Popular entertainment is made to be consumed–in vast quantities and as quickly and as completely as possible. And perhaps that is the way things have to be–in order to keep the wheels of the entertainment industry turning and to give our amusements that air of constant change without which they might not be so exciting to us.
But not everything that was made to be enjoyed at the moment deserves to be thrown away, which is why attempts are being made to preserve the best of our popular-culture heritage.
The movies, jazz, comic strips, the music of the Broadway stage–thanks to the efforts of a host of dedicated fans, the past treasures of many of our homegrown arts are once again available, in books and on records, tapes and videocassettes.
But when it comes to the history of American humor, some of our most famous and influential comedians still rest in a cultural limbo–unless their careers happened to coincide with the heyday of radio and thus can be repackaged for the nostalgia trade.
If one wants to know what Jack Benny, Fred Allen, Vic and Sade et al. were like, some of their best work is available on records and tape from companies that specialize in ”the good old days.”
But then, just at the point where Mort Sahl, Lenny Bruce, Mike Nichols and Elaine May, Jonathan Winters, Shelly Berman, Bob Newhart, Woody Allen and a host of other hip, young comics began to redefine the shape of American humor, the trail of recorded evidence comes almost to an end–even though these performers made the comedy album commercially viable.
Fortunately, Bruce and Allen are well-represented on record today–the former because he remains a cult figure, the latter because his films keep him in the limelight. Otherwise, though, it`s welcome to the wasteland.
There is no Sahl currently available, except for one unrepresentative album, no Winters, no Berman, no Nichols and May, no Second City or Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner, and almost no Newhart or Lord Buckley or Bob and Ray–the list goes on and on, even if one thinks only of the most well-known figures and forgets about such eccentric gems as the album Severn Darden recorded for Mercury, Henry Jacobs` ”The Wide Weird World of Shorty Petterstein” and Del Close and John Brent`s ”How To Speak Hip.”
And the labels that control the rights to those recordings seem to have little or no interest in re-releasing them–either because they don`t know what they`ve got in their vaults, or because they believe, perhaps with good reason, that a Sahl, Winters or Nichols and May album wouldn`t sell in sufficient quantities to make a reissue financially worthwhile.
Polygram, for instance, owns the Verve and Mercury catalogues–two labels that encompass a great many important comedy albums of the 1950s and `60s, including most of Sahl, Winters and Berman and all there is on record of Second City and Nichols and May.
But Tim Rogers, the executive in charge of that portion of the Polygram empire, says that ”we have just tentative (reissue) plans right now.
”Comedy is not my forte,” Rogers adds, ”but check back with me in a few months. I think we might be doing something.”
Hardly encouraging words. But looking at things from a bottom-line point of view, there is no reason why the major comic performers of the recent past should matter very much to Polygram or any other major label.
Yes, a Nichols and May anthology or collections of the best of Mort Sahl or Jonathan Winters would be significant cultural events.
But while it is possible that such albums would sell, the chance that they would not is what keeps the recorded legacy of so many of our major comedians out of circulation.
So anyone who wants to know what Sahl, Winters and all the rest were really like is faced with the problem of how to break into a locked museum
–simply because the record companies that control the rights to this material aren`t interested in putting their comedic treasures on display.
Dealing with dilemmas of just that sort, the Smithsonian Institution has ridden to the rescue in the past–as such savvy, dedicated executives as Martin Williams, J.R. Taylor and James Morris have used the Institution`s quasi-governmental clout to compile ”The Smithsonian Collection of Classic Jazz,” ”The Smithsonian Collection of Newspaper Comics” and the invaluable, seven-record ”American Popular Song” anthology.
This time, though, the Smithsonian can`t help–in part because it, too, has to take account of the bottom line.
”I`ve proposed the idea (of an anthology of American comedy on record),” Williams says, ”but I was told that it didn`t `test well.` What we need is some young idealist who has an independent label.”
Echoing that estimate is veteran producer Richard Bock, who recorded Lord Buckley and Henry Jacobs in the 1950s, when he was with the World-Pacific label.
”It (a comedy reissue series) probably wouldn`t come off,” Bock says,
”unless it was being done by someone from the outside. As soon as, say, Fantasy wants to get stuff from Polygram and Atlantic and Capitol, then the hackles come up. But if the person involved is a respected, neutral source who can say, `The only way to do this properly is to get all you guys to cooperate,` then it might work.”
So in case that ”young idealist” does exist, let`s explore the possibilities.
First, he would have to get his hands on Ronald Smith`s forthcoming book
”Comedy on Record” (Garland Publishing)–a 600-page tome, priced at about $50 and aimed at the library market, that describes, says Smith, ”every comedy record ever made.”
The author of ”Stars of Standup Comedy” and a biography of Bill Cosby, and the editor of ”Rave” magazine, Smith has a long list of favorite albums that have gone out of print–including work by Jackie Vernon (”the inspiration for Steven Wright”), the late Herb Shriner (”he has a big reputation among comedians, but who would know it?”), Jean Shepherd (”a unique monologist”), Jackie Mason (”very underrated”) and Smith and Dale
(”their Jubilee album is the greatest record of vaudeville material ever made”).
So there is, as Smith says, ”an awful lot out there.” But he also has some horror stories to tell about the cavalier attitude of the record companies that control the rights to this material.
Having spent five years in search of an obscure, Groucho Marx children`s single, ”The Funniest Song in the World,” Smith finally found that it had been made for an outfit called the Young People`s Record Company.
”I went there,” Smith says, ”asked if they had a copy in their archives ”and was told that they had destroyed every one because they `needed the space.` Then when I asked if the record will ever be reissued, they said, `It can`t be–because we also destroyed the master. It was our property, and we could do with it as we pleased.”`
One hopes that the major labels haven`t been that high-handed with the comedy records they control–because the thought that, say, Capitol-EMI might have lost or destroyed the master of the Mel Brooks-Carl Reiner ”2,000 Year Old Man” album is enough to send chills up the spine.
But so much for tales of despair and woe and on to a vision of the promised land.
If our idealistic producer can acquire the rights to all or most of the best comedy albums ever made, how then should he or she proceed?
Well, some comics–Sahl, Winters, Bruce, Newhart and Richard Pryor for openers–have been gifted and prolific enough to make the idea of collected-works sets attractive. And right here in Chicago, radio station WFMT-FM has on tape all 67 Second City revues–a comedic motherlode of major proportions, provided the rights to issue the best of it could be resolved.
But compiling a comprehensive historical anthology of American comedy on record would seem to be the first thing that needs to be done.
Yes, it would be difficult to assemble. And whatever the dimensions of such an anthology might be, some very hard choices would have to be made.
But if we are serious about preserving one of the richest strains in our cultural heritage, it`s a task that is well worth undertaking.
After all, the things we laugh at are among the best possible guides to who we really are. And besides, as Ron Smith says, ”not only does this stuff have tremendous historical value, a lot of it is just plain funny.”
