It’s hard to believe that it has been 16 years since I put this Halloween show together for 60 Degrees wi Brian Ferrari, my weekly radio show focusing on “60’s chicks and girl groups – the hidden gems, cult favorites and unreleased obscurities of the decade.” The show ran for five years (2008-2013) on East Village Radio and has been back on the air since July, 2024. This Halloween episode was originally broadcast on October 27, 2008 and aired every Halloween for the duration of the run.
In this very special episode, we’ve got soul witches, rockabilly rabble-rousers, death discs, horror movie theme songs, science fiction sirens, girls driven to madness by love and more dead boyfriends than you can shake a broomstick at. Plus a whole lot more! As with every episode, the songs were interspersed with vintage commercials, sound effects and movie clips.
Ladies and Gentleman, it is time once again to revisit that late great dynamic lady of song, Madame Spivy LeVoe (1906-1971), also known simply as Spivy. A lesbian entertainer, nightclub owner and character actress, Spivy has been described as “The Female Noel Coward” – to which I add “…. if he had been born in Brooklyn as Bertha Levine.”
“Why Don’t You?” is the fifth side profiled here from her 1939 album Seven Gay Sophisticated Songs. Spivy is credited with composing the music, with lyrics by Everett Marcy, who also penned “I Brought Culture to Buffalo In The 90’s”.
Marcy had a few Broadway writing credits including New Faces of 1936. It was Marcy who wrote the oft-repeated line introduced in the show by Imogene Coca: “I must get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini.”
The song “Why Don’t You?” refers to Diana Vreeland’s column of the same name in Harper’s Bazaar magazine. It was full of random “imaginative” suggestions such as “Why don’t you wash your blond child’s hair in dead champagne, as they do in France?”
Some of the notables of the day that are referenced in the song:
Vera Zorina – a ballerina, actress, and the second wife of George Balanchine.
Cecil Beaton – photographer, diarist, painter, interior designer, and an Oscar-winning costume designer.
Elsa Maxwell – a gossip columnist, radio personality, and professional hostess renowned for her high society parties.
“The Zerbes and Bebees” refers to the original paparazzi photographer Jerome Zerbe (1904-88) and syndicated society columnist Lucius Beebe (1902-1966). The two were a couple through the 1930’s.
Peggy Hopkins Joyce – an actress and socialite, notorious for her flamboyant lifestyle with numerous affairs, engagements and six marriages.
Clifton Webb – a character actor best known for his thinly veiled “sissy” supporting roles.
Why Don’t You?
Today when all the headlines full of red lines and bread lines confuse you And the world seems bleak, don’t be blue. In Harper’s they have a column, very smart and very solemn that will amuse you. It asks you little questions to give you smart suggestions how you, too can reek with chic like the most ultra-clique, and they call it “Why Don’t You?” It asks you…
Why don’t you have your ermine muff wired for sound and use it weekends as a concertina? Why don’t you give a charity ball for the Princeton Club and raffle off Vera Zorina?
Why don’t you throw your mother an occasional bone? Why don’t you try sleeping alone? Why don’t you take the pretty blue check you won at bridge and kite it? Why don’t you dip your head in brandy and light it?
Why don’t you try wearing gold sandals backwards just for the sheer agony of it? Why don’t you send last year’s negligée to Cecil Beaton? He’d love it. So they want you to try decorating your flat with bundles of hay… Well they know what they can do with Harper’s, why don’t they?
Why don’t you try going to Elsa Maxwell’s parties as yourself for a change? Why don’t you try wearing a hat that won’t make your husband look strange? Why don’t you develop a bright smile by putting an electric bulb behind each tooth? Why don’t you give a testimonial dinner for Hitler in a telephone booth?
Why don’t you get out of town before you come down with a compound case of heebie jeebies? Why don’t you listen to the birds and bees instead of the Zerbes and Bebees? So they want you to roll up your rugs and cover your floors with broccoli on the first warm day. Well they know what they can do with Vogue too…. Why don’t they?
Why don’t you have a stag line composed of the ex-husbands of Peggy Hopkins Joyce? Why don’t you cross breed carrier pigeons with parrots so they can deliver messages by voice? Why don’t you try throwing Clifton Webb over your left shoulder and making a wish? Why don’t you fill your guest’s finger bowls with invisible tropical fish?
Why don’t you try opening your eyes in the middle of a kiss? Why don’t you cancel your subscriptions to magazines like this? Why don’t you tear everything off your hat and stamp on it? Why don’t you take out a homestead in Montana and go “camp” on it?
So they want you to promise to slap your own face two hundred times a day? Well tell them you’ll have none of it. Tell them you’re through with their “Things To Do” and they can all take their Harper’s and… love it.
Seven years after Blondie went on hiatus, “Debbie” become “Deborah” as she released her third solo album, Def Dumb and Blonde – an eclectic 15-track collection that most fans consider to be her best effort outside of the band. Although the album did not crack the US Billboard top 100, it reached the top 10 in the UK and other countries.
I got tickets to the November 11 show. This was the second of three sold out shows at the Lower East Side club. The guy I was seeing when the tickets went on sale was no longer in the picture by the time the show came around, so I ended up taking my older sister, Kari. She had been a Blondie fan a decade before – it was her cassette of Parallel Lines that we wore out.
We came up out of the F train at Houston Street and First Avenue and started heading east into Alphabet City, walking briskly past the homeless huddled around burning trashcans and assorted drug-induced shenanigans. Kari was holding onto my arm, talking a mile a minute – engrossed in a story that I hoped would keep her distracted for as long as possible. We were somewhere between Avenues A & B when she finally looked around, slowed a bit, gripped my arm tighter and said “Oh my god. Where are you taking me???”
“Almost there!” I said, although I wasn’t sure if we were.
I knew nothing about The World – a 16-and-over nightclub that payed little attention to underage drinking, a quaint complaint given the other activities that allegedly went on there. Housed in a crumbling former catering hall, it had that air of faded decadence prevalent in many East Village hangouts. It was as if the party continued on in the ruins of past generations…. clubs and galleries in the dilapidated haunts of German, Polish, and Ukranian immigrants, followed by another generation of hippies and poets, then punks and artists who had now come and gone. We were in the last months of the 1980’s and all that the decade had wrought was slipping into the past. But would Debbie, um, Deborah Harry?
There was an air of anticipation as to how this show would go: her first solo tour at age 44 – the same age as Tina Turner at the time of her Private Dancer success 5 years earlier. Given that Harry was back on her home turf – just a few blocks from CBGB’s – would she lean into her rock/punk roots? Surely this would not be a parade of greatest hits.
Still, it was a surprise when she quietly took to the stage along with her ever-present creative partner Chris Stein and opened her set with the jazzy Motown ballad “The Hunter Gets Captured By The Game.” This Marvelettes cover was the final song on Blondie’s 1982 LP The Hunter. It was an intriguing choice for an opening number, as if she & Stein were picking up right where Blondie left off.
And then the show shifted into gear: playing through a set heavy on Def Dumb & Blonde‘s edgier cuts while seamlessly mixing in Blondie album tracks like “Cautious Lip” & “Detroit 442”. The set wound down with “Brite Side,” her latest single which segued into a cover of The Velvet Underground’s “Waiting For The Man”.
For the encore, she took off her jacket and returned the stage in just a black bra. When presented with a bouquet of roses, she bit the head off of one and spit it back at the audience. She tore through a couple of conciliatory hits: “Call Me” & “One Way Or Another”, plus her minor solo hit “French Kissin’ In The USA”.
Here’s where memory gets tricky: I recall that she did a Ramones cover as her final song. In the years following this show, I saw The Go-Go’s and Kirsty MacColl both cover “I Wanna Be Sedated” as final encores at their concerts. Some mental wires got crossed and 30+ years later, I thought Harry sang it too. But thanks to the internet and her fanatic fans, I am reminded that the Ramones song she covered on this tour was “Pet Sematary,” the theme to the Stephen King movie that her old friends had released earlier that year.
Here’s a recording from The Roxy in LA on October 23, 1989 – two weeks prior to The World shows in NYC:
My sister had gone off during the encore to find a bathroom. Towards the end of this song, she reappeared, white as a ghost, saying “Ohmygod ohmygod you have to help me! I have to pee SO bad and there’s only ONE bathroom for everyone! NO STALLS. I asked someone if it was the ladies room and she said ‘Men, women… what’s the difference?’ ohmygod you have to help me!”
Downstairs in the bathroom, I stood with my back to her, holding my full-length wool coat open like some sort of reverse-flasher trying to block her from the view of everyone except the woman sitting on the toilet right next to her having a conversation with her friend. I was trying not to laugh too hard as my sister kept muttering behind me “ohmygod ohmygod unbelievable… men, women, what’s the difference… unbelievable….”
On our way out, I poked my head into the lounge, where futuristic electronic music played. I could only make out strange silhouettes in the dim colored lights of the smoky room. It seemed like a cross between the Creature Cantina and something out of The Jetsons.
Still got that t-shirt…
After a quick t-shirt purchase at the merch booth, we were back on the street. Kari was holding on to my arm as we headed down East Second Street. A panhandler approached and said “Now there’s an attractive couple!” My sister let out a sustained “Eeew” which I punctuated with “She’s my SISTER.”
“My apologies.” He responded quickly and moved on to the second half of his spiel as he walked alongside us. “I’m having a rough time right now. If you could reach down into your pockets and help me out with anything, anything at all, I would really appreciate it.”
Kari, absentmindedly reached down into her pocket and presented him with a matchbook. He was not amused.
We turned on to Avenue A as he stood there screaming after us “Fuck you bitch! Fuck you! I will fucking BURN you bitch!”
She didn’t seem to hear him. Shaking her head, she said, “Oh my god. That bathroom.”
It would be another year and a half before I relocated to the neighborhood. But The World ended just two weeks before I got there: On June 27, 1991 co-owner Steven Venizelos – described by the New York Times as “a corpulent man with a penchant for jewelry” – was found murdered on the balcony of the club. He was shot three times at close range. There were no signs of robbery and the case went unsolved. In keeping with the East Village trend, the building was demolished to make way for “luxury” apartments.
The Record, 6/29/91
And Debbie? She’s still going strong. As she sang in “I Want That Man,” Here comes the 21st Century… it’s gonna be much better for a girl like me… the reunited Blondie brought in the new millennium with “Maria,” a #1 hit in the UK. They were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2006.
Her latest collaboration is with The Dandy Warhols – “I Will Never Stop Loving You.”
I know I am not alone when I say that I take comfort in the annual repetition of the holidays: revisiting holiday-themed music, films, television shows… and now internet posts. Dave Holmes’ account of Patti LaBelle’s disastrous performance at the 1996 National Christmas Tree lighting is worth an annual revisit. Trust me.
Not to get meta or anything, but the post you are currently reading has been reworked and updated each year since 2020.
While we’re mining the past and dusting off our chestnuts, here’s the intro to the 1999 holiday episode ofBri-Guy’s Media Surf, an NYC Public Access show that featured yours truly lip-synching a little Esquivel:
Whenever the song pops up on my holiday playlist, I still do this.
I find it interesting that we immerse ourselves in certain pop culture favorites for exactly 6 weeks of the year and then pack them up in mothballs with the ornaments until next year. I mean, Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree” is currently at #1 on the Billboard Hot 100. Burl Ives, Bobby Helms and Andy Williams are also in the top 10. Are any of them on your 4th of July playlist? They aren’t on mine.
Gabe Pressman (left) with Marilyn Monroe (1956)
I used to look forward to the annual Christmas Eve tradition on NBC New York’s evening news when reporter Gabe Pressman would read “Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus.” I taped it in 2011, knowing that the tradition wouldn’t last forever. The self-described “little Jewish kid from the Bronx” was 87 years old at the time and continued to work at NBC until his death at age 93.
NBC New York reporter Gabe Pressman’s annual segment on Virginia O’Hanlon’s 1897 letter to the New York Sun Newspaper.
In keeping with this revisit, my other blog posts of Christmas past are back to haunt you like A Christmas Carol, Mr. Scrooge:
Copyright issues kept my 60 Degrees Girl Group Christmas playlist out of commission but now it’s back! I plan to post other episodes of my old radio show in the new year.
My Canine Christmas Tail is a true story about my dog Sunshine, a basset hound with an appetite for tinsel.
Have you watched Christmas In Connecticut yet this year? How about that delivery woman? This year I was able to update my 2019 post, identifying Daisy Bufford as the actress who played the unbilled role.
The original version of “¿Dónde Está Santa Claus?” is featured in “Llamacita,” this year’s Amazon Prime holiday commercial. Here’s a little backstory on the song & Augie Rios, who sang the original version.
Also – would you like to hear my Spotify holiday playlist?
Way back in 2002, when Limewire was a thing and people listened to music on silvery discs, I started creating Christmas CD mixes that I would mail out or give to people. These were received with a heartwarming combination of feigned delight, veiled indifference and deafening silence. None of these CDs had a pressing of more than 20 copies. I’d like to call them “much sought after” – but no, that’s not really the case, although every once in a while, someone really got into them and would ask for copies of other volumes.
And so, I’m offering this simple playlist…. for kids from 1 to 92. Unfortunately some of the tracks on these dozen CDs are not on Spotify, but I keep adding songs that would be on the current CD volume… if there was one. And now the playlist is over 17 hours of holiday tunes. I recommend listening on shuffle – there’s something to irritate everyone. Enjoy!
Here’s one more nugget to stuff in your stocking: This vid went viral in 2011. Choreographed and performed by Alex Karigan & Zac Hammer of the Amy Marshall Dance Company, it was filmed in one continuous take at the New 42nd St. Dance Studios. There’s something infectious about it: the joy, the corniness, the celebratory queerness of it all. It makes me want to dust off my jazz shoes. Once a year.
Last week, Queerty posted an article proclaiming, “The Hallmark Channel is gayer than ever this year!” This is followed by a massive list of exactly THREE movies that they consider gay. The first one, Catch Me If You Claus stars Luke Macfarlane in his 16th movie for the network. Yes, the Bros co-star is gay in real life, but the character in the film is not. Kudos to him for continuing to be cast in straight roles, but… do we then count this as a gay film?
The second movie on their list, Christmas on Cherry Lane is an ensemble piece that includes a gay couple. Jonathan Bennett, Hallmark’s go-to gay actor for gay roles plays opposite Vincent Rodriguez III. It airs December 9th.
The third film, Friends and Family Christmas centers on lesbian friends (Humberly Gonzalez & Ali Liebert) who must pose as a couple for the holidays… and you’ll never guess what happens! This one premieres on December 17th.
So there you have it. As a reminder: The Hallmark Channel is premiering 42 – FORTY-TWO – new Hallmark Christmas movies this season. And we’re supposed to kvell because TWO of them are gay-ish? Honey, please.
Since 2020, a few of these gay disposable holiday films have dribbled out every holiday season– not just on The Hallmark Channel but also on Lifetime, Netflix and elsewhere. I’m not here to crap on the genre, but there is a conveyor belt feel to these films. With the similar actors, sets, and plots, it can be difficult to remember which one had which fading star of yesteryear playing the mom. Obviously if I didn’t get some enjoyment out of watching them, I wouldn’t tune in. But I don’t go all in for them, either. Please give me a combination of humor, wit, romantic chemistry, decent acting and/or a plot twist and I’ll stick with it. Check off more than a couple of those boxes and I might watch it again next year… if I can remember the title and what channel it was on.
Here’s a list I put together last year to try to keep these movies straight, so to speak. It’s not definitive and I apologize for any omissions.
1) The Xmas Setup (2020) – Lifetime
Older star playing a parent: Fran Drescher Romantic chemistry? Yes – this real-life couple generate a believable amount of TV movie warmth.
The Christmas Setup follows the story of New York lawyer Hugo (Ben Lewis) who heads to Milwaukee with his best friend Madelyn (Ellen Wong) to spend the holidays with his mom Kate (Fran Drescher). Kate arranges for Hugo to run into Patrick (Blake Lee), his high school friend and secret crush, who has recently returned after a successful stint in Silicon Valley. Hijinks begin.
2) Dashing In December (2020) – Paramount+
Older star playing a parent: Andie McDowell Romantic chemistry? Some. I guess. It’s an enjoyable movie but I don’t see these boys staying together.
After Wyatt (Peter Porte) comes home for the holidays to try to convince his mother (Andie MacDowell) to sell the family’s Colorado ranch, he finds romance with the dashing new ranch hand (Juan Pablo Di Pace) who dreams of saving the property and its magical Winter Wonderland attraction.
It’s a nice surprise to see Andie McDowell here, but I am reminded of when comedienne Paula Poundstone described her face as “an egg with a smile drawn on it.”
3) Happiest Season (2020) – Netflix
Older stars playing the parents: Mary Steenburgen & Victor Garber Sapphic chemistry? Yes, but not between the two that we’re supposed to root for.
This is the one with Kristen Stewart, Aubrey Plaza & Dan Levy. Stewart’s girlfriend invites her home for Christmas but fails to mention that she’s not out to her family and they must pretend to be friends. Hilarity ensues. A cut above Lifetime/Hallmark movies but I’m including it because it satisfies the same itch. Same genre, but overall higher quality thanks to the cast and Clea Duvall’s writing & direction. One caveat: I wanted Kristen Stewart’s character to end up with Aubrey Plaza. But that doesn’t fit the formula, does it?
4) The Christmas House (2020) – Hallmark
Older stars playing the parents: Treat Williams & Sharon Lawrence Romantic chemistry? The gay married couple is peripheral here, so it’s not required. They’re fine.
This was the first Hallmark movie to feature a gay couple, even if they are supporting players. Jonathan Bennett is the gay son with Brad Harder as the devoted husband. They want to adopt kids – that’s their side plot. The straight brother has the romantic interest storyline, while the parents have decided to give up their traditional grand ole “Christmas House” which, like all the other houses in these movies, looks like a realtor’s model home with decorations recently purchased at Kohl’s.
5) The Christmas House 2: Deck Those Halls (2021) – Hallmark
Older stars playing the parents: Same as above. R.I.P. Treat Williams. ☹ Romantic chemistry? Maybe I’m being a sap, but this couple grew on me.
The sequel to the above film. This time the brothers are competing on a reality show to create the best Christmas House. It’s harmless fun.
6) Clusterfünke Christmas (2021) – Comedy Central
“A no-nonsense hotel exec buys a family inn in northern Maine, but the town’s Christmas spirit clashes with her cosmopolitan values.” This one’s actually a spoof of the genre written by and co-starring Rachel Dratch & Ana Gasteyer as the innkeepers. Out actor Cheyenne Jackson plays the straight romantic lead. If Queerty can claim the Luke Macfarlane movie as gay, then we get this one, if not for Jackson, then just for pure camp value.
7) Under The Christmas Tree (2021) – Lifetime
Older stars playing the parents: Wendy Crewson & Enrico Colantoni. Ricki Lake is also on hand. Sapphic Chemistry? Yes
As described in Vulture: Lifetime’s new and first-ever lesbian Christmas movie is a legitimately good queer film in which the main character, Alma (Elise Bauman), is not only accepted by her Maine-based, small-Christmas-business-owner parents for being a lesbian but encouraged to fall in love with out-of-town stranger Charlie (Tattiawna Jones). Cheesy as it is, the premise is as sweet as it is predictable with plenty of fun, memorable scenes and unexpected moments thrown in.”
8) Single All The Way (2021) – Netflix
Older stars playing the parents: Kathy Najimy & Barry Bostwick with Jennifer Coolidge as the diva aunt. Romantic chemistry? Yes
Peter (Michael Urie) finds out his boyfriend is married. They break up and he invites his best friend home with him for Christmas to pretend they’re a couple. His mom tries to set him up with Luke Macfarlane anyway. You’ll never guess who he ends up with. This one beat out Under The Christmas Tree to win the GLAAD Media Award for Outstanding TV Movie. Probably the best of the bunch, and not just for this monologue:
Older stars playing the parents: NONE Romantic chemistry? Not that I recall.
Another Hallmark movie with resident gay Jonathan Bennett. Now he’s a workaholic from the big city who gets stuck watching his sister’s kids because of a snowstorm and she’s pregnant and going into labor or something. He recruits hunky neighbor Jason (George Krissa) to shepherd the precocious children through an endless list of absolutely necessary holiday activities. Bennett’s first major role years ago was in the movie Mean Girls. He also co-wrote this script, in which he actually tells the family dog “Stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen.” I have nothing more to say.
10) A Christmas To Treasure (2022) – Lifetime
Older stars playing the parents: Nobody I recognize. Maybe they’re big in Canada? Romantic chemistry? NONE.
A real-life gay couple with no chemistry try to find a hidden treasure… before it’s too late! 33-year-old Tyler Frey and 41-year-old Kyle Dean Massey are supposed to be high school sweethearts reunited with each other and their friends: two racially diverse straight couples. Everyone’s on an elaborate treasure hunt somehow engineered by a beloved frail old neighbor just before she croaked. However, nobody really needs the money except Frey, who wants to save the grand ole Marley house (again, a model home decorated at Kohl’s.) Someone actually says “I don’t need the money. I’m here for the cocoa.”
This one broke me. Who are these people? This movie is a painful reminder that a film can be racially diverse, but it certainly isn’t class-wise. If everyone’s so damn rich, why don’t they just give Frey the money to save the house? This one caused me to take a long break from viewing these movies. But now it’s a new season, and here we are.
I have always loved Christmas music. I tend to listen to older music all year round, but when it comes to sharing music with the general public, this is the only time of year when Brenda Lee is considered cool. To combat the 60’s holiday tracks that are over-covered and overplayed, I am always searching for more obscure holiday recordings by girl groups and female vocalists that are not on radio or Spotify playlists.
When I began hosting my internet radio show 60 Degrees with Brian Ferrari back in 2008, I started an annual tradition of putting together a holiday program full of female 60’s singers and girl groups interspersed with vintage commercials and sound clips from classic holiday movies and television shows. You can listen to the Halloween show here.
East Village Radio was a pirate radio station that went legit and switched to the internet, broadcasting from a storefront in New York’s Lower East Side. This first 60 Degrees holiday show debuted on December 22, 2008 and was repeated annually throughout the shows 5 year run. By 2012, the holiday programs had gained such a following that 60 Degrees was given an uninterrupted 16-hour marathon on Christmas Day.
At the beginning of Part 2 of this episode, I read a Christmas poem that I wrote about an incident from my childhood involving our tinsel-eating dog Sunshine, which has previously been posted here and also on The Good Men Project website. You can’t say I don’t recycle!
Other than my speedy vocal delivery (someone tell that guy to slow down) and some minor sound level issues, the show holds up pretty well. There are a few mis-statements that I wish I could fix:
I said that Maya Rudolph’s mother, the late great Minnie Riperton was not singing lead on The Gems tracks. But it turned out that she was.
I mis-pronounce the Meditation Singers as “The Mediation Singers” and would add that soul singer Laura Lee was a member of the group, having replaced Della Reese in the 1950’s.
Janice Orenstein is the singer on “There’s Always Tomorrow” from the Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer soundtrack.
Marlene Dietrich is slumped in a wing back chair chain smoking in the corner of our living room. She is clad in her trademark top hat and tuxedo, although the ensemble is far from crisp and clean. I am on the leather settee across the room, drinking my second cup of coffee while reading the Sunday New York Times. I embraced technology and began to read the newspaper on my iPad last year, but recently I had to switch back to the hard copy. Marlene is strangely drawn to the light of the iPad. As soon as I open it, she starts hovering around, trying to paw at it. She got her hands on it once when my partner Tim carelessly left it open on the credenza. This resulted in considerable damage, which of course I had to pay for. Now I keep it locked in my briefcase and only use it for work purposes.
Sometimes Tim and I talk to Marlene, but she rarely responds. When she does, it is with incoherent mumbles shrouded in a thick German accent. Most of the time she just sits there, staring off into space with a look that might be described as profound sorrow or excruciating boredom. It’s open to interpretation. What is certain is that she is constantly smoking cigarettes. She smokes like a … well, like a fiend. There’s no other way to put it.
The constant smoke is pretty offensive, even if it does simulate that hazy effect in which she was photographed for her films. When Tim and I realized that the acrid smoke was masking a more ghastly smell of decay, we stopped complaining about it. Tim always liked to burn incense and scented candles anyway; now he has gone full-throttle with air fresheners, perfume oils and room deodorizers. There is an apothecary on Lafayette Street that sells $150 cheesecloth bags of a special potpourri blend created specifically to eradicate the stench of the divas. Tim visits there pretty much every week, although I can’t help but think that Emiliano, the part-time model behind the register might also have something to do with the frequency as well.
I tried to explain to Tim that we can’t afford this extravagance – the nightly news suggests that a simple $1.49 box of baking soda would do the trick. But as with all matters financial, he doesn’t like to talk about it. He seems to think that as long as our credit cards are not declined, then we have the money to pay for anything.
I go to the kitchen to refill my coffee cup. Tim is standing at the stove, scrambling eggs. His shoulders are tensed halfway to his ears, his mouth a taught crimson bowtie as he shuffles the eggs around the pan, shaking his head slightly.
“She drank the rest of the gin.” he says curtly.
“How do you know it was her?” I ask. I turn to the sink and begin to nonchalantly rinse out the crystal goblet which I had used for the previous evening’s nightcap.
“Just look at her.” He nods towards the corner by the garbage can, where Edith Piaf is rocking back and forth on her feet, twisting a tortured handkerchief in her fists. The empty bottle of gin is lying in the recycle bin next to her, right where I left it the night before. She will burst into song shortly, most likely “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rein.” It was quite jarring at first, but now we see the signs: first the rocking starts, followed by the handkerchief twisting, then the low, guttural moans begin and eventually form the familiar tune that used to flood through our home on many a Sunday afternoon. I have grown accustomed to it. Tim, however, has not. “Fucking lush,” he mutters.
From the living room, I can hear the sounds of Marlene on the move: Every day, like clockwork, she heads out on a quest for cigarettes – dragging her filthy shoes across the antique Persian rug. Tim and I used to be fanatic about trying to maintain all of the fine furnishings we had purchased when we moved into this apartment together. Here, we had created our dream dwelling: a chic little paradise with an art deco design scheme. We were setting the stage for an endless series of sophisticated cocktail and dinner parties that never materialized: these are different times. Besides, we were working too hard to even think about entertaining. And then the divas showed up. Now there are stains and cigarette burns and everything is hopelessly caked with mud and ashes and god knows what else. Our broken Dyson vacuum lies in a heap underneath the baby grand piano.
“Why doesn’t THAT reanimate?” Tim cracked. I thought it was funny but I didn’t laugh. I wasn’t in the mood.
I return to my newspaper with a fresh cup of coffee. “See you later Marlene,” I say with faux exuberance. She flicks her hand over her shoulder as a sign of vague acknowledgement. At the front door, she softly begins warbling “Fawwing in wuv again… nevuh wanted tooooo….”
Theories abound as to the cause of this phenomena – 24 hour news channels devote considerable programming to speculative hypothesis involving a century of electronic sound, radio, and television waves intersecting with static electricity and wifi hot spots or possibly some other random factors that resulted in these reanimated corpses taking on the forms of our dear departed divas.
The idea that the subject has to be deceased is cause for even more speculation. There are no reports of Madonna, Britney or Cher zombies. It’s those that have been mourned and continue to be revered. Conspiracy theorists are having a field day.
I should also explain that these are not your garden variety “shoot ‘em in the head to kill ‘em” movie type of zombies. Go ahead and destroy your Lena Horne – by dawn the next day, another one will be back in a glittering pantsuit, angrily shout-singing “Stormy Weather” around the apartment.
There’s no point in maiming them, either – our friends Thomas and Ed had a Dusty Springfield that kept gesticulating wildly, smashing knickknacks and bric-a-brac with every dramatic swoop. They accidentally tore off her arms while trying to restrain her before she destroyed every last piece of their precious mercury glass collection. The next morning they awoke to a ghostly rendition of “You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me” as a fully intact Dusty zombie hurled, one by one, the remaining contents of their china cabinet down the hall towards their bedroom.
Our Judy is perched on top of the dresser in the corner of the master bedroom – she wears a fedora, black tights and a dress jacket…. eternally snapping her fingers to the intro of “Come On Get Happy.” She rarely ever sings, but ya gotta give credit to that corpse: she’s got rhythm. Even as the flesh wears away on her fingers and falls onto the floor, she keeps steady time.
It’s not really them – we have to remind ourselves that. And some of these zombies are cast wildly against type for the roles they are now inhabiting. I saw a TikTok of a little old Asian Mama Cass that really had the moves down. But it’s not the same.
Our divas disappeared – often prematurely, tragically, suddenly. What we were left to comfort ourselves with were their images, movies and recordings – these are the trappings that most likely brought them forth in their most stereotypical and obvious incarnations. Now that they have been among us, even in these imperfect decaying forms, we can’t go back to having them at arm’s length. Not anymore.
Madame Spivy photographed by Carl Van Vechten (1932)
Madame Spivy photographed by Max Ewing (1932)
“This song is dedicated to a friend who suffers terribly from hangovers. It’s very sad and we must be very quiet, please…”
Ladies and Gentleman, it is time once again to revisit that late great dynamic lady of song, Madame Spivy LeVoe (1906-1971), also known simply as Spivy. A lesbian entertainer, nightclub owner and character actress, Spivy has been described as “The Female Noel Coward” – to which I add “…. if he had been born in Brooklyn as Bertha Levine.”
In the Spring/Summer of 2020 with the pandemic in full swing, cabaret performer extraordinaire Justin Vivian Bond was livestreaming weekly shows from The House of Whimsy, aka their home in upstate New York. Imagine my delight when Mx. Viv covered Mme. Spivy’s “I Didn’t Do A Thing Last Night” – one of my favorite of her recordings.
Justin Vivian Bond as Auntie Glam, belting one out in The House Of Whimsy (2020)
As with “Auntie’s Face“, Spivy uses her familiar spoken intro for “I Didn’t Do A Thing Last Night”: A solemn pronouncement that “This is VERY sad and we must be VERY quiet, please.” One can imagine that it was a playful way to get the attention of a noisy nightclub audience.
Spivy wrote the song with John La Touche providing the lyrics. Today, La Touche is best remembered for his Broadway musical The Golden Apple and for his lyrical contributions to Leonard Bernstein’s Candide. He also collaborated with Duke Ellington on the musicals Cabin In The Sky & Beggar’s Holiday.
Spivy and LaTouche met in the mid-1930’s and had a tumultuous lifelong friendship. At one point Spivy paid him fifty dollars a week to supply her with songs. During one falling out in 1938, LaTouche referred to her as his “enemy.” “Poor Spivy,” he wrote, “hysterical, glandular, ugly, charming, and so talented.” After another disagreement later that year, he wrote to her; “I’m sorry; you can hardly afford to lose a staunch friend and neither can I. But both of us are always doing things we can’t afford.”
Of the 15 songs Spivy is known to have recorded, 5 of them were written or co-written by LaTouche: One was a solo credit, two were written with Spivy herself, and two were in collaboration with Goetz Eyck, a German-born musician who would go on to a film career as Peter van Eyck.
One LaTouche composition that Spivy did not preserve on record was a highlight of her live performances: “I’m Going On A Binge With A Dinge.” She often concluded her set with this racy little tune detailing a biracial protagonist going uptown for a tryst. “White people / Don’t be offended … ” the song begins. Other lyrics: “Gonna end up in Harlem / With my end up in Harlem”
Unfortunately, LaTouche’s work for and with Mme. Spivy has generally been forgotten or dismissed. In Howard Pollack’s 2017 biography The Ballad Of John LaTouche, the author spends several pages analyzing the lyrics and structure of these compositions before concluding that “the literary attractions of these songs, heavy on irony, outweigh their musical interests.”
Is that so?
Like Spivy, LaTouche was a heavy drinker, which ultimately led to both of their premature passings. He was just 41 years old when he died of a heart attack at his home in Calais, Vermont in 1956. Spivy was 64 years old when she died in January, 1971.
I Didn’t Do A Thing Last Night
Doctor dear, come over with a stretcher – I’ve never in my life felt quite so rotten. My brain has snapped in two and my face is turning blue, and everything I eat tastes just like cotton.
Oh yes I did everything you told me – I practically never left my room. I observed your special diet, had lots of peace and quiet. So why do I feel like something in Grant’s Tomb? Lord knows why I don’t feel well – I didn’t do a thing last night.
I had a few friends in to play bridge with me, And I sipped a little gin, just to keep them company. Then a pal of mine named Rhoda came in with such a crew, I gave them scotch and soda and I had a teeny one, too.
Then Vero P.T. Roth brought me some chicken broth, which is insipid, doctor, don’t you think? So someone in the party added a soupçon of Bacardi it really makes a very nourishing drink.
At nine my cousin Andy made such insulting cracks, that I had a little brandy just to help me to relax. He tried to grab the bottle and dragged me out of bed. When I saw that it was empty, I broke it on his head.
He’s still lying on the carpet and my maid insists he’s dead. Oh doctor dear, why do I feel queer? I didn’t do a thing last night.
At ten, Princess O’Ravivovich said; “Today is Pushkin’s birthday.” So I had a little Slivovitz just to help her celebrate. Then that fool Tessie Zackary upset my Dubonnet, so they shook me up a daquiri to chase my blues away.
Those pills of yours were dry, so I washed them down with rye, And I thought some exercise might help me rest. I dashed down the avenue ’til somebody yelled “Woo!” Good heavens – I’d forgotten to get dressed!
By then I felt so dizzy, to tell the honest truth, They made me something fizzy out of vodka and vermouth. At one, Rear Admiral Nipper, the old man of the sea, arrived with his battalion, they had to sail at three.
But doctor, I just noticed: They’re still in bed with me! It’s all so mad and I feel so bad, and I didn’t do a thing last night.
At five, my old friend Tony said that doctors were baloney. He said “Yoga exercises cured all pain.” Doctor dear, I was a wreck with my legs around my neck, and it took four hours to get them down again.
They sent for rubbing alcohol to rub away the aches, but they couldn’t find the stuff at all – I’d drunk it by mistake. Oh yes, I slept just like a baby, ’til I woke up right now. No, the drinks did not affect me, I’m as flaccid as a cow. Except I have a tendency to suddenly go “WOW!”
Why in hell don’t I feel well? I didn’t do a thing last night!
John La Touche songs recorded by Spivy Fool In the Moonlight (music: Goetz Eyck) I Didn’t Do A Thing Last Night (music: Spivy) I Love Town (music: Goetz Eyck) Last of the Fleur De Levy Surrealist (music: Spivy)
Unrecorded La Touche songs performed by Spivy I’m Going On A Binge With A Dinge Moonlight
The recent brouhaha over exposing Michelangelo’s David to impressionable Florida public school children reminded me of the classic sculpture’s 1998 appearance on Robin Byrd‘s Men For Men. For those outside of Manhattan, this was a late night cable TV show featuring strippers and adult film entertainers that aired nearly every night of the week. Apparently, poor Dave had fallen on hard times and was shaking his marbles for cash on 8th Avenue. At least that was the way it appeared on my public access show, Bri-Guy’s Media Surf.
Maria, the beleaguered salt shaker.
I have written about Media Surf in the past – it ran on Manhattan Neighborhood Network from 1997-2007. In the early years, I created short segments using stop-motion with my video camera. Most featured a portly salt shaker named Maria. After a while I grew tired of the time consuming technique. David’s striptease was one of the last that I created.
/\ /\ I’m leaving this here to show how ridiculous YouTube is. /\ /\
I wanted to utilize my set of David refrigerator magnets on a red metal background. It had to be metal for the magnetic properties, and the red would emulate the lurid background on Robin’s show. I was still trying to figure out how to execute this when I came home one day to find that the apartment doors in my building had been re-painted glossy red. Perfect! I propped my door open, set up my camera tripod and went about creating the frame-by-frame striptease. Luckily I lived on the top floor and was uninterrupted by puzzled neighbors wondering what the hell I was doing.
In the version that aired 25 years ago, David was dancing to Madonna’s “Erotica” – a song that every third performer on Robin Byrd’s show seemed to use at the time. Unfortunately, Madge and Warner Brothers Music are most intolerant of the unauthorized use of their recordings. Rather than risk having the video removed from social media platforms, I switched it out. David now shimmies to Man Parrish / Man 2 Man’s “Male Stripper,” a much better choice of song that I wish I had used in the first place.
I was planning to use a clip of Robin’s generic “Lie back, get comfortable” guest introduction and then cut to David’s performance. It was pure luck that I happened to be recording her show one night when she introduced a guest named “David.” Sometimes the stars align to help create a classic piece of work. 😉
NYC Santas photographed in the late 1970’s by Susan Meiselas
I know I am not alone when I say that I take comfort in the annual repetition of the holidays: revisiting holiday-themed music, films, television shows… and now internet posts. Dave Holmes’ account of Patti LaBelle’s disastrous performance at the 1996 National Christmas Tree lighting is worth an annual revisit. Trust me.
In fact, the post that you are currently reading has been reworked and updated from the past two Christmas seasons, not to get meta or anything.
I find it interesting that we immerse ourselves in certain pop culture favorites for exactly 6 weeks of the year and then pack them up in mothballs with the ornaments until next year. I mean, Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree” is currently at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100. Burl Ives and Andy Williams are also in the top 10! Are any of them on your 4th of July playlist? They aren’t on mine.
Gabe Pressman (left) with Marilyn Monroe (1956)
I used to look forward to the annual Christmas Eve tradition on NBC New York’s evening news when reporter Gabe Pressman would read “Yes Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus.” I taped it in 2011, knowing that the tradition wouldn’t last forever. The self-described “little Jewish kid from the Bronx” was 87 years old at the time and continued to work at NBC until his death at age 93.
NBC New York reporter Gabe Pressman’s annual segment on Virginia O’Hanlon’s 1897 letter to the New York Sun Newspaper.
In keeping with this revisit, my other blog posts of Christmas past are back to haunt you like A Christmas Carol, Mr. Scrooge:
My Canine Christmas Tail is a true story about my dog Sunshine, a basset hound with an appetite for tinsel.
Copyright issues kept my 60 Degrees Girl Group Christmas playlist out of commission but now it’s back! I plan to post other episodes of my old radio show in the new year.
If you prefer Spotify, I have this to share:
Way back in 2002, when Limewire was a thing and people listened to music on silvery discs, I started creating Christmas CD mixes that I would mail out or give to people. These were received with a heartwarming combination of feigned delight, veiled indifference and deafening silence. None of these CDs had a pressing of more than 20 copies. I’d like to call them “much sought after” – but no, that’s not really the case, although every once in a while, someone really got into them and would ask for copies of other volumes.
And so, I’m offering this simple playlist…. for kids from 1 to 92. Unfortunately some of the tracks on these dozen CDs are not on Spotify, but I keep adding songs that would be on the current CD volume… if there was one. And now the playlist is over 16 hours of holiday tunes. I recommend listening on shuffle – there’s something to irritate everyone. Enjoy!
Here’s one more nugget to stuff in your stocking: This vid went viral in 2011. Choreographed and performed by Alex Karigan & Zac Hammer of the Amy Marshall Dance Company, it was filmed in one continuous take at the New 42nd St. Dance Studios. There’s something infectious about it: the joy, the corniness, the celebratory queerness of it all. It makes me want to dust off my jazz shoes. Once a year.
When I began hosting my internet radio show 
