Reflecting on an Era Long Gone

I'm one of those 30-something lads that derives pleasure in anything from the past. During a conversation on film and music, an older lady innocently took for granted - because of my age - my knowledge on these arts. She was barking up the wrong tree.

While for most people being contemporary was enough, for me looking to the past was special. I made it a point to watch films like Citizen Kane, Sunset Boulevard, Duck Soup, Singin' in the Rain (the last two being personal favorites) and host of other films from the Golden Age of film (anywhere from 1930s to the 1950s). Not to mention my brief obsession with Vaudeville and the silent comedy with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Fatty Arbuckle and other Mack Sennett (an early Canadian film pioneer in Hollywood) Keystone features.

The lady was stunned when I reminded her of Birth of a Nation and Cecile B. DeMille not to mention the lost Library of Congress 1915 watershed film The Italian. Al Jolson's The Jazz Singer enthralled me since it was officially the first 'talkie'. And my interest is not restricted to just Hollywood either. International films have always interested me. Nosferatu in 1922 and The Bicycle Thief (Germany and Italy respectively) immediately spring to mind.

My taste in music is also ancient so to speak. I'm usually vulnerable to Okeh recordings of forgotten old blues legends like Mississippi John Hurt or rare live recordings of Billie Holiday during her Decca years or collaborative works by Chick Webb and Ella Fitzgerald during the big band years. And so on.

Standards (jazz interpretations of, for example, Gershwin, Porter and Berlin) and show tunes (though I'm far from an expert on the latter) have always piqued my curiosity. Mind you, show tunes never sounded better than on Bugs Bunny cartoons.

"They" tell me this is all rare for a 30+ year old - though I know for a fact I'm not alone. We're just an obscure bunch.

I must admit, I have a hard time adjusting and finding that 'shiver' factor with today's music. Each time I commit myself to learning more about the modern sound (Madelaine Peyroux is one such performer that impresses me greatly) I resort back to my comfort zone.

I recently bought a CD featuring the Rat Pack. They were cool without trying to be. They did not need to swear (though I'm sure they were just as vulgar as any modern rap singer). As I sat back listening, I realized they just don't make 'em like this any more. Sure, there has been a neo-crooner revival but none even remotely match the incredible hip suaveness of the real Rat Pack (did you know Humphrey Bogart led the original pack?) The only ones I think that are in the same league as Martin, Sinatra and Davis jr. are Louis Prima, Bing Crosby and Tony Bennett.

Back then, they wore Italian-cut suits or a tux with French cuff links. They always dressed as though it was their last day of existence. Only they could pull off singing by holding a glass of martini or scotch with a cigarette. As well as stop in mid-song to speak to one another or to a lovely gal in the crowd. It was all so tragically and fascinatingly hip. To borrow a cliche, they threw away the mold when these guys moved on.

This group can be extended to the great dancers of the era with Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. Their films usually mesmerize me. When Gene Kelly breaks into 'Singin' in the rain' it still captivates me like I saw it for the first time. It always passes the 'shiver' factor. Imagine, they made tap-dancing cool - as did Gregory Hines did years later. Hine's role in Broadway's Jelly's Last Jam not only introduced me to Jelly Roll Morton and the Ragtime era but to tap dancing as an art form.

Even the comedies had a special character. From the dead-pan Keaton, to the slap stick sophistication of the Marx Brothers to the charming brilliance of Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon in Some Like it Hot.

Yup, they don' make 'em like this anymore. Today, it's all gold chains, guns, pimps and thugs that get the exposure. None of it is cool to me. There's no class left.

I realize I speak of my personal experience and tastes but I do lament a time long gone.

This much I can appreciate. Once upon a time a man wore a suit on an evening with his dame to go and listen to the giants and genius of 20th century music of any genre.

Today, people go in shorts and sandals. Something got lost in the translation.