by Cole Porter
. . . when a play contains not only Mr. [Victor] Moore but Miss Ethel Merman* and William Gaxton,† it joins the sparse ranks of the blessed and becomes, in its way, a public benefaction. You may think this to be enough encomium for the new opera at the Alvin. After all it is only some expansive frivoling set to music and with the usual obligato of dancing boys and girls. There are nevertheless additional felicities in “Anything Goes,” almost breath-taking in their splendor. No less a minstrel than Cole Porter, a pet son of the Orpheus family, is the composer of the songs, sentimental and ribald, in a hymnal fully up to his standard.23
Anything Goes was produced in London less than a year later, at the Palace Theatre on 14 June 1935. Among other revisions to the lyrics, P. G. Wodehouse wrote several new lyrics for ‘You’re the Top’. As a lyric sheet for the two songs shows, these changes were approved by Porter, who in a few instances added lines of his own or rewrote some of the words:‡
‘You’re the Top!’: Text Changes for the London Production (extract)
Porter’s original
London text (changes by Wodehouse in italics)
Refrain 2
Refrain 2
You’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re Mahatma Ghandi.
You’re Mahatma Ghandi.
You’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re Napoleon brandy.
You’re Napoleon brandy.
You’re the purple light of a summer night in Spain
You’re the purple light of a summer night in Spain
You’re the National Galr’ry,
You’re the National Galr’ry,
You’re Garbo’s sal’ry,
You’re Garbo’s sal’ry,
You’re cellophane.
You’re cellophane.
You’re sublime,
You’re the grace
You’re a turkey dinner,
Of the Brontasaurus
You’re the time
You’re the pace
Of the Derby winner.
Of a Cochran chorus
I’m a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop,
I’m a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop,
But if, baby, I’m the bottom
But if, baby, I’m the bottom
You’re the top.
You’re the top.
REFRAIN 4
REFRAIN 4
You’re the top!
You’re the top –
You’re an Arrow collar.
You’re a dress by Patou
You’re the top!
You’re the top –
You’re a Coolidge dollar.
You’re an Epstein statoo
You’re the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire,
You’re the nimble tread – of the feet of – Fred Astaire
You’re an O’Neill drama,
You’re a Mussolini
You’re Whistler’s mama,
You’re Mrs. Sweeney
You’re Camembert.
You’re Camembert
You’re a rose,
You’re the fun –
You’re Inferno’s Dante,
Of a film by Arliss
You’re the nose
You’re the sun –
On the great Durante.
On the Crystal Parliss
I’m just in the way, as the French would say “de trop,”
I’m a lazy lout – that’s just about to stop*
But if, baby, I’m the bottom
But if – Baby – I’m the bottom
You’re the top.
You’re the top.
Similar adjustments were made to ‘Anything Goes’, although in this instance the changes seem radically to change the meaning of the song. Whereas Porter’s original is an exercise in relatively harmless wordplay, Wodehouse’s rewriting is a diatribe against the pursuit of money at all costs. Furthermore, in one noteworthy change reflecting different social sensibilities, where Wodehouse in the third refrain writes ‘When ladies fair who seek affection / Prefer coons of dark complexion’, Porter has circled ‘coons’ and in the margin replaced it with ‘gents’.
‘Anything Goes’: Text Changes for the London Production (extract)
Porter’s original
London text (changes by Wodehouse in italics)
REFRAIN 2
REFRAIN 2
When Missus Ned McLean (God bless her)
When maiden aunts can freely chuckle
Can get Russian reds to “yes” her,
At tales much too near the knuckle
Then I suppose
The facts disclose
Anything goes.
Anything goes.
When Rockefeller still can hoard en-
When in the House our Legislators
Ough money to let Max Gordon
Are calling each other, “Traitors”
Produce his shows,
And “So and So’s”
Anything goes.
Anything goes.
The world has gone mad today,
The world’s in a state today
And good’s bad today
Like Billingsgate today
And black’s white today,
We are each today
And day’s night today
For free speech today
And that gent today
Nothing’s blue today
You gave a cent today
Or taboo today
Once had several châteaux.
Or meets with scandalized “Oh’ ”
When folks who still can ride in jitneys
But while we hope for days more sunny
Find out Vanderbilts and Whitneys
The Government gets our money
Lack baby clo’es
’Cause Neville knows
Anything goes.
Anything goes.
REFRAIN 3
If Sam Goldwyn can with great conviction
When Grandmammas, whose age is eighty
Instruct Anna Sten in diction,
In night clubs are getting matey
Then Anna shows
With gigolos
Anything goes.
Anything goes.
When you hear that Lady Mendl standing up
When mothers pack and leave poor father
Now turns a handspring landing up-
Because they decide they’d rather
On her toes,
Be tennis pros.
Anything goes.
Anything goes.
Just think of those shocks you’ve got
The world has gone mad today
And those knocks you’ve got
And good’s bad today
And those blues you’ve got
And black’s white today
From that news you’ve got
And day’s night today
And those pains you’ve got
In Colney Hatch today
(If any brains you’ve got)
We ought to snatch today
From those little radios.
A little rest and repose
So Missus R., with all her trimmin’s,
When ladies fair who seek affection
Can broadcast a bed from Simmons
Prefer coons* of dark complexion
’Cause Franklin knows
As Romeos.
Anything goes.
Anything goes.
REFRAIN 4 (London only: P. G. Wodehouse)
The dogs chase fleas
The bees chase honey
And we all are chasing money
And when it shows
Anything goes.
The Duke who owns a mounted castle
Takes lodgers and makes a parcel
Because he knows
Anything goes.
It’s grab and smash today
We want cash today
Get
rich quick today
That’s the trick today
And the Great today
Don’t hesitate today
But keep right on their toes
And lend their names, if paid to do it
To anyone’s soap or suet
Or baby clo’s
Anything goes.
Until about 1935, when Porter and Moss Hart* set out on a round-the-world cruise, during which they wrote Jubilee, the scant surviving correspondence deals mostly, though not exclusively, with financial matters. On 30 October 1934, Harvey Cole wrote to Porter: ‘I am sorry that I made the loan for $6,000.00 instead of $5,000. The mistake was mine . . . I am glad to learn that the show is doing well.’24 Porter replied on 1 November:
1 November 1934: Cole Porter to Harvey Cole25
Dear Harvey:
It is alright about the $6,000 loan, instead of $5,000. I shall hang on to the extra one thousand dollars, as I am a little bit poor for the next weeks, after which the money will roll in and I shall then be able to pay off the debt.
Please apply the Hartwell bonds on my note, and I heartily approve of the charge that you have made for your services.
With best regards to Mildred and to you,
Cole, [signed:] Cole
Both at this time and later, Porter was frequently linked with projects that either he dismissed out of hand, that never materialized, were composed by others, or were just fantasies in the minds of producers and performers. On 19 May 1933 the New York World-Telegram reported: ‘Dwight Deere Wiman and Tom Weatherly* bought the dramatic rights to “She Loves Me Not,” Edward Hope’s new novel, yesterday. This one ran as a serial in the Saturday Evening Post, and the Messers. W. and W. want to convert it into a comedy with incidental songs, for which purpose they will probably consult with Cole Porter, their favourite composer.’ It is not known whether Porter was, in fact, approached to write She Loves Me Not; in the end, Lindsay’s play was produced with songs by Arthur Schwartz and Edward Heyman, opening at the 46th Street Theatre on 20 November 1933.
In December 1934, Porter wrote again to Clifton Webb, and in January 1935 to Sarah Scott, whom he had known in Worcester:
15 December 1934: Cole Porter to Clifton Webb
Dear Cliff:
I can imagine nothing more awful than writing songs for you for your next picture.† Moss Hart and I are leaving on a beautiful boat called the “Franconia”, January 12th, and are going around this funny world of ours.‡
I am very sorry to hear that your health is not good, but I believe that when you get out in the high spots of the M-G-M studio, everything will be well. It seems to me that it is pretty affected of you not being in New York. The parties are great and they need you. Last night even Frances§ threw a good one. As for the Maxwell party in honor of none other than myself,* it made history. Laura Corrigan† is a tremendous event in town. In fact, she has arrived to such an extent that she won’t meet Barbara Mdivani.‡ The farewells for Neysa§ were endless, and finally finished at the George Kaufman’s,¶ which was one of the greatest parties I have been to for years. But everybody cried in corners because you were not there.
I hope you will be great in pictures. I arrive back in New York at the end of May and then make for Hollywood for three months to be with Walter Wanger.** If things don’t work out, I shall be in New York.
Blessings on you my boy, and please don’t marry Gloria Swanson.††
Love.
[signed:] Cole
10 January 1935: Cole Porter to Sarah Scott,* Worcester, MA26
Dear Mrs. Scott:
Your charming letter arrived this morning, and made me very happy indeed to realize that one can have such loyal friends. We are off tomorrow night.27 We are excited because our trip takes us to all the crazy places in the world, names that I dreamed about since I was a child, the Fiji islands, Zanzibar and Madagascar – just think of it.
I arrive back in New York the first of June and shall be here all summer. In case you ever come to town, please take the trouble to telephone me, as I should so love to see you again.
My best regards to your daughters, and thank you so much for writing me.
Sincerely yours,
[signed:] Cole Porter
The trip Porter mentioned to both Webb and Sarah Scott was a South Seas voyage with Moss Hart, Howard Sturges, Monty Woolley and Billy Powell,† one purpose of which was to write the show Jubilee. They set out on 12 January and during the trip Hart kept a diary that includes a number of references specific to Porter and their musical interests. En route, Porter wrote again to Clifton Webb and to ‘Dumpy’ Oelrichs:
14 January [probably] 1935: Cole Porter to Clifton Webb28
Cute Clifton
To have sent me the prison book, which I leapt on + finished the first day out. It was excellent + I thank thee.
We are all a little dazed. The boat is a joy, there never was such balmy weather + our little gang is so happy together. Linda + I have committee meetings + beam at our leaving such amusing friends.
Goodbye. I’ll keep you posted on our career. Give my love to the great Mabel,* + bless you for ze book.
Devotedly Cole.
Moss Hart’s diary
En route from Panama Canal to Los Angeles: ‘There is time to work – to swim – to read – to talk – to laze away an hour in a deck chair or at the pool; and in consequence, we are working well and without strain or tenseness. Cole Porter writes his music and I write my play with no fear of what the critical fraternity will say to-morrow morning – we have only ourselves to please . . . ’ [p. 11]
Samoa: ‘It was in Samoa, incidentally, that we were treated to a spectacle I shall long remember. We were the guests of the Boys’ School – and a school of some two hundred sons of native chiefs from the outlying islands, and I never shall forget the sight of these magnificent specimens of young Samoan manhood or the organ-like quality of their voices. They sang for us in a setting of near-primitive beauty, and as we had just come from Robert Louis Stevenson’s house, they sang for us his “Requiem,” which they had set to their own music. There is no describing those voices. We were all, I imagine, more moved than we cared to admit. So much so that Cole Porter arranged to go back and have them sing again in the afternoon . . .’ [p. 25]
Kalabahi: ‘It is going to amuse me some night next winter to stand in the back of the Music Box Theatre and watch the curtain fall on the first act of a certain musical comedy as yet untitled. For the words “End of Act I” were scrawled across the page as we saw the last of New Guinea, and I shall watch the beginning of Act II long after it has lost its first, fine, careless rapture for the reason that Act II was begun the morning of the day we landed in Kalabahi. Two pretty strange places to see the birth of a Broadway musical comedy . . . Here, too, the natives had been singing and dancing for two days prior to our arrival, but there was neither joy nor passion in it. Their dance was an angry stamping of the earth they found so hard a master, and their song was a wail of agony rising at times to a sob. It was the song of a people whose life was filled with an unceasing fear of devils and evil spirits, whose race was dying out and whose years were spent in a sullen acceptance of an unending, useless toil. If you had not realized it before, you were now brought up sharp against the realization that you were, indeed, a long, long way from Tipperary.’ [pp. 33–4 and 40]
Bali: ‘We saw some superb dances, and when we asked, with bated breath, who the chief dancer was, we were told that he or she was just a fisherman in from his work or a girl from a neighboring village. There were no prima donnas here – no regal outbursts of artistic temperament. If a man or woman could dance magnificently it was expected that they would do so for the pleasure of their fellow townsmen and for the sheer joy of dancing. The most astonishing dancers of them all, however, are the children. They are instructed in the art of the dance from the age of two years and perform only until they are twelve. The curious thing is to see these little girls dressed in their
beautiful costumes dance with the fervor and passion of an old-world courtesan – face, arms, body and sensuous, insidious mass of movement, and immediately, the dance finished, become little girls of nine again . . . All dances and native plays are accompanied by appropriate music on the gamelan, an orchestra made up of gongs of various sizes, xylophones, drums, flutes and other similar instruments. The accompaniments to the various dances are well known to the people, each character in each of his moods having his own characteristic music. You hear the gamelan playing all day and night. It is a soft, strange music that plays all day and all night. You go to sleep with it. It rings in your ears long after you have left.’ [pp. 43–5]
10 April [1935]: Cole Porter to Mrs Herman (‘Dumpy’) Oelrichs29
April 10th, evening, bound for Zanzibar.
Dumpy Darling –
I’m so tired, on this fabulous trip of saying “If only La Dumpa were here”, so I shan’t mention it, but you’ve no idea how much you have been missed.
