The Confidence Man
Loosly based on the novel by Herman Melville
Music by Jim Steinman
Music to “Give Us This Day Our Daily Flesh” by Bobby Blume
Book and Lyrics by Ray Errol Fox
CD Produced by Jeff Olmsted for Original Cast Records
Chorus:
George Best, Rayme Cornell, Lauren Fox, Jean Fox, Shani Glance, Jessica Grant, Peter Gregus, Kirsten Hughes, Barbara Rosene, Jamison Stern, Rebecca Wolfe, Bruce Yeko
Terry Waldo’s Novelty Syncopators:
Craig Ventresco: Guitar, Banjo
Terry Waldo: Piano
Pete Devine: Percussion
Orange Kellin: Clarinet
Original orchestrations by Steve Margoshes
Adapted by Jeffrey Olmsted
Arrangements for The Novelty Syncopators by Terry Waldo
Vocal Arrangement for “Methinks” by D.J. Bradley
Reeds: Tom Christensen
Keyboards, Programming and Guitars: Jeff Olmsted
Studios: PPI, Tenacity Sound, Audiopaint, Ted Spencer Studio
Special thanks to: Judy Henderson & Assoc. Casting, Brian Gari, Lauren Fox.
History: Essay by Ray Errol Fox
I have always been a sucker for irony. That element, as much as any other, was wat attracted me to Herman Melville’s novel, “The Confidence Man,” as distinctive source material for a musical. So, I can’t help but be struck by the irony of today’s date, April 1, 2003, as I begin to write these notes. “The Confidence Man” takes place on April 1, 1861.
The history of “The Confidence Man” is laden with irony. In 1973, Joe Papp’s office called me to ask if I would meet with an exciting young composer who was in production with an original musical at The Public Theatre. The composer was Jim Steinman, the musical was “More Than You Deserve,” and the call was a request for my services as lyricist—to contribute new lyrics and rewrite some of those in the existing score. The meeting never materialized. But the troubled show did, and on seeing it, I immediately recognized what the excitement regarding Steinman was about.
As the result of another telephone call several months later, Jim and I met for the first time via an appointment at the Robert Stigwood Office. I don’t remember who arranged it, but recall that Clive Davis was one who encouraged it.
That first day, Jim and I went to a grant piano outside Peter Brown’s office and wrote a song we were both very happy with: “Nocturnally Yours.” Jim loved the title of the song and the novelty of having a lyricist. We didn’t anticipate the song becoming a part of any score (much less this one). But we agreed that a musical was our next step.
It was undoubtedly the enduring influence of the of the first musical I ever saw, a revival of “Showboat,” that led to my proposing that we collaborate on Melville’s “The Confidence Man,” for which I would write the libretto as well as the lyrics. Like Melville’s opus, the Kern-Hammerstein classic was set on a Mississippi riverboat.
The work developed quickly. We discovered that our leading man, William Atherton, had a beautiful tenor voice he’d never had occasion to use, so we tailored the soaring notes of “Milady” to him. Our leading lady was radiant Andrea Marcovicci and our director was Leon Russom, an actor would have been brilliant at the helm. All three had worked with Joe Papp in the past, as had Steinman. And wasn’t Joe inadvertently responsible for this new collaboration? Before we had even finished the score, we presented it to him.
Joe said he loved it and wanted to do it right away. He summoned Bernie Gersten to set a production date. I remember Bernie asking him, “Are you sure?” Joe was sure. We weren’t about to tell him how much work we still had to do. Bernie, I believe, wisely suspected it.
Jim and I worked even faster, interrupted only by the initial casting sessions. The Public Theatre was also in casting for a much-publicized performance of “Julius Caesar.” When they couldn’t complete their targeted triumvirate of “hot” young actors for Brutus, Antony and Cassius, they “raided” us for Billy Atherton. When Leon and I confronted Joe about it, he merely said, “You lost your leading man; get another one.” Joe wasn't a man you could reason with. Every time we thought we had acquired another leading man—the list grew lengthy—Joe stripped him away from us, justifying it only by contending that he needed him for another production. Finally, when no viable candidates remained, he said, “Well, you have no leading man. I'm canceling production.” Joe could be chummy or churlish, Cap’n Andy or Captain Ahab.
I sent script and score to Len Cariou, who was in residence at the Guthrie Theatre in Minneapolis. Len not only wanted to star in it, but also came to see me, patting the script as he pronounced it the best musical he’d seen since “Sweeney Todd.” To my everlasting regret, we were never able to reconcile a production with his busy schedule.
Howard Da Silva became interested in directing it. Maintaining that we should go to The Public Theatre first, he called Joe from my appartment. He hung up the phone uttering, in that inimitable deep, resonate voice of his, “He’s a naughty boy … he’s a very naughty boy, Joe Papp is.” Joe had told him he would do it if Howard would bring him a star. Joe Papp buying into the star system—Howard found that beyond reprehension.
I took it to Lynne Meadow at the Manhattan Theatre Club. Lynne has always stood for what’s good for theatre; she and Barry Grove opted to do it. These were the days that MTC was on East 73rd Street and every available space was pressed into creative service. “The Confidence Man” was assigned to the Cabaret. We opened a capsule version of the show on April 6, 1976, for a one-month run. How’s this for irony?: no one from our production ever attained fame commensurate with our favourite waitress, whose name, I subsequently learned, was Mary Steenburgen.
Steinman called me to work on several additional productions he was sporadically offered. Nothing came of any of them. Eventually, our divering work habits and career aspirations ended the collaboration. Steinman wrote all ngiht and slept all day; I wrote all day and knocked off for the evening, more often than not bound for the theater. But for Jim occasionally rousing himself in daylight for an appointment at my apartment with a producer or a working session with me, we generally conferred by telephone in the middle of the night. It was during one of those calls that he poured out his frustration to me—he had just come from a Bruce Springsteen concert and he had “seen the light”; he wasn’t doing what he wanted to be doing. Enter Meat Loaf, into my apartment and into Jim’s incipient pop music career. And there went Jim, out of mine. Jim wanted to be the next Bruce Springsteen. I wanted to be the next Oscar Hammerstein. Neither of us got our wish.
With Meat Loaf’s album, “Bat Out of Hell,” and the hits trhat followed, Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” and Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now,” Steinman became a major pop songwriter and record producer. With the lyrics for the Broadway production of “The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window” and several off-Broadway revues behind me, I wrote for newspapers and magazines, and was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Short Documentary, “Preserving the Past to Ensure the Future.”
In 1986, “The Confidence Man” was given a full production, billed as a “world premiere,” at New York’s Queen’s Colelge. Staged beautifully by director Susan Einhorn, the production, limited only by a student orchestra that struggled with Steve Margoshes’ elaborate orchestrations and by a talented-but-uneven student cast, brought Steinman and me back together, prompting and inspiring us to write several new songs for it.
During a performance, Steinman turned to me to declare that “Milady” was a hit song and he was going to seek a major recording of it. He sent it to Clive Davis, who chose it for Barry Manilow’s next “big” record—and chose Jim to produce it. In the studio, the tracks for our elegant thirty-two bar love song ballooned into a nine-minute production. (Jim’s assistant began referring to it as “Steinman’s Ninth.” Jim told me he thought “Milady” was the most beautiful song he’d ever written. Clive called me to say he thought it was the next “Moon River” and that someday they’d be singing it at weddings everywhere. Barry briefly sang it in his act, but objecting, quite reasonably, to the leviathan production it had become, never recorded it, and I’ve yet to hear it at a wedding.
Over the years, Bruce Yeko would periodically remind me that he’d always wanted to record the score. I never saw the point in it until, finally, he gave me a good reason to say yes: he offered to donate all profits to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. Given such a worthy cause, I suggested that rather than to cast each role, we “cast” the songs, inviting many of the most talented people in the theatre and cabaret to participate. The results do better than spark—they sing—for themselves. Wishing to perserve the original character of the full production, we adapted Steve Margoshes’ original orchestrations.
My thanks to Bruce, to Jeffrey Olmsted, a prodcuer who merited everyone’s utmost confidence, and to all the extraordinary performers who extended themselves for the making of this CD of “The Confidence Man.”
Synopsis, by Ray Errol Fox
Act One
On April 1st, 1861, the dawn of the Civil War, passengers at St. Louis port board a Mississippi steamer, Fidèle, bound for New Orleans. THE CONFIDENCE MAN boards with them, carting an unusual wardrobe: seven costumes. As the ship slips away from the docks and picks upstream, the passengers sing, NEW ORLEANS IS COMIN’ TO ME. While they sing “Means Somethin’,” the steward posts a placard offering a reward for a “mysterious imposter, a confidence man.” The barber posts his own sign, “No Trust.” A mute fiddler, WHITEMAN (The Confidence Man in disguise), appeals for charity with his musical strains. The Clergyman interprets for him: “Charity never faileth.” The Steward chais him away from the indifferent passengers. As the song draws to a conclusion, a war-damaged Soldier of Fortune forlornly sings, “Mama, I’m home again.”
With an echo of “Charity never faileth,” a crippled beggar, BLACK GUINEA (The Confidence Man in blackface), appeals for some PITCH PENNY, offering his open mouth as target and purse, and receives none. Accused of being an imposter, he cites all the fine people who can speak up for him (a litany of The Confidence Man’s future disguises) and asks for confidence—whic prompts the Barber and the Clergyman to sing SUCH HEAPS OF FINE FRIENDS.
None other than Herman Melville himself issues forth from the shadows of an upper deck long enough to express his confusion and dismay at what’s become of his novel. He retreats as a lovely Young Woman appears at the railing, closes a volume of the author’s work and confides her desolation to the river with EDGING INTO DARKNESS. Her solitude is interrupted by MR. RINGMAN (The Confidence Man) who scorns her cynicism and asks her for CONFIDENCE. His overconfidence drives her away. Joined by the Steward and the Customs Officer, the men swaggeringly opine that “the lady doth protest too much” METHINKS. The coast clear, she returns for her book. “My book,” say Melville, reemerging. After being chatised by her for not writing better parts for women, he leaves her alone to sing—to the night and the river—NOCTURNALLY YOURS.
The Confidence Man as TRUMAN enters the emigrants’ quarters, where he encounters the crook-backed, cough-racked Miser, clutching his purse tighter than his chest. Reappearing as an herb doctor, The Confindence Man as HEALMAN offers the Miser his Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator for his “churchyard cough” in return for nothing more than, what else?, confidence. He pitches the wages of pain in PAIN HUMBLES.
Healman discovers the Youung Woman on the deck looking for a lost ring, a family heirloom with a handsome rewardf for its rediscovery. She flirts with him, teasing him with A MAIDEN IS ONLY AS MAIDEN AS SHE FEELS. And leaves him in the lurch again. On his hands and knees, looking for the ring, he finds himself at the feet of the agitated Soldier of Fortune, who disarms him with his cri de cœur, GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY FLESH.
Alone, admonished and shaken, The Confidence Man comes face to face with “his maker”: Melville. Neither man is prepared for the moment. All either can manage is one word, simultaneously … “Extraordinary.”
Act Two
Melville and The Confidence Man, author and character, creator and creation, confront each other. Melville wants to know why everyone is singing. The Confidence Man asks him to have confidence in him, and exits, only to reappear as HELPMAN, a solicitor of funds for the “Seminole Widows and Orphans Asylum.” He engages the Clergyman and the Customs Officer in a debate about the presence among them of a false alms-seeker, a confidence man! Ther suspicious minds agree on the loquacious, tambourine-bearing Black Guinea and the silent fiddler, Whiteman. Exploiting their prejudices and fanning their cynicism, Helpman goads them into singing SANCTIMONIOUS SAMBO.
The Confidence Man reappears as the cosmopolitan FRANCIS GOODMAN and joins the Yong Woman in search of her ring. When she accuses him of “not looking,” he counters that he looking—at her—at “one jewel searching for another,” and seranades her with MILADY. No sooner has the romantic song had its intended effect than does he break the spell by asking her to trust him. Before he can say “confidence,” the lady slips through his arms and out of sight again.
While certifying Goodman as “a true gentleman… the genuine item,” the Customs Officer happens upon the elusive ring—at Goodman’s feet. Mindful of its value, Goodman offers him a pittance for the “worthless imitation” and acquires it.
Melville emerges from the shadows again to dispair about both scoundrels, the one a disgrace to his uniform, the other, unconscionable. What, he asks The Confidence Man, has he done with one of his missing characters? The Confidence Man says he cut him. When Melville objects—because the character expresses important ideas—The Confidence Man tells him that “they” don’t care about “ideas,” and that every idea Melville ever had cost him more readers. Melville cautions him that he’s not known for his happy endings. “You haven’t read the end of my story carefully enough. I quote: ‘Something further may follow of this Masquerade.’”
Back in character as Goodman, The Confidence Man resumes his romp through the ship, asking its passengers—cynics, skeptics and scoundrels, all—for confidence, and upon not receiving it, making each pay for it through his confidence games.
In the Gentlemen’s Cabin, in the person of an Old Man silently studying his Bible, he finally finds someone who professes “unabiding confidence” in his fellow man. Their happy discourse is interrupted by the Young Woman and a Female Companion, who enter bearing travelers’ safety devices for sale. Their pitch: A SOFT-HANDED GENTLEMAN (IT’S YOUR LIFE). In spite of the Old Man’s trust in mankind, he buys every “travelers’ protection” they offer and goes securely to bed. The Female Companion slips away, leaving Goodman and the Young Woman alone. In a sleeping cabin. She entices him to hand over his money roll to her so that she can show him how to conceal it in a money belt, which she wraps around her bared midriff. Regaining his senses, he wants his money back. She warns him that if he lays one hand on her, she can have him locked up for life. When he calls her bluff, she calls for her “Daddy!” … who emerges from the Old Man’s sleeping quarters, peeling off his old-man make-up, revealing that “daddy” is the Customs Officer! And father and daughter are confidence man and daughter in league together. And the heirloom ring Goodman bought is worthless. And, cruelest irony of all, her name is Faith. The Confidence Man… in the hands of Faith… on the steamship, Fidèle.
The Fidèle’s passengers fill the deck. Melville’s words about a masquerade haunt it. The ship draws toward port. The Civil War draws nearer. Foreshadowing the days to follow, the Passengers sing SOMETHING OF THIS MASQUERADE MAY FOLLOW.
THE FINAL CURTAIN.
| Label |
Original Cast |
Cat.No. |
OCR 6058 |
Format |
CD |
Year |
2003 |
Country |
USA |
New Orleans Is Comin’ To Me
Passengers:
I’ve got a funny kind of feelin’
Like standin’ on top of the sea
Instead of me going’ the way to New Orleans
New Orleans is comin’ to me
It doesn’t matter where I’ve been to
What matters is where I will be
Most places I’ve been to, I’ve been to too often
But New Orleans is comin’ to me
So dance me a while
Advance me a while
Fidèle, be faithful
Escort me a while
Cavort me a while
Fidèle, be true
Sing me past the shapes that assemble on the borders of the night
Lift me through the mountains that tremble ’til the ending is in sight
Deep roots grow along the river
Long shoots flow into its waters
The blood of the Missisippi
Rises up in it’s sons and daughters
Warm finger breezes got a hold of me
Proud arms are pullin’ me forward
Ancestral tears are washin’ over me
I’m crying, ‘cause I’m travel-tired
Mama, I’m home again!
A distant dot on the horizon
Is risin’ beyond Tennessee
From Vicksburg to Greenville, and on up to Clarksdale
New Orleans is comin’ to me
There is magic more than this one
That beckons so welcomingly
Just outta St. Louis, and halfway to heaven
New Orleans is comin’ to me
It means something
It means something
I’m standing still through Memphis
And I really want to emphasize
I’m standing still through Memphis
And I really want to emphasize
It means something
It means something
I’m suddenly in Natchez
And I don’t know where the catch is
But I’m suddenly in Natchez
And I don’t know where the catch is
But it means something
It means something...
[ musical interlude ]
It means something
It means something
Cruisin’ through Tallulah
Too unsual to eulogize
We’re cruisin’ through Tallulah
Too unusual to eulogize
It means something
It means something
Tallulah and Eudora
Oozin’ to us through the flora
Marianna, then Eudora
Then Tallulah through the flora
Oh it means something
It means something...
Deep roots grow along the river
Long shoots flow into its waters
The blood of the Missisippi
Rises up in it’s sons and daughters
Warm finger breezes got a hold of me
Proud arms are pullin’ me forward
Ancestral tears are washin’ over me
I’m crying, ‘cause I’m travel-tired
Mama, I’m home again!
It isn’t God or superstition
That makes me go down on one knee
It’s something I feel, like a boat feels the water
New Orleans is comin’ to me
Pitch Penny
Black Guinea (The Confidence Man):
Pitch penny! Pitch penny!
My mout is my mitt if you pitch any! Pitch penny!
Pitch penny! Pitch penny!
My paunch is my purse if you pitch many! Pitch penny!
Cast down your coins, down cast your eyes
Miss Fortune’s cut me down to tighs
I come to believe, from the angle I’ve seen it
That life is a sandwich with nothin’ between it
Sand… wich… hand… twitch… and pitch… penny
Sand… wich… hand… twitch… and pitch… penny
No buttons! No buttons!
What good can you reap if you sow buttons?! No buttons!
Pitch penny! Pitch penny!
The palm that is empty should itch plenny! Pitch penny!
If you will pay we’ll play a game
I’ll flash my teeth while you take aim!
My mouth like an infants the day that you wean it
And life is a sandwich with nothin’ between it
Sand… wich… hand… twitch… and pitch… penny
Sand… wich… hand… twitch… and pitch… penny
No buttons! No buttons!
I beg you again not to throw buttons! No buttons!
Pitch penny! Rich penny!
Pitch penny! Rich penny! Pitch penny!
Pitch penny …
Such Heaps of Fiene Friends
Barber:
Did ever one man have such heaps of fine friends?
Such bosom aquaintances on whom he depends?
A circle of confidants responsive to all his wants?
That friendship that always wants the hand he extends?
Clergyman:
It fills my heart with pride to know that there exists
An open fraternity of love that persists
Nothing’s as conforting as–
Barber:You can always tell who has–
Clergyman:The man sleeps well who has–
Both:Such heaps of fine friends
Barber:A man in mourning clothes
Clergyman:Another in gray
Barber:Another in business suit all heading our way
Clergyman:A doctor of herbs is due in snuff-colored, tan surtout
’S ‘nuff to give answer to this surly survey
Barber:
You overlooked the man primar’ly in red
Whose name ends, like all the rest, with “man”, so he said
Both:
We only forced him to add the colleagues he never had
No beggar ever had such heaps of fine friends
Barber:
Did ever beggar hav such heaps of fine
Friendly accomplices on whom he depends?
A circle of “con” confidants responsive to all his wants?
That friendship that always wants the hand he extends?
Chorus:
It fills my heart with pride to know that there exists
Clergyman:
You bet your life there exists
Chorus:
An open fraternity of love that persists
Clergyman:An open, clear-cut alternative to slashing your wrists
Barber & Clergyman:
There’s nothing as conforting as
Such heaps of–but, hell who has such
such fine-feathered–well, who has
Such heaps of fine friends …
Edging Into Darkness
Young Woman:
I don’t have a dream to my name
Or a prayer or a poem to invoke
Every day of my life ends the same
Down in flame, up in smoke
Edging into darkness
Easing into darkness
Fading into darkness–nothing near me
Stumbling into darkness
Groping into darkness
Calling into darkness–can you hear me?
Of all the laments that are sung
And heroic events that are told
Mine just smolder like ash on my tongue
I’m too young to be old
Edging into darkness
Easing into darkness
Fading into darkness–nothing near me
Stumbling into darkness
Groping into darkness
Calling into darkness–can you hear me?
I’d sacrifice myself at any price
If only I were able, once or twice
To melt the fire, to freeze the ice
Or lie between a tear-stained sea and a sky wept clean
But all that I have is a star
And a candle that flickers and fails
And if things stay as dark as they are
I’ll go far, wind in sail–edging into darkness
Steal away, angel steal away
While you still have your wings, steal away
On a bright cloud of morn
You’ll be cradled and reborn
Steal away, angel steal away
Steal away, angel steal away
While you still have your wings, steal away
On a bright cloud of morn
You’ll be cradled and reborn
Steal away, angel steal away
Steal away
Steal away
Steal away
Steal away …
Methinks
Ringman (The Confidence Man):
The lady doth protest too much, methinks!
Her thunder doth suggest too much, methinks!
Methinks I see the truth–
The lady well be mine forsooth!
The lady well be mine… forsooth!
Steward:
The lady is above all, she thinks!
And that’s the riddle of it all, methinks!
She can’t be all that good–
A lady isn’t made of wood!
A lady isn’t made… of wood!
Ringman, Steward & Customs Officer:
She is full of sound and fury
Signifing plenty
Fast and free, and fancies me
And over one-and-twenty!
The lady will reverse herself, methinks!
But she’ll pretend to curse herself, methinks!
If she meant what she said
Milady would be home instead!
Milady would be home… in bed!
Steward:Instead of on the roam–
Steward & Customs Officer:Instead of on the foam–
Ringman:Milady would be home… in bed!
Steward:The lady will be thine–
Customs Officer:The lady will be thine–
Ringman:The lady will be mine… forsooth …
Confidence
Ringman (The Confidence Man):
Have confidence in someone with confidence in you
Trust someone and become one of the few who do
I ask a vote of your confidence–give what you can afford
A note of your confidence to reach “a-chord”
Confidentially speaking you’ll feel years lighter when
You answer “yes” by tweaking the “no’s” you followed
Then I tell you in confidence:
If I had your confidence I’d use it to get it again
Never could abide, never could abide irony
Never could abide, never could abide satire
Irony and satrire tire me, ire me–
Products of the system, easy to resist them
In my pursuit of genuine confidence
Have confidence in someone with confidence in you
Trust someone and become one of the few who do
I ask a vote of your confidence–give what you can afford
A note of your confidence to reach “a-chord”
Confidentially speaking you’ll feel years lighter when
You answer “yes” by tweaking the “no’s” you followed
Then I tell you in confidence:
If I had your confidence I’d use it to get it again
I’d use it to get it again …
Nocturnally Yours
Young Woman:
Something that there is about us
Says the night can’t pass without is
We belong together, nocturnally
Should we two be separated
Close your eyes and we’ll be mated
We’ll be joined together, nocturnally
Thru the forest of our longing cuts a path that clears the way
Not for long will we be longing for our bodies to obey
For something that there is–that there is in all I’m feeling
Isn’t as revealing as when night comes stealing in
And I become–I become–
I will be yours nocturnally
I will be, for eternity, I will be nocturnally yours
I am yours, yours nocturnally
I am yours, for eternity I will be nocturnally yours
Think of what we have to go on
Anything that we are low on
Won’t keep us long from going on, nocturnally
Let us swear from this day forward
You have mine and I have your word
We will come together, nocturnally
On a wave of tender power we’ll be carried through the night
Spending hour after hour ’til forever is in sight
Oh, think of what we have–what we have and all I’m feeling
Isn’t as revealing as when night comes stealing in
And I become–I become–
I will be yours nocturnally
I will be, for eternity, I will be nocturnally yours
I am yours, yours nocturnally
I am yours, for eternity I will be nocturnally yours
I will be yours nocturnally
I will be, for eternity, I will be nocturnally yours …
Pain Humbles
Healman (The Confidence Man):
While you endure a stabbing pain and doctors seek the germ germane
Alas, in vain, your spirit plainly crumbles–pain humbles
You disregard that you are ill, a pillar in your own mind still
But there’s no pill for when a pillar tumbles–pain humbles
You’re overweight–they operate
You deviate–they operate
You palpitate–they operate
You bet you–they get you!
’Tho you insist you’re geting strong
The doctor says, “It won’t be long”
‘Cause “W-what went wrong went r-really wrong,"
He fumbles–pain humbles!”
Pain humbles
Pain humbles
In spite of all his high ideals a man is only how he feels
And when he feels on his last heels, he grumbles–pain humbles
A rich man may luxuriate until his heart beats fluctuate
Then at the gate of his estate he stumbles–pain humbles!
Without a cure–a man is poor
The cure obsucure–a man is poor
A temperature–a man is poor
You add it–you’ve had it!
From all that cake you’re left a crumb
You nibble it and down you come!
Your teeth go numb an lo!
Your stomach rumbles–pain humbles!
Pain humbles
Pain humbles …
So if it’s gout that gets your goat
Or if you’re smote by stomach bloat
For every dote there’s an anti-dote
You feel it–I’ll heal it
I’ll make this claim and make it stick
What hurts you hurts me to the quick!
I writhe when sick with pain
A victim mumbles–pain humbles!
Pain humbles
Pain humbles
I’ll make this claim and make it stick
What hurts you hurts me to the quick!
I writhe when sick with pain
A victim mumbles–pain humbles!
Pain humbles
Pain humbles
Pain humbles
Pain humbles …
A Maiden Is Only as Maiden as She Feels
Young Woman:
It’s no use pretending you’re something that you’re not
A maiden is only as maiden as she feels
In spite of the arrow that hits the beauty spot
A maiden is only as maiden as she feels
’Tho under the collar she is too hot not to trot–we all have our ideals
As long as her maiden name is all that she’s got
A maiden is only as maiden as she feels
Enticed or inveigled, arroused or plain provoked
She’s maiden as long as she keeps her pretty head
Seduced or molested, debauched, defiled or stroked
She’s maiden as long as she keeps her little head
The most she’ll admit too is having once been poked–until the maiden’s wed!
Far from uncovered, she’s never been uncloacked!
She’s maiden as long as she keeps her maiden’s head
When the wolf is at my door
I will face his roaring jaws
But I don’t want to languish in his pregnant paws
I’ve been maiden in distress!
I’ve been maiden in demand!
The only maid I’ve never been is made by hand
While dreaming divinely, supinely or prone
A maiden is only as maiden as she feels
While sartyrs massage an erogenous zones
A maiden is only as maiden as she feels
I’ve knibbled the sweatmeats and gnawed at the bone of life’s exotic meals
I eat with my finges, but I sleep alone!
A maiden is only as maiden as she feels
I eat with my finges, but I sleep alone
A maiden is only as maiden as she feels …
Give Us This Day Our Daily Flesh
Soldier of Fortune:
This… wreck you see before your eyes
Was once a young man on the rise
This… Lazarus risen from the dead
Was such a smart boy, his father said
Such a sweet boy, his mother said
How do you make a boy a man?
Give him a foe he’s better than
Give him a hero’s call to war
Give him a cause worth fighting for
Give him a cause worth killing for
Follow me brother, thru this field
Courage our sword and God our shield
There lie’s a fortress in the night–
Let’s have a look before it’s light
Let’s have a look by firelight!
Give us this day our daily flesh
Give us your young men, firm and frsh
Give us the strength to do God’s will
Teach us to pray and the to kill
For the love of God–let me kill!
But the fort that I burnt was a farmhouse
It took a poisened eye to destroy
And the soldier I killed was no soldier at all
And the man that I killed was a boy–like me–
The man that I killed was a boy!
Suddenly I begin to run
Taking more lives before I’m done
“Don’t you stop me! Don’t you… why?!
Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I?
I tried to warn you? Didn’t I?”
Give us this day our daily flesh
Give us our bodies, firm and frsh
Give us the strength to get me home
Give me the chance to see my home
For the love of God–get me home!
Then I looked at myself in a river
But all I saw was human debris
So I looked for myself in the river
And found every corps that I faced had a face–like mine–
The face on the river was me!
[spoken]
But I did get home. I got to my front door just in time to see my parents accepting the honors for their son… a hero killed in action. A hero! Me!
There I stood when the shock killed my mother. And I watched as her death killed my dad. And as each of them died… a part of my mind died… again… and the last… gasp of grace from my soul… I lost… I lost everything I had
[sung]
Give us this day our daily flesh
Give us your young men, firm and frsh
Give us the strength to do God’s will
Teach us to pray and the to kill
For the love of God–why?!
For the love of God–let me die …
Sanctimonious Sambo
Helpman (The Confidence Man):
Sanctimonious sambo, tapping tales on his tambourine
Silent Sam with his damn bow, fiddling fibs with pious man
One man’s mumbo jumbo is the other’s dumb show
A two-faced twosome, black and white–light on dark, dark on light
Clergyman:
Sanctimonious sambo, stretching truth with his outstreched palms
Silent Sam with his damn bow, fingering the sacred psalms
Pinchbeck limbs akimbo, or pinched lips in limbo
Crooked bookends, white and black, crooked tongue, crooked back …
Customs Officer:
Sanctimonious sambo, turning heads with his twisted limbs
Silent Sam with his damn bow, catching throats with his tongue-tied hymns
In our sea they wallow, swilling lies we swallow
Counterfeits in black and white, plain as day all right–all right …
Milady
Goodman (The Confidence Man):
With that gleam in your eye
I could fashion a diamond to array milady
With the silk of your sigh
I could polish a diadem of jewels for your crown
Let me string and bedeck
Last nights stars for your necklace, everyday, milady
Squeeze the stormclouds for wine
And gather silver linings for your gown
Just a smile from that face
And the world is your bracelet if you wish, milady
If the shade is too dull
I can borrow the colour from the blush of your cheeks
Take the song that you sing
And I’ll serve it with springtime on a dish, milady
Nature’s music was made
To seranade milady when she speaks …
Take the song that you sing
And I’ll serve it with springtime on a dish, milady
Nature’s music was made
To seranade milady when she speaks …
A Soft-Handed Gentleman (It’s Your Life)
Young Woman & Female Companion:
Suppose a soft-handed gentleman
Should turn the knob thus
What would become of us?
What would become of us?
Suppose that, entering our chambers
He should fiddle and fuss
What would become of us?
What would become of us?
Imagine fingers a-flailing
While we’re reeling and railing
And our knees slowly sinking
While our senses go sailing
Our trices and trusses he’d distress–
He’d distress–
And distruss–
What would become of us?
What would become of us?
So, take this traveller’s bolt and this traveller’s belt
They’re the two best devices a thief ever felt
Try this traveller’s alert and this traveller’s alarm
And this false-bottom sling for the afluent arm
Here’s a bell you can grip while you’re taking a nap
For the overnight trip here’s a game-hunter’s trap
Wear this garter of chain, use this stay, it’s a knife
Here’s a sword, it’s a cane–take them all! It’s your life!
Here’s a bell you can grip while you’re taking a nap
For the overnight trip here’s a game-hunter’s trap
Wear this garter of chain, use this stay, it’s a knife
Here’s a sword, it’s a cane–take them all! It’s your life!
It’s… your… life!
Something of This Masquerade May Follow
Passengers:
Something of this masquerade may follow
Enter someone in disguise
Clad in truth, and cloaked in lies
Baring and unmasking every hollow
And something of this masquerade may follow
Something of this big parade may catch us
Enter someone beating drums
Tempting fate and down it comes
Threatening to discover and dispatch us
And something of this big parade
Something of this mass charade–
Something of this masquerade may follow
There’s a stain spreading over the land
There’s a vileness clouding the water
And a blue-grey hawk in the bloodshot sky
Leads his blue-grey brother to slaughter
Can the music drown out the marching?
Can the river cover the tears?
Can the mania hold back tomorrow
On this ship that destiny stears?
Something of this masquerade may follow
Enter someone in disguise
Clad in truth, and cloaked in lies
Something of this masquerade may follow
Enter someone in disguise
Clad in truth, and cloaked in lies
Something of this big parade may catch us
Enter someone beating drums
Tempting fate and down it comes
Threatening to discover and dispatch us
And something of this big parade
Something of this mass charade–
Something of this masquerade may follow
New Orleans Is Comin’ To Me (reprise)
Deep roots grow along the river
Long shoots flow into its waters–
The blood of the Missisippi
Rises up in it’s sons and daughters …