It has been several weeks since my last blog post. But I’ve made a resolution to start up again, and I can’t think of a better way to kick off 2022 than with Cole Porter.
“At words poetic I’m quite pathetic”, is the opening line of “Your the Top”, by Cole Porter. Several blogs ago I wrote about Tom Waits, and I mentioned that there are several lyricists whom I consider to be great poets: Dylan, Paul Simon, Leonard Cohen, and a few others. Among them is Cole Porter. While Porter’s lyrics are not profound, he was a master rhymer. His songs are peppered with lots of internal rhyme as well as the musically required end rhyme. I could listen to his music all day, and often I do.
There are several different versions of “You’re the Top”, and I’m posting the lyrics to one of my favorite versions below. I love all the references to the era in which it was written: the Coolidge Dollar, the Arrow Collar, Pepsodent, Cellophane, etc.
I’d also recommend for excellent listening that you check out “Night and Day”, “Let’s Fall in Love”,
“Be a Clown”, “Anything Goes”, and “Just One of Those Things”, as well as a couple of lesser known tunes: “Let’s Misbehave”, and “Experiment”.
Happy listening until next time.
Here’s the lyrics to “You’re the Top!”
At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best
Instead of getting 'em off my chest
To let 'em rest unexpressed
I hate parading my serenading
As I'll probably miss a bar
But if this ditty is not so pretty
At least it'll tell you
How great you are
You're the top!
You're the Coliseum
You're the top!
You're the Louver Museum
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss
You're a Bendel bonnet
A Shakespeare's sonnet
You're Mickey Mouse
You're the Nile
You're the Tower of Pisa
You're the smile on the Mona Lisa
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top
You're the top
You're Mahatma Gandhi
You're the top
You're Napoleon Brandy
You're the purple light
Of a summer night in Spain
You're the National Gallery
You're Garbo's salary
You're cellophane
You're sublime
You're a turkey dinner
You're the time of a Derby winner
I'm a toy balloon that's fated soon to pop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top
You're the top
You're an Arrow collar
You're the top
You're a Coolidge dollar
You're the nimble tread
Of the feet of Fred Astaire
You're an O'Neill drama
You're Whistler's mama
You're camembert
You're a rose
You're Inferno's Dante
You're the nose
On the great Durante
I'm just in the way
As the French would say, "de trop"
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top
You're the top
You're a Waldorf salad
You're the top
You're a Berlin ballad
You're the baby grand of a lady and a gent
You're an Old Dutch master
You're Mrs. Aster
You're Pepsodent
You're romance
You're the steppes of Russia
You're the pants on a Roxy usher
I'm a lazy lout, who's just about to stop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top