You Gotta Have Hart

I just read a biography of Lorenz Hart, A Ship Without A Sail.  This is at least the second bio of Hart I'm aware of, and most lyricisists don't get even one.  Maybe it's that his lyrics cut deeper than most, maybe it's that he lived such a tragic life.  Either way, Hart was responsible for more songs in the Great American Songbook than all but a handful of people.

Like so many of the great Broadway songwriters, he comes from a New York Jewish background.  His father, Max, was a lively man who apparently made his living swindling people on real estate deals.  Lorenz looked at the songs of his day and thought they could be better--smarter, more literate, more lively.  His greatest innovation was introducing the vernacular into songs.  Up till then, most Broadway lyrics, good or bad, seemed to be imitations of European models, mostly operetta, with fairly stiff language.  After Hart, a whole new world opened up, one we're still living in.  Hart also didn't believe in hit songs so much as songs integrated into shows that became hits.

He had the good fortune to work with an immensely talented youngster by the name of Richard Rodgers.  It took them a few years to break through, but once they did in 1925 with The Garrick Gaieties, featuring "Manhattan," it was one big show after another. In the second half of the 20s alone, they had songs (usually the entire score) in 14 productions, which included numbers such as "Mountain Greenery," "Thou Swell," "My Heart Stood Still," "The Blue Room," "You Took Advantage Of Me" and "Dancing On The Ceiling."

When the Depression hit, they went to the newly-talking Hollywood.  Workaholic Rodgers didn't like the slow pace and lack of control (though real alcoholic Hart didn't mind so much), but even then they were able to turn out such hits as "Lover," "Isn't It Romantic?," "You Are Too Beautiful" and "Blue Moon."  By the middle of the decade, they came back to Broadway to stay, turning out almost nothing but hits from 1935 till Hart's death in 1943.  They'd learned a lot, and from this point on, the shows, and the songs, were deeper.  Some of the titles: Jumbo, On Your Toes, Babes In Arms, The Boys From Syracuse and Pal Joey.  Some of the songs: "My Romance," "Little Girl Blue," "There's A Small Hotel," "Where Or When," "My Funny Valentine," "The Lady Is A Tramp," "Have You Met Miss Jones?," "Spring Is Here," "Falling In Love With Love," "This Can't Be Love," "I Didn't Know What Time It Was," "It Never Entered My Mind," "I Could Write A Book," Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered" and "Wait Till You See Her."

Hart had his demons, however.  He was homosexual at a time when you couldn't openly talk about it.  He was a heavy drinker--it's what ultimately did him in.  And he was very short.  No one dies from shortness, but being under five feet tall made him feel inadequate, and may have led to his drinking.  Even as he was turning out his best work, Hart became less and less reliable.  Finally, Rodgers turned to Oscar Hammerstein to write a show that Hart didn't want to work on.  It became Oklahoma!, a bigger hit by far than anything Rodger's did with Hart, and a herald for a new sort of show.  Hart may have been happy for his partner, but he also saw he wasn't needed.  Rodgers still tried to work with him, and even though ill, Hart helped update their old hit A Connecticut Yankee.  One of Hart's last lyrics was the classic "To Keep My Love Alive." He still had it, but he died a few days after the show opened, only 48.

Hart has been attacked for his writing--most notably by Stephen Sondheim.  And much of what Sondheim says is true. Hart's work was slapdash, often awkward.  But he more than makes up for it by his wit, his liveliness and his power.  He can be breathtakingly simple when necessary, and he can write about the pain of love with more depth than almost any other lyricist.  He can also be very funny.  Yes, he often strains for effect, and relies on certain tricks too much, but there's so much life in his words--and Rodgers' music--that Hart ended up creating a catalogue that shows no sign of letting go its grip.