Gee Whiz! Dept. - George n' Ira

George n' Ira stand in the 5th Avenue duckpond for a publicity stunt. "Our shoes! They were schmutter!" laughs George today. "But Photoshop back then we didn't have." Brother Ira adds wistfully, "at least it was real. Kids today, with the yo-yo and the hula-hoop? Oy - don't get me started!"

Yeah, the 'sixties were groovy an' all, but if you want popular song at its apogee [blow it out yer ass - Ed.] you have to back up a little, to the 'twenties! No - wait - we backed up too far already. The 'thirties was when songwriting pulled itself out of the novelty market and became an art form as legit as any other. Not only was it art of a very high order, it was also popular, enjoyable, and anti-elitist. Before rock, and indeed roll, put an end to sophistication, the streets of Manhattan were shrill with Ordinary Joes whistlin' the latest swell tune!

George and Ira Gershwin need no introduction. So that saves me copy-pasting internet screed pretending like I know their story. The only salient fact worth repeating here is that George died at thirty-nine. Or maybe thirty-eight, I can't remember. But anyway - gee whiz, right? He wrote all that in the space of a couple of U2 albums?!?! Gee whiz. Kinda puts my own so-called achievements into some kind of shabby perspective. Yours too, ya bum. Anyway, while he was penning those fantastic songs, with brother Ira rattling out the lyrics on th' old Imperial in his underwear, he had a swell life. Great suits - he was the snappiest of dressers - dames throwing themselves around his neck, imported Champagne, and fresh toilet roll with the end folded into a point every day.

Today's loaddown is The Complete Gershwin Songbooks on Verve. This, apart from the frankly alarming inclusion of Bob Dylan eviscerating Soon, is the perfect set, high on cool and low on vaudeville. You'll dig it like you dig floating on your spotty back in the sparkling blue waters of th' Isle O' Foam©, Dorothy Lamour [left - Ed.] wading out to you with another fern n' parasol beverage, her parted lips trembling on th' international oral sex frequency.

This post made plausible through a sudden access of good taste.