleasing of vaudeville acts, is—a girl-act."
It was the girl-act, perhaps more than any other one style of act, that helped to build vaudeville up to its present high standing. On nearly every bill of the years that are past there was a girl-act. It is a form of entertainment that pleases young and old, and coming in the middle or toward the end of a varied program, it lends a touch of romance and melody without which many vaudeville bills would seem incomplete.
A girl-act is a picture, too. Moreover, it holds a touch of bigness, due to the number of its people, their changing costumes, and the length of time the act holds the stage. With its tuneful haste, its swiftly moving events, its rapid dialogue, its succession of characters, and its ever-changing, colorful pictures, the one-act musical comedy is not so much written as put together.
1. The Musical Elements
Technically known as a girl-act, and booked by managers who wish a "flash"—a big effect—the one-act musical comedy naturally puts its best foot foremost as soon as the curtain rises. And, equally of course, it builds up its effects into a concluding best-foot.
The best-foot of a musical comedy is the ensemble number, in which all the characters—save the principals, sometimes—join in a rousing song. The ensembleismusical comedy, and one-act musical comedy is—let this exaggeration clinch the truth—the ensemble. [1]
[1] Of course, I am discussing the usual musical comedy—the flash of a bill—in pointing out so forcefully the value of the ensemble. There have been some fine one-act musical comedies in which the ensemble was not used at all. Indeed, the musical comedy in one act without any ensemble offers most promising possibilities.
Between the opening and the closing ensembles there is usually one other ensemble number, and sometimes two. And between these three or four ensembles there are usually one or two single numbers—solos by a man or a woman—and a duet, or a trio, or a quartet. These form the musical element of the one-act musical comedy.
2. Scenery and Costumes—The Picture-Elements
While the one-act musical comedy may be played in one set of scenery only, it very often happens that there are two or three different scenes. The act may open in One, as did Joe Hart's "If We Said What We Thought," and then go into Full Stage; or it may open in Full Stage, go into One for a little musical number, and then go back into a different full-stage scene for its finish. It may even be divided into three big scenes—each played in a different set—with two interesting numbers in One, if time permits, or the act be planned to make its appeal by spectacular effects.
Very often, as in Lasky's "A Night on a Houseboat," a big set-piece or a trick scene is used to give an effect of difference, although the entire act is played without dropping a curtain.
To sum up the idea behind the use of musical comedy scenery: it is designed to present an effect of bigness—to make the audience feel they are viewing a "production."
The same thought is behind the continual costume changes which are an integral part of the one-act musical comedy effect. For each ensemble number the girls' costumes are changed. If there are three ensembles there are three costumes, and four changes if there are four ensembles. Needless to say, it sometimes keeps the girls hustling every minute the act is in progress, changing from one costume to another, and taking that one off to don a third or a fourth.
The result in spectacular effect is as though a scene were changed every time an ensemble number is sung. Furthermore, the lights are so contrived as to add to this effect of difference, and the combination of different colors playing over different costumes, moving about in different sets, forms an ever-changing picture delightfully pleasing and big.
Now, as the musical comedy depends for its appeal upon musical volume, numbers of people, sometimes shifting scenery, a kaleidoscopic effect of pretty girls in ever changing costumes and dancing about to catchy music, it does not have to lean upon a fascinating plot or brilliant dialogue, in order to succeed. But of course, as we shall see, a good story and funny dialogue make a good musical comedy better.
3. The Element of Plot
If your memory and my recollection of numerous musical comedies of both the one-act and the longer production of the legitimate stage are to be trusted, a plot is something not vital to the success of a musical comedy. Indeed, it is actually true that many a musical comedy has failed because the emphasis was placed on plot rather than on a skeleton of a story which showed the larger elements to the best advantage. Therefore I present the plot element of the average one-act musical comedy thus:
Whereas the opening and the finish of the playlet are two of its most difficult parts to write, in the musical comedy the beginning and the finish are ready-made to the writer's hand. However anxious he may be to introduce a novel twist of plot at the end, the writer is debarred from doing so, because he must finish with an ensemble number where the appeal is made by numbers of people, costumes, pretty girls and music. At the beginning, however, the writer may be as unconventional as he pleases—providing he does not take too long to bring on his first ensemble, and so disappoint his audience, who are waiting for the music and the girls. Therefore the writer must be content to "tag on" his plot to an opening nearly always— if not always—indicated, and to round his plot out into an almost invariably specified ending.
Between the opening and the closing ensembles the writer has to figure on at least one, and maybe more, ensembles, and a solo and a duet, or a trio and a quartet, or other combinations of these musical elements. These demands restrict his plot still further. He must indeed make his plot so slight that it will lead out from and blend into the overshadowing stage effects. Necessarily, his plot must first serve the demands of scenery and musical numbers— then and only then may his plot be whatever he can make it.
The one important rule for the making of a musical comedy plot is this:The plot of a one-act musical comedy should be considered as made up of story and comedy elements so spaced that the time necessary for setting scenery and changing costumes is neither too long nor too short.
More than one dress rehearsal on the night before opening has been wisely devoted to the precise rehearsing of musical numbers and costume changes only. The dialogue was never even hastily spoken. The entire effort was directed to making the entrances and exits of the chorus and principals on time. "For," the producer cannily reasons, "if they slip up on the dialogue they can fake it—but the slightest wait on a musical number will seem like a mortal wound."
If you recall any of Jesse L. Lasky's famous musical acts, "A Night at the Country Club," "At the Waldorf," "The Love Waltz," "The Song Shop" (these come readily to mind, but for the life of me I cannot recall even one incident of any of their plots), you will realize how important is the correct timing of musical numbers. You will also understand how unimportant to a successful vaudeville musical comedy is its plot.
4. Story Told by Situations, Not by Dialogue
As there is no time for studied character analysis and plot exposition, and little time for dialogue, the story of a musical comedy must be told by broad strokes. When you read "A Persian Garden," selected for full reproduction in the Appendix because it is one of the best examples of a well-balanced musical comedy plot ever seen in vaudeville, you will understand why so careful a constructionist as Edgar Allan Woolf begins his act with the following broad stroke:
The opening chorus has been sung, and instantly an old man's voice is heard off stage. Then all the chorus girls run up and say, "Oh, here comes the old Sheik now."
Again, when Paul wishes to be alone with Rose, Mr. Woolf makes Paul turn to Phil and say, "What did I tell you to do?" Then Phil seizes Mrs. Schuyler and runs her off the stage into the house.
Mr. Woolf's skill built this very broad stroke up into a comedy exit good for a laugh, but you and I have seen other exits where the comedy was lacking and the mechanics stood out even more boldly.
So we see that the same time-restriction which makes a musical comedy plot a skeleton, also makes the exits and entrances and the dialogue and every happening structurally a skeleton so loosely jointed that it would rattle horribly—were it not for the beautiful covering of the larger effects of costumes, scenery and music. Therefore the overshadowing necessity for speed makes admissible in the musical comedy broad strokes that would not be tolerated anywhere else.
It is by willingly granting this necessary license that the audience is permitted to enjoy many single musical numbers and delightful ensembles within the time-limits vaudeville can afford for anyone act. So we see why it is—to return to the bald expository statement with which this division begins—that the writer must consider his story and his comedy scenes only as time-fillers to make the waits between musical numbers pleasantly interesting and laughter-worthwhile.
5. The Comedy Element
Plainly recognizing the quickness with which one character must be brought on the stage and taken off again, and thoroughly appreciating that whatever is done between the musical numbers must be speedily dismissed, let us now see what forms of comedy are possible.
Obviously the comedy cannot depend upon delicate shades. It must be the sort of comedy that is physical rather than mental. Slap-stick comedy would seem to be the surest to succeed.
But while this is true, there is no need to depend entirely on the slap-stick brand of humor. For instance, while we find in "A Persian Garden" one whole comedy scene built on the killing of mosquitoes on Phil's face—certainly the slap-stick brand, even though a hand delivers the slap—we also have the comedy of character in Mrs. Schuyler's speeches.
Comedy rising directly out of and dependent upon plot, however, is not the sort of comedy that usually gives the best results, because plot is nearly always subservient to the musical and picture making elements. But the comedy element of plot may be made to run throughout and can be used with good effect, if it is the kind that is easily dismissed and brought back. This is why so many musical comedies have made use of plots hinged on mistaken identity, Kings and Princesses in masquerade, and wives and husbands anxiously avoiding each other and forever meeting unexpectedly.
Still, plot-comedy may be depended upon for at least one big scene, if the idea is big enough. For instance, the internationally successful "The Naked Truth" possessed a plot that was big enough to carry the musical comedy on plot-interest alone, if that were necessary. Indeed, it might have been used as a good farce without music. The whole act hung on a magic statue in whose presence nothing but the truth could be told, on pain of parting from one's clothes. And the comedy scenes that developed out of it carried a series of twists and turns of real plot-interest that made the musical numbers all the more delightful and the whole act a notable success. The musical element of this delightful vaudeville form makes certain other humorous acts fit into the musical comedy structure. For instance, if the comedy character is left alone on the stage, he can with perfect propriety deliver a short monologue. Or he may do anything else that will win laughter and applause.
And the two-act, even more perfectly than the monologue, fits into the musical comedy. No matter what the two-act is, if it is short and humorous, it may be used for one of the ornamental time-gap stoppers. A quarrel scene may be just what is needed to fill out and advance the plot. But more often, the flirtation two-act is the form that best suits, for the nature of the musical comedy seems best expressed by love and its romantic moments. Indeed, the flirtation two-act is often a little musical comedy in itself, minus a background of girls. As an example, take Louis Weslyn's very successful two-act, "After the Shower." [1] You can easily imagine all the other girls in the camping party appearing, to act as the chorus. Then suppply a talkative chaperon, and you have only to add her comical husband to produce a fine musical comedy offering.
[1] See the Appendix.
So we see once more that the one-act musical comedy is the result of assembling, rather than of writing. There is no need of adding even one instruction paragraph here.
Before we take up the one or two hints on writing that would seem to present themselves in helpful guise, you should read Edgar Allan Woolf's "A Persian Garden." Turn to the Appendix and this act will show you clearly how the writer welds these different vaudeville forms into one perfect whole.
Unless you have a definite order to write a one-act musical comedy, it would seem, from the comparatively small part the writer has in the final effect, that the novice had better not write the musical comedy at all. Although this would appear to be clear from the discussion of the elements in the preceding chapter, I want to make it even more emphatic by saying that more than once I have written a musical comedy act for the "small time" in a few hours—and have then spent weeks dovetailing it to fit the musical numbers introduced and whipping the whole act into the aspect of a "production."
But there is one time when even the amateur may write a musical comedy—when he has a great idea. But I do not mean the average musical comedy idea—I mean such an idea as that which made "The Naked Truth" so successful. And in the hope that you may possess such an idea, I offer a few hints that may prove helpful in casting your idea into smooth musical comedy form.
As I have already discussed plot in the chapters devoted to the playlet, and have taken up the structure of the monologue and the two-act in the chapters on those forms, there is now no need for considering "writing" at all save for a single hint. Yet even this one suggestion deals less with the formal "writing" element than with the "feel" of the material. It is stated rather humorously by Thomas J. Gray, who has written many successful one-act musical comedies, varying in style from "Gus Edwards' School Boys and Girls" to "The Vaudeville Revue of 1915"—a musical travesty on prevailing ideas—and the books of a few long musical successes, from comedy scenes in "Watch your Step" to "Ned Wayburn's Town Topics," that "Musical comedy, from a vaudeville standpoint, and a 'Broadway' or two-dollar standpoint, are two different things. A writer has to treat them in entirely different ways, as a doctor would two different patients suffering from the same ailment. In vaudeville an author has to remember that nearly everyone in the audience has some one particular favorite on the bill—you have to write something funny enough to: please the admirers of the acrobat, the magician, the dancer, the dramatic artist, the rag-time singer and the moving pictures. But in 'Broadway' musical comedy it is easier to please the audiences because they usually know what the show is about before they buy their tickets, and they know what to expect. That's why you can tell 'vaudeville stuff' in a 'Broadway' show—it's the lines the audience laugh at.
"To put it in a different way, let me say that while in two-dollar musical comedy you can get by with 'smart lines' and snickers, in vaudeville musical comedy you have to go deeper than the lip-laughter. You must waken the laughter that lies deep down and rises in appreciative roars. It is in ability to create situations that will produce this type of laughter that the one-act musical comedy writer's success lies."
1. An Average One-Act Musical Comedy Recipe
While it is not absolutely necessary to open a musical comedy with an ensemble number, many fine acts do so open. And the ensemble finish seems to be the rule. Therefore let us assume that you wish to form your musical comedy on this usual style. As your act should run anywhere from thirty to fifty minutes, and as your opening number will consume scarcely two minutes, and your closing ensemble perhaps three, you have—on a thirty-five minute basis— thirty minutes in which to bring in your third ensemble, your other musical numbers and your dialogue.
The third ensemble—probably a chorus number, with the tenor or the ingenue, or both, working in front of the chorus—will consume anywhere from five to seven minutes. Then your solo will take about three minutes. And if you have a duet or a trio, count four minutes more. So you have about eighteen minutes for your plot and comedy—including specialties.
While these time hints are obviously not exact, they are suggestive of the fact that you should time everything which enters into your act. And having timed your musical elements by some such rough standard as this—or, better still, by slowly reading your lyrics as though you were singing—you should set down for your own guidance a schedule that will look something like this:
Opening ensemble…………. 2 minutes
DialogueIntroducing Plot,First Comedy Scenes……. 4 "
Solo……………………. 3 "
DialogueComedy and Specialties…. 5 "
Ensemble number………….. 5 "
Dialogue Specialties, Comedy. Plot climax—perhaps a "big" love scene, leading into………….. 7 "
Duet……………………. 4 "
Dialogue Plot Solution—the final arrangement of characters…………. 2 "
Closing ensemble…………. 3 " ———- 35 "
Of course this imaginary schedule is not the only schedule that can be used; also bear firmly in mind that you may make any arrangement of your elements that you desire, within the musical comedy form. Let me repeat what I am never tired of saying, that a rigid adherence to any existing form of vaudeville act is as likely to be disastrous as a too wild desire to be original. Be as unconventional as you can be within the necessary conventional limits. This is the way to success.
You have your big idea, and you have the safe, conventional ensemble opening, or a semi-ensemble novelty opening. Also you have a solo number for the tenor or the ingenue, with the chorus working behind them. Finally you have your ensemble ending. Now, within these boundaries, arrange your solo and duet—or dispense with them, as you feel best fits your plot and your comedy. Develop your story by comedy situations—don't depend upon lines. Place your big scene in the last big dialogue space—the seven minutes of the foregoing schedule—and then bring your act to an end with a great big musical finish.
2. Timing the Costume Changes
Although the schedule given allows plenty of time for costume changes, you must not consider your schedule as a ready-made formula. Read it and learn the lesson it points out—then cast it aside. Test every minute of your act by the test of time. Be especially careful to give your chorus and your principal characters time to make costume changes.
In gauging the minutes these changes will take, time yourself in making actual changes of clothing. Remember that you must allow one minute to get to the dressing room and return to the stage. But do not make the mistake of supposing that the first test you make in changing your own clothes will be the actual time it will take experienced dressers to change. You yourself can cut down your time record by practice—and your clothes are not equipped with time-saving fasteners. Furthermore, it often happens that the most complicated dress is worn in the first scene and a very quick change is prepared for by under-dressing—that is, wearing some of the garments of the next change under the pretentious over-garments of the preceding scene. These are merely stripped off and the person is ready dressed to go back on the stage in half a minute.
But precise exactness in costume changes need not worry you very much. If you have been reasonably exact, the producer—upon whom the costume changes and the costumes themselves depend—will add a minute of dialogue here or take away a minute there, to make the act run as it should.
3. The Production Song
Certain songs lend themselves more readily to effective staging, and these are called "production songs." For instance: "Alexander's Ragtime Band" could be—and often was—put on with a real band. The principal character could sing the first verse and the chorus alone. Then the chorus girls could come out in regimentals, each one "playing" some instrument—the music faked by the orchestra or produced by "zobos"—and when they were all on the stage, the chorus could be played again with rousing effect. During the second verse, sung as a solo, the girls could act out the lines. Then with the repetitioin of the chorus, they could produce funny characteristic effects on the instruments. And then they could all exit—waiting for the audience to bring them back for the novelties the audience would expect to be introduced in an encore.
This is often the way a "popular song" is "plugged" in cabarets, musical comedies, burlesque, and in vaudeville. It is made so attractive that it is repeated again and again—and so drummed into the ears of the audience that they go out whistling it. Ned Wayburn demonstrated this in his vaudeville act "Staging an Act." He took a commonplace melody and built it up into a production—then the audience liked it. George Cohan did precisely the same thing in his "Hello, Broadway"; taking a silly lyric and a melody, he told the audience he was going to make 'em like it; and he did—by "producing it."
But not every "popular song" lends itself to production treatment. For instance, how would you go about producing "When it Strikes Home"? How would you stage "When I Lost You"? Or—to show you that serious songs are not the only ones that may not be producible— how would you put on "Oh, How that German Could Love"? Of course you could bring the chorus on in couples and have them sing such a sentimental song to each other—but that would not, in the fullest sense, be producing it.
Just as not every "popular song" can be produced, so not every production song can be made popular. You have never whistled that song produced in "Staging an Act," nor have you ever whistled Cohan's song from "Hello, Broadway." If they ever had any names I have forgotten them, but the audience liked them immensely at the time.
As many production songs are good only for stage purposes, and therefore are not a source of much financial profit to their writers, there is no need for me to describe their special differences and the way to go about writing them. Furthermore, their elements are precisely the same as those of any other song—with the exception that each chorus is fitted with different catch lines in the place of the regular punch lines, and there may be any number of different verses. [1] Now having your "big" idea, and having built it up with your musical elements carefully spaced to allow for costume changes, perhaps having made your comedy rise out of the monologue and the two-act to good plot advantage, and having developed your story to its climax in the last part of your act, you assemble all your people, join the loose plot ends and bring your musical comedy to a close with a rousing ensemble finish.
[1] See Chapter XXII.
The word "tab" is vaudeville's way of saying "tabloid," or condensed version. While vaudeville is in itself a series of tabloid entertainments, "tab" is used to identify the form of a musical comedy act which may run longer than the average one-act musical comedy. Although a tabloid is almost invariably in one act, it is hardly ever in only one scene. There are usually several different sets used, and the uninterrupted forty-five minutes, or even more than an hour, are designed to give a greater effect of bigness to the production.
But the greatest difference between the one-act musical comedy and the burlesque tab does not lie in playing-time, nor bigness of effect. While a one-act musical comedy is usually intended to be made up of carefully joined and new humorous situations, the burlesque tab—you will recall the definition of burlesque—depends upon older and more crude humor.
James Madison, whose "My Old Kentucky Home" [1] has been chosen as showing clearly the elements peculiar to the burlesque tab, describes the difference in this way:
"Burlesque does not depend for success upon smoothly joined plot, musical numbers or pictorial effects. Neither does it depend upon lines. Making its appeal particularly to those who like their humor of the elemental kind, the burlesque tab often uses slap-stick comedy methods. Frankly acknowledging this, vaudeville burlesque nevertheless makes a clean appeal. It does not countenance either word or gesture that could offend. Since its purpose is to raise uproarious laughter, it does not take time to smooth the changes from one comedy bit to the next, but one bit follows another swiftly, with the frankly avowed purpose to amuse, and to amuse for the moment only. Finally, the burlesque tab comes to an end swiftly: it has made use of a plot merely for the purpose of stringing on comedy bits, and having come toward the close, it boldly states that fact, as it were, by a swift rearrangement of characters—and then ends."
[1] See the Appendix
While the burlesque tab nearly always opens with an ensemble number, and almost invariably ends with an ensemble, there may be more solos, duets, trios, quartets and ensembles than are used by the musical comedy—if the act is designed to run for a longer time. But as its appeal is made by humor rather than by musical or pictorial effect, the burlesque tab places the emphasis on the humor. It does this by giving more time to comedy and by making its comedy more elemental, more uproarious.
In a burlesque tab, the comedy bits are never barred by age—providing they are sure-fire—and therefore they are sometimes reminiscent. [2] The effort to give them freshness and newness is to relate the happenings to different characters, and to introduce the bits in novel ways.
[2] Mr. Madison informed me that the "statuary bit" in "My Old Kentucky Home" is one of the oldest "bits" in the show business. It is even older than Weber and Field's first use of it a generation ago.
Therefore, it would seem obvious that the writing of the burlesque tab is not "writing" at all. It is stage managing. And as the comedy bits are in many cases parts of the history of the stage—written down in the memories of actor and producer—the novice had better not devote his thoughts to writing burlesque. However, if he can produce bits of new business that will be sure-fire, he may find the burlesque tab for him the most profitable of all opportunities the vaudeville stage has to offer. That, however, is a rare condition for the beginner.
The easiest thing in the world is to write a song; the most difficult, to write a song that will be popular. I do not mean a "popular" song, but a song everybody will whistle—for few songs written for the populace really become songs of the people. The difference between poverty and opulence in the business of song-writing is—whistling.
What is the difference, then, between the man who can "write songs" and the one who can write songs everybody will whistle? Wherein lies the magic? Here is the difference, unexplained it is true, but at least clearly stated:
There are hundreds of men and women all over the land who can rhyme with facility. Anyone of them can take almost any idea you suggest off hand, and on the instant sing you a song that plays up that idea. These persons are the modern incarnations of the old time minstrels who wandered over the land and sang extemporaneous ditties in praise of their host for their dinners. But, remarkable as the gift is, many of these modern minstrels cannot for the life of them put into their songs that something which makes their hearers whistle it long after they leave. The whistle maker is the one who can rhyme with perhaps no more ease than these others, but into his song he is able to instil the magic—sometimes.
But what is this magic that makes of song-writing a mystery that even the genius cannot unerringly solve each time he tries? Not for one moment would I have you believe that I can solve the mystery for you. If I could, I should not be writing this chapter—I should be writing a song that could not fail of the greatest sale in history. Still, with the kind assistance of the gentlemen in the profession—as the prestidigitator used to say in the old town hall when he began his entertainment—I may be able to lift the outer veils of the unknown, and you may be able I to face the problem with clearer-seeing eyes.
I called for help first from Irving Berlin, without doubt the most successful popular song writer this country has ever known; then the assistance of phenomenally successful writers of such diverse genius as Charles K. Harris, L. Wolfe Gilbert, Ballard MacDonald, Joe McCarthy, Stanley Murphy, and Anatol Friedland, was asked and freely given. It is from their observations, as well as from my own, that the following elements of the art of whistle-making have been gathered.
Although we are interested only in the lyrics of the popular song, we must first consider the music, for the lyric writer is very often required to write words to music that has already been written. Therefore he must know the musical elements of his problem.
I. Music and Words are Inseparable
Think of any popular song-hit, and while you are recollecting just "how it goes," stand back from yourself and watch your mental processes. The words of the title first pop into your mind, do they not? Then do not you find yourself whistling that part of the music fitted to those words? Conversely, if the music comes into your mind first, the words seem to sing themselves. Now see if the bars of music you remember and whistle first are not the notes fitted to the title.
If these observations are correct, we have not only proof of the inseparable quality of the words and the music of a popular song, but also evidence to which you can personally testify regarding the foundations of lyric-writing.
But first let us hear what Berlin has to say about the inseparable quality of words and music: "The song writer who writes both words and music, has the advantage over the lyric writer who must fit his words to somebody else's music and the composer who must make his music fit someone else's words. Latitude—the mother of novelty—is denied them, and in consequence both lyrics and melody suffer. Since I write both words and music, I can compose them together and make them fit. I sacrifice one for the other. If I have a melody I want to use, I plug away at the lyrics until I make them fit the best parts of my music, and vice versa. "For instance: 'In My Harem' first came to me from the humorous possibility that the Greeks, who at that time were fighting with the Turks, might be the cause of a lot of harems running loose in Turkey. I tried to fit that phrase to a melody, but I couldn't. At last I got a melody; something that sounded catchy; a simple 'dum-te-de-dum.' I had it,
In my harem,In my harem.
"With 'Ragtime Violin' I had the phrase and no music. I got a few bars to fit, then the melody made a six-syllable and then a five-syllable passage necessary. I had it:
Fiddle up! Fiddle up!On your violin.
"The lyric of a song must sing the music and the music sing the words."
Charles K. Harris, who wrote the great popular success, "After the Ball," so far back in the early days of the popular song that some consider this song the foundation of the present business, has followed it up with innumerable successes. Mr. Harris has this to, say on the same point:
"I believe it is impossible to collaborate with anyone in writing a popular song. I don't believe one man can write the words and another the music. A man can't put his heart in another's lyrics or music. To set a musical note for each word of a song is not all—the note must fit the word." But, while Mr. Harris's words should be considered as the expression of an authority, there is also considerable evidence that points the other way. Just to mention a few of the many partnerships which have resulted in numerous successes, there are Williams and Van Alstyne, who followed "Under the Shade of the Old Apple Tree" with a series of hits; Ballard MacDonald and Harry Carroll, who made "On the Trail of the Lonesome Pine" merely the first of a remarkably successful brotherhood; Harry Von Tilzer with his ever varying collaborators, and L. Wolfe Gilbert, who wrote "Robert E. Lee," "Hitchy Koo," and other hits, with Louis Muir, and then collaborated with Anatol Friedland and others in producing still other successes. These few examples out of many which might be quoted, show that two persons can collaborate in writing song-hits, but, in the main, as Mr. Berlin and Mr. Harris say, there are decided advantages when words and music can be done together by one writer.
What is absolutely essential to the writing of songs which will make the nation whistle, may be stated in this principle:
The words and music of a song must fit each other so perfectly that the thought of one is inseparable from the other.
And now before we turn to the essential elements of the words, to which I shall devote the next chapter, permit me to name a few of the elements of popular music that may be helpful to many modern minstrels to know. In fact, these are all the suggestions on the writing of popular music that I have been able to glean from many years of curious inquiry. I believe they represent practically, if not quite, all the hints that can be given on this subject. [1]
[1] Because of the obvious impossibility of adequately discussing syncopation and kindred purely technical elements, ragtime has not been particularly pointed out. The elements here given are those that apply to ragtime as well as to nearly every other sort of popular song.
2. One Octave is the Popular Song Range
The popular song is introduced to the public by vaudeville performers, cabaret singers, and demonstrators, whose voices have not a wide range. Even some of the most successful vaudeville stars have not extraordinary voices. Usually the vaudeville performer cannot compass a range of much more than an octave. The cabaret singer who has command of more than seven notes is rare, and the demonstrator in the department store and the five-and ten-cent store usually has a voice little better than the person who purchases. Therefore the composer of a song is restricted to the range of one octave. Sometimes, it is true, a song is written in "one-one," or even "one-two" (one or two notes more than an octave), but even such "rangey" songs make use of these notes only in the verses and confine the chorus to a single octave. But in the end, the necessity for the composer's writing his song within one octave to make an effective offering for his introducing singers, works out to his advantage. The average voice of an octave range is that possessed by those who buy popular songs to sing at home.
Now here is a helpful hint and another bit of evidence from the music angle, to emphasize the necessity for the perfect fitting of words and music. Let me state it as Berlin did, in an article written for the Green Book Magazine:
3. Melodies Should Go Up on Open Vowels
"Melodies should go up on open vowels in the lyrics—A, I or O. E is half open and U is closed. Going up on a closed vowel makes enunciation difficult."
Experience is the only thing warranted to convince beyond doubt, so test this rule on your own piano. Then take down the most popular songs you have in your collection and measure them by it.
4. Put "Punch" in Music Wherever Possible
As we shall see later, another definition of the popular song-hit might be, "A song with a punch in the lyrics and a punch in the music." Berlin expressed the application to the problem of melody by the following:
"In the 'International Rag,' for example, I got my punch by means of my melody. I used the triplet, the freak, from out of my bag of tricks:
Raggedy melody,Full of originality.
5. Punch is Sometimes Secured by Trick of Repetition
Anatol Friedland, who composed the music of "My Persian Rose," and L. Wolfe Gilbert's "My Little Dream Girl," in discussing this question, said:
"Ten notes may be the secret of a popular song success. If I can make my listeners remember ten notes of a song that's all I ask. Whenever they hear these ten notes played they'll say, 'That's. . .,' and straightway they'll begin to whistle it. This is the music punch, and it depends on merit alone. Now here's one angle of the musical punch trick:
"To make a punch more punchy still, we repeat it at least once, and sometimes oftener, in a song. You may start your chorus with it, repeat it in the middle, or repeat it at the end. Rarely is it repeated in the verse. High-brow composers call it the theme. For the popular song composer, it's the punch. Clever repetition that makes the strain return with delightful satisfaction, is one of the tricks of the trade—as well as of the art of popular music."
6. A Musical Theme Might be Practically the Entire Song
If what Friedland says is so, and you may turn to your well-thumbed pile of music for confirmation, the theme or the punch of popular music may prove the entire song. I mean, that in its final sales analysis, the magic bars are what count. To carry this logical examination still further, it is possible for a popular song to be little more than theme. As a musical theme is the underlying melody out of which the variations are formed, it is possible to repeat the theme so often that the entire song is little more than clever repetitions.
One of the most common methods is to underlay a melody with what E. M. Wickes, [1] one of the keenest popular song critics of today, calls the "internal vamp." This is the keeping of a melody so closely within its possible octave that the variations play around a very few notes. Try on your piano this combination—D, E flat, and E natural, or F natural, with varying tempos, and you will recognize many beginnings of different famous songs they represent. Either the verse of these songs starts off with this combination, or the chorus takes these notes for its beginning. "Sweet Adeline" and "On the Banks of the Wabash" are but two of the many famous songs built on this foundation. Of course, there are other combinations. These few combinations taken together might be considered as the popular idea of "easy music."
[1] Mr. Wickes has been contributing to The Writer's Monthly a series of valuable papers under the general caption, "Helps for Song Writers."
And now it is through the consideration of the importance of the variations of the theme that we may come to an understanding of what, for the want of a better phrase, I shall call unexpected punches.
7. Punches not Suggested by the Theme
The impossibility of adequately pointing out by words the specific examples of what I mean in certain songs makes it necessary for me to direct you back to your own piano. Run over a group of your favorites and see how many musical punches you can find that are not due directly to the theme. Pick out the catchy variations in a dozen songs—you may chance on one or two where the biggest punch is not in the theme. Of course you may trace it all back to the theme, but nevertheless it still stands out a distinct punch in the variation. If you can add this punch to your theme-punch, your song success is assured.
8. Use of Themes or Punches of Other Songs
When Sol P. Levy, the composer of "Memories," the "Dolly Dip Dances," and a score of better-class melodies, shared my office, one of our sources of amusement was seeking the original themes from which the popular songs were made. As Mr. Levy was arranging songs for nearly all the big publishers, we had plenty of material with which to play our favorite indoor sport. It was a rare song, indeed, whose musical parent we could not ferret out. Nearly all the successful popular songs frankly owned themes that were favorites of other days—some were favorites long "before the war."
Berlin's use of "Way down upon the Swanee River"—"played in ragtime"—for a musical punch in "Alexander's Ragtime Band," was not the first free use of a theme of an old favorite for a punch, but it was one of the first honestly frank uses. The way he took Mendelssohn's "Spring Song" and worked it into as daring a "rag" as he could achieve, is perhaps the most delightfully impudent, "here-see-what-I-can-do," spontaneously and honestly successful "lift" ever perpetrated. Berlin has "ragged" some of the most perfect themes of grand opera with wonderful success, but not always so openly. And other composers have done the same thing.
The usual method is to take some theme that is filled with memories and make it over into a theme that is just enough like the familiar theme to be haunting. This is the one secret or trick of the popular song trade that has been productive of more money than perhaps any other.
This lifting of themes is not plagiarism in the strict sense in which a solemn court of art-independence would judge it. Of course it is well within that federal law which makes the copyrightable part of any piece of music as wide open as a barn door, for you know you can with "legal honesty" steal the heart of any song, if you are "clever" enough, and want it. The average popular song writer who makes free use of another composer's melody, doubtless would defend his act with the argument that he is not writing "serious music," only melodies for the passing hour and therefore that he ought to be permitted the artistic license of weaving into his songs themes that are a part of the melodic life of the day. [1] But, although some song writers contend for the right of free use, they are usually the first to cry "stop thief" when another composer does the same thing to them. However, dismissing the ethics of this matter, right here there lies a warning, not of art or of law, but for your own success.
[1] An interesting article discussing the harm such tactics have done the popular song business is to be found over the signature of Will Rossiter in the New York Star for March 1, 1913.
Never lift a theme of another popular song. Never use a lifted theme of any song—unless you can improve on it. And even then never try to hide a theme in your melody as your own—follow Mr. Berlin's method, if you can, and weave it frankly into your music.
Now, to sum up all that has been said on the music of the popular song: While it is an advantage for one man to write both the words and music of a song, it is not absolutely essential; what is essential is that the words and music fit each other so perfectly that the thought of one is inseparable from the other. One octave is the range in which popular music should be written. Melodies should go up on open vowels in the lyrics. A "punch" should be put in the music wherever possible. Punch is sometimes secured by the trick of repetition in the chorus, as well as at the beginning and end. The theme may be and usually is the punch, but in the variations there may be punches not suggested by the theme. Themes, semi-classical, or even operatic, or punches of old favorites may be used—but not those of other popular songs—and then it is best to use them frankly.
To state all this in one concise sentence permit me to hazard the following:
The music-magic of the popular song lies in a catchy theme stated at, or close to, the very beginning, led into clever variations that round back at least once and maybe twice into the original theme, and finishing with the theme—which was a punch of intrinsic merit, made stronger by a repetition that makes it positively haunting.
One question about song-writing is often asked but will never be settled: Which is more important, the music or the words? Among the publishers with whom I have discussed this question is Louis Bernstein, of Shapiro, Bernstein & Co. He summed up what all the other publishers and song-writers I have known have said:
"A great melody may carry a poor lyric to success, and a great lyric may carry a poor melody; but for a song to become widely popular you must have both a great melody and a great lyric."
This is but another way of stating the fact noted in the preceding chapter, that the words and music of a popular song-hit are indivisible. And yet Mr. Bernstein gives an authoritative reply to the question with which this chapter opens.
Charles K. Harris put it in another way. Referring particularly to the ballad—and to the particular style of ballad that has made him famous—he said:
"The way to the whistling lips is always through the heart. Reach the heart through your lyrics, and the lips will whistle the emotion via the melody. When the heart has not been touched by the lyric, the lips will prove rebellious. They may, indeed, whistle the melody once, even twice, but it takes more than that to make a song truly popular. A catchy tune is not sufficient in itself. It goes far, it is true, but it will not go the entire distance of popularity, or even two-thirds of the distance, unless it is accompanied by a catchy lyric."
You may read into this a leaning toward the lyric, if you like. And it might be better if you did, for you would then realize that your part of a popular song must be as "great" as you can make it. But whatever may be your opinion, it does not alter the fact that both Mr. Harris and Mr. Bernstein have pointed out—catchy words are needed as much as catchy melody. And permit me to say very humbly that personally I have no leaning toward the musical one of the twins: my reason for discussing first the musical elements, is that a lyric writer often is called on to fit words to music, and because an understanding of the musical elements forms a fine foundation for an easy, and therefore a quick, dissection of the popular song—that is all.
In its original meaning, a lyric is verse designed to be sung to the accompaniment of music. Nowadays lyrical poetry is verse in which the poet's personal emotions are strongly shown. Popular song-lyrics especially are not only designed to be sung, but are verses that show a great deal of emotion—any kind of emotion. But remember this point: Whatever and how great soever may be the emotion striving for expression, the words designed to convey it do not become lyrics until the emotion isshown, and shown in a sort of verse which we shall presently examine. If youconveyemotion, your words may be worth thousands of dollars. If you fail to convey it, they will be only a sad joke.
As illustrations of this vital point, and to serve as examples for the examination of the elements of the popular lyric, read the words of the following famous songs; and while you are reading them you will see vividly how music completes the lyric. Stripped of its music, a popular song-lyric is often about as attractive as an ancient actress after she has taken off all the make-up that in the setting of the stage made her look like a girl. Words with music become magically one, the moving expression of the emotion of their day.
All the popular song lyrics quoted in this volume are copyright property and are used by special permission of the publishers, in each instance personally granted to the author of this book. Many of the lyrics have never before been printed without their music. Warning:—Republication in any form by anyone whosoever will meet with civil and criminal prosecution by the publishers under the copyright law.
Words and Music by IRVING BERLIN
Oh, ma honey, oh, ma honey,Better hurry and let's meander,Ain't you goin', ain't you goin,'To the leader man, ragged meter man,Oh, ma honey, oh, ma honey,Let me take you to Alexander's grand stand, brassband,Ain't you comin' along?
Come on and hear, come on and hearAlexander's ragtime band,Come on and hear, come on and hear,It's the best band in the land,They can play a bugle call like you never heardbefore,So natural that you want to go to war;That's just the bestest band what am, honey lamb,Come on along, come on along,Let me take you by the hand,Up to the man, up to the man, who's the leader ofthe band,And if you care to hear the Swanee River played inragtime,Come on and hear, come on and hear Alexander'sragtime Band.
Oh, ma honey, oh, ma honey,There's a fiddle with notes that screeches,Like a chicken, like a chicken,And the clarinet is a colored pet,Come and listen, come and listen,To a classical band what's peaches, come now,somehow,Better hurry along.
Words by Music byBALLARD MACDONALD HARRY CARROLL
On a mountain in Virginia stands a lonesome pine,Just below is the cabin home, of a little girl of mine,Her name is June,And very very soon,She'll belong to me,For I know she's waiting there for me,'Neath that old pine tree.
In the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia,On the trail of the lonesome pine,In the pale moonshine our hearts entwine,Where she carved her name and I carved mine,Oh, June, like the mountains I'm blue,Like the pine, I am lonesome for you,In the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia,On the trail of the lonesome pine.I can hear the tinkling water-fall far among the hills,Bluebirds sing each so merrily, to his mate rapturethrills,They seem to say, Your June is lonesome too.Longing fills her eyes,She is waiting for you patiently,Where the pine tree sighs.
Lyric by Music byARTHUR J. LAMB ALFRED SOLMAN
Just a glance in your eyes, my bonnie Kate,Then over the sea go I,While the sea-gulls circle around the ship,And the billowy waves roll high.And over the sea and away, my Kate,Afar to the distant West;But ever and ever a thought I'll have,For the lassie who loves me best.
When the bell in the lighthouse rings ding, dong,When it clangs with its warning loud and long,Then a sailor will think of his sweetheart so true,And long for the day he'll come back to you;And his love will be told in the bell's brave songWhen the bell in the lighthouse rings ding, dong,Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!When the bell in the lighthouse ringsDing! Dong! Ding! Dong!
For a day is to come, my bonnie Kate,When joy in our hearts shall reignAnd we'll laugh to think of the dangers past,When you rest in my arms again.For back to your heart I will sail, my Kate,With love that is staunch and true;In storm or in calm there's a star of hope,That's always to shine for you.
Words by Music byIRVING BERLIN TED SNYDER
Everyone talk-a how they make-a da loveCall-a da sweet name like-a da dove,It makes me sick when they start in to speak-aBout the moon way up above.What's-a da use to have-a big-a da moon?What's the use to call-a da doveIf he no like-a she, and she no like-a he,The moon can't make them love. But,
Sweet Italian love,Nice Italian love,
You don't need the moon-a-light your love to tell her,In da house or on da roof or in da cellar,Dat's Italian love,Sweet Italian love;When you kiss-a your pet,And it's-a like-a spagette,Dat's Italian love.
Ev'ryone say they like da moon-a da light,There's one-a man up in da moon all-a right,But he no tell-a that some other nice fellerWas-a kiss your gal last night.Maybe you give your gal da wedding-a ring,Maybe you marry, like-a meMaybe you love your wife, maybe for all your life,But dat's only maybe. But,
Sweet Italian love,Nice Italian love,When you squeeze your gal and she no say, "Pleasestop-a!"When you got dat twenty kids what call you "Papa!"Dat's Italian love,Sweet Italian love;When you kiss one-a time,And it's-a feel like-a mine,Dat's Italian love!
Words by Music byIRVING BERLIN TED SNYDER
Once I got stuck on a sweet little German,And oh what a German was she,The best what was walking, well, what's the use talking,Was just made to order for me.So lovely and witty; more yet, she was pretty,You don't know until you have tried.She had such a figure, it couldn't be bigger,And there was some one yet beside.
Oh how that German could love,With a feeling that came from the heart,She called me her honey, her angel, her money,She pushed every word out so smart.She spoke like a speaker, and oh what a speech,Like no other speaker could speak;Ach my, what a German when she kissed her Herman,It stayed on my cheek for a week.
This girl I could squeeze, and it never would hurt,For that lady knew how to squeeze;Her loving was killing, more yet, she was willing,You never would have to say please.I just couldn't stop her, for dinner and supper,Some dishes and hugs was the food;When she wasn't nice it was more better twice;When she's bad she was better than good.
Sometimes we'd love for a week at a time,And it only would seem like a day;How well I remember, one night in December,I felt like the middle of May.I'll bet all I'm worth, that when she came on earth,All the angels went out on parade;No other one turned up, I think that they burned upThe pattern from which she was made.
Words and Music by CHARLES K. HARRIS
You sit at home and calmly read your paper,Which tells of thousands fighting day by day,Of homeless babes and girls who've lost their sweet-hearts,But to your mind it all seems far away.
When it strikes home, gone is the laughter,When it strikes home your heart's forlorn,When it strikes home the tears fall faster,For those dear ones who've passed and gone.And when you hear of brave boys dying,You may not care, they're not your own;But just suppose you lost your loved ones,That is the time when it strikes home.Out on the street, a newsboy crying "Extra,"Another ship has gone down, they say;'Tis then you kiss your wife and little daughter,Give heartfelt thanks that they are safe today.
Words by Music byL. WOLFE GILBERT ANATOL FRIEDLAND
The night time, the night time is calling me,It's dream-time, sweet dream-time, for you and me.I'm longing, I'm longing to close my eyes,For there a sweet vision lies.
My little dream girl,You pretty dream girl,Sometimes I seem, girl, to own your heart.Each night you haunt me,By day you taunt me,I want you, I want you, I need you so.Don't let me waken,Learn I'm mistaken,Find my faith shaken, in you, sweetheart.I'd sigh for,I'd cry for, sweet dreams forever,My little dream girl, good-night.
While shadows are creeping through darkest night,In dream-land, sweet dream-land, there's your love-light.It's beaming, it's gleaming, and all for me,Your vision I long to see.
Lyric by Music byBRETT PAGE SOL. P. LEVY
Oh, those happy days, when first we met, before yousaid good-bye,You soon forgot, I can't forget, no matter how I try,Those happy hours like incense burn,They're all that's left for me,You took my heart and in returnYou gave a memory.
Oh, memories, dear memories, of days I can't forget,Dear memories, sweet memories, my eyes with tears grow wet,For like a rose that loves the sun,And left to die when day is done,I gave my all, the heart you won,Sweetheart, I can't forget.
In all my dreams I dream of you, your arms enfoldme, dear.Your tender voice makes dreams seem true, yourlips to mine are near.But when I turn your kiss to take,You turn away from me,In bitter sadness I awake,Awake to memory.
Oh, memories, dear memories, a face I can't forget,Oh, memories, sweet memories, a voice that haunts me yet,For like a rose that loves the sun,And left to die when day is done,I gave my all, the heart you won,Sweetheart, I can't forget.
Words by Music bySTANLEY MURPHY PERCY WENRIGHT
On the old farm-house verandaThere sat Silas and Miranda,Thinking of the days gone by.Said he "Dearie, don't be weary,You were always bright and cheery,But a tear, dear, dims your eye."Said she, "They're tears of gladness,Silas, they're not tears of sadness,It is fifty years today since we were wed."Then the old man's dim eyes brightened,And his stern old heart it lightened,As he turned to her and said:
"Put on your old grey bonnet with the blue ribbonson it,While I hitch old Dobbin to the shay,And through the fields of clover, we'll drive up to Dover,On our Golden Wedding Day."
It was in the same old bonnet,With the same blue ribbon on it,In the old shay by his side,That he drove her up to Dover,Thro' the same old fields of clover,To become his happy bride.The birds were sweetly singingAnd the same old bells were ringing,As they passed the quaint old church where they were wed.And that night when stars were gleaming,The old couple lay a-dreaming,Dreaming of the words he said:
Words by Music byJOE MCCARTHY FRED FISCHER
There was a fire burning in my heart,Burning for years and for years,Your love and kisses gave that flame a start,I put it out with my tears;You don't remember, I can't forget,That old affection lives with me yet,I keep on longing, to my regret,I know I can't forget.
There's a little spark of love still burning,And yearning down in my heart for you,There's a longing there for your returning,I want you, I do!So come, come, to my heart again,Come, come, set that love aflame,For there's a little spark of love still burning,And yearning for you.
I left you laughing when I said good-bye,Laughing, but nobody knewHow much relief I found when I could cry,I cried my heart out for you;I've loved you more than you ever know,Though years have passed I've wanted you so,Bring back the old love, let new love grow,Come back and whisper low:
WHEN I LOST YOUBy IRVING BERLIN
The roses each one, met with the sun,Sweetheart, when I met you.The sunshine had fled, the roses were dead,Sweetheart, when I lost you.
I lost the sunshine and roses,I lost the heavens of blue,
I lost the beautiful rainbow,I lost the morning dew;I lost the angel who gave meSummer the whole winter through,I lost the gladness that turned into sadness,When I lost you.
The birds ceased their song, right turned to wrong,Sweetheart, when I lost you.A day turned to years, the world seem'd in tears,Sweetheart, when I lost you.
Having read these eleven lyrics of varying emotions, note the rather obvious fact that
1. Most Popular Songs Have Two Verses and One Chorus
I am not now speaking of the "production song," which may have a dozen verses, and as many different catch-lines in the chorus to stamp the one chorus as many different choruses, but only of the popular song. And furthermore, while two different choruses are sometimes used in popular songs, the common practice is to use but one chorus.
Now let us see the reason for a peculiarity that must have struck you in reading these lyrics.
2. A Regular Metre is Rare
Metre is the arrangement of emphatic and unemphatic syllables in verse on a measured plan, and is attained by the use of short syllables of speech varied in different rotations by long syllables. The metrical character of English poetry depends uponthe recurrence of similarly accented syllables at short and more or less regular intervals. Let us take this as the definition of what I mean by metre in the few sentences in which I shall use the word.
Among recognized poets there has always been a rather strict adherence to regularity of form. Indeed, at times in the history of literature, poetry, to be considered poetry, had to confine itself to an absolutely rigid form. In such periods it has been as though the poet were presented with a box, whose depth and breadth and height could not be altered, and were then ordered to fill it full of beautiful thoughts expressed in beautiful words, and to fill it exactly, or be punished by having his work considered bad.
In ages past this rigidity of rule used to apply to the song-poet also, although the minstrel has always been permitted more latitude than other poets. To-day, however, the poet of the popular song may write in any measure his fancy dictates, and he may make his metre as regular or as irregular as he wishes. He may do anything he wants, in a song. Certainly, his language need not be either exact or "literary." Practically all that is demanded is that his lyrics convey emotion. The song-poet's license permits a world of metrical and literary sinning. I am not either apologizing for or praising this condition—I am simply stating a proved fact.
3. Irregularity of Metre May Even Be a Virtue
Even without "scanning" the lyrics of the eleven songs you have just read their irregularity of metre is plain. It is so plain that some of the irregularities rise up and smite your ears. This is why some popular songs seem so "impossible" without their music. And the reason why they seem so pleasing with their music is that the music takes the place of regularity with delightful satisfaction. The very irregularity is what often gives the composer his opportunity to contribute melodious punches, for the words of a popular song are a series of catchy phrases. In some cases irregularity in a song may be the crowning virtue that spells success.
4. Regularity and Precision of Rhymes Are Not Necessary
There is no need to point to specific examples of the lack of regularity in the recurrence of rhymes in most of the lyric specimens here printed, or in other famous songs. Nor is there any necessity to instance the obvious lack of precise rhyming. Neither of these poetic qualities has ever been a virtue of the average popular song-poet.
So far as the vital necessities of the popular song go, rhymes may occur regularly or irregularly, with fine effect in either instance, and the rhymes may be precise or not. To rhymemoonwithJuneis not unforgivable. The success of a popular song depends on entirely different bases. Nevertheless, a finely turned bit of rhyming harmony may strike the ear and stand out from its fellows like a lovely symphony of fancy. If you have given any attention to this point of rhyming you can recall many instances of just what I mean.
5. Strive for Regular and Precise Rhyming—If Fitting
If you can be regular and if you can be precise in the use of rhymes in your song-poem, be regular and be precise. Don't be irregular and slovenly just because others have been and succeeded. You will not succeed if you build your lyrics on the faults and not on the virtues of others. The song-poem that gleams like a flawless gem will have a wider and more lasting success—all other things being equal.