“Making Conversation.” Words by Fred Ritz and Harry Carlton, music by Harry Carlton (1933). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with orchestral accompaniment in London c. November 8, 1933. Decca F. 3737 mx. GB6298-2.
“Making Conversation” is sometimes known by the longer title “Just Making Conversation (When We Ought To Be Making Love).” The composer, Harry Carlton, was well known for his 1928 “C-O-N-S-T-A-N-T-I-N-O-P-L-E” and his 1930 “Mickey Mouse”; Fred Ritz was a pseudonym of Frederick Wright, who also collaborated with Carlton on “Sundown in Old Waikiki” and “You’ve Got to Blow Your Own Trumpet.”1 Carlton is the only songwriter credited on Elsie Carlisle’s recording of the song, and the royalty stamp of “The Harry Carlton Music Co. Ltd.” appears on the label.
The song’s words play on the contrast between what is denoted by the expressions “making conversation” and “making love,” casting the former as pedestrian and the latter as vastly preferable. The lyrics serve as an invitation to convert acquaintance into amorous encounter. One might expect the repetitive simplicity of the underlying concept to be mildly annoying, and yet I find this song pleasantly infectious. Elsie Carlisle makes her version particularly noteworthy for an overall impression of sweetness and sincerity.
“Come Up and See Me Sometime.” Words by Arthur Swanstrom, music by Louis Alter; composed for the motion picture Take a Chance (1933). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with orchestral accompaniment in London on November 8, 1933. Decca F. 3737 mx. GB6297-2.
“Come Up and See Me Sometime” was written by Arthur Swanstrom and Louis Alter for Paramount’s 1933 musical comedy Take a Chance, based on the stage play of the same name. The movie apparently inherited little from the play other than a couple of songs, but it augmented what it did borrow with other, more memorable songs, including the perennial “It’s Only a Paper Moon.” “Come Up and See Me Sometime” is introduced by actress Lillian Roth, who sings it while performing a burlesque act. The title of the song presumably derives from a suggestive catchphrase of Mae West’s, which originally took the form “Why don’t you come up sometime and see me?” (in She Done Him Wrong [1933]), but which soon became the rhythmically preferable “Come up and see me sometime” (as it occurs in I’m No Angel [1933]).
Elsie Carlisle dishes out boldness in her version. The visual component of the movie’s burlesque scene is absent, but Elsie leaves no doubt as to the import of the song’s repetitive sultry invitations to get to know her better. As the song progresses, her intonation increasingly approaches that of the vamp, and her final “…any ti-i-i-IME!” finishes our impression of the self-consciously predatory showgirl.
“Dada, Dada (D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-da-da)” is a “stuttering song,” a song in which the performer either pretends to stutter or plays around with words that naturally sound a bit like stammering (in the present instance, a young woman’s call to her father — “Dada! Dada!” — serves the purpose). One might think that, in imitating a speech impediment, “Dada, Dada” might risk being insensitive, and yet when one considers every other facet of the song, it is the stuttering that emerges as least offensive. “Dada, Dada” is primarily known for its humorous dramatization of a very innocent young woman being taken advantage of by a somewhat predatory boyfriend. Her cries of “Dada! Dada!” reach her father’s ears, but they only serve to remind him of how he came to have a daughter in the first place; he does not come to the aid of the comically naïve and therefore actually rather unfortunate girl. The primary songwriter, Arthur Le Clerq, was not averse to edgy humor; he would go on to write “Is Izzy Azzy Woz?” (1929) which gives ample opportunities for a singer to practice Yiddishisms, and the overtly ageist “Nobody Loves a Fairy When She’s Forty” (1934).
Having admitted that the theme of “Dada, Dada” is fundamentally unwholesome, I must admit that I rather enjoy hearing Elsie Carlisle singing it; her talent for interpreting bawdy, inappropriate lyrics is well known, and the song allows her to show off her upper vocal range by way of adolescent squeaks. A gauge of how much contemporary listeners must have liked her impersonation of a clueless girl is the fact that Elsie recorded it three times in a two-year period.
“Dada, Dada (D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-da-da).” Words by Arthur Le Clerq and Wallace Dore, music by Arthur Le Clerq (1928). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with Jay Wilbur and His Orchestra, London, c. December 1928. Dominion A. 43 mx. 1055-2.
Personnel possibly includes Max Goldberg-Bill Shakespeare-t / Tony Thorpe-tb / Laurie Payne-Jimmy Gordon-cl-as-bar / George Clarkson-cl-as-ts / Norman Cole-vn / Billy Thorburn-p / Dave Thomas or Bert Thomas-bj-g / Harry Evans-bb-sb / Jack Kosky-d-chm
In all versions of “Dada, Dada” Elsie alternates between narrating the story and playing its protagonist. In this latter role she is the expert comedian in terms of reenacting the awkward youthful encounter and keeping the mock-stammering from being too implausible or even just annoying and repetitive (for variation she appears to do an imitation of a sort of infantile cuckoo-clock at 1:48). The naughtiness of the lyrics is highlighted by a highly inappropriate reference to Scripture1:
He says I am an angel
And a heavenly little thing!
If angels feel like I do,
“Oh death, where is thy sting?”
In this 1928 version, Jay Wilbur’s orchestra shines out admirably even from the asphalt-like shellac of Dominion Records.
Elsie would sing a bit of “Dada, Dada” again with many of the same accompanists in the “Imperial Revels” medley, recorded in late September 1930. She recorded the whole song again the next month, again with Jay Wilbur and His Orchestra (uncredited):
Elsie Carlisle with Jay Wilbur and His Orchestra, London, October 1930. Imperial 2381 mx. 5536-4.
Personnel possibly includes the following: Max Goldberg-Bill Shakespeare-t / Ted Heath or Tony Thorpe-tb / Laurie Payne-Jimmy Gordon-cl-as-bar / George Melachrino-cl-as-vn / George Clarkson-cl-ts / Norman Cole-vn / Billy Thorburn or Pat Dodd-p / Bert Thomas-g / Harry Evans-bb-sb / Jack Kosky-d
The accompaniment on Imperial 2381 is punchier, heavier on the brass and lighter on the strings, and more explicitly comical: the musicians seem to mimic Elsie’s singing at times. Her delivery of the “Dadas” is less sing-song than in her original version and more closely approaches natural speech, if her strange exclamations can be called that. Overall, one gets the impression of performers trying very hard to keep an inherently repetitive piece fresh and succeeding admirably.
Other versions of “Dada, Dada” were recorded in Britain in 1929 by Ray Starita and His Ambassadors’ Band (with vocals by Phil Allen), The Rhythmics (under the direction of Nat Star, with vocalist Tom Barratt), Clarkson Rose, and comedian Jack Morrison (accompanied by Bidgood’s Broadcasters). The full lyrics that Morrison uses depict an increasingly rough struggle between the young people, thus fully realizing the song’s creepy potential.
It should finally be noted that although Elsie Carlisle does speak briefly in a 1933 recording by Maurice Winnick and His Orchestra entitled “Da-Dar-Da-Dar (Da-Dar-Da-Dee),” stuttering the words “d-d-d-darling” and “d-d-d-dearest,” that song concerns the difficulty young lovers have finding privacy — it is a much less troubling piece delivered almost entirely by Sam Browne, and it should not be mistaken for harder stuff.
“Baby.” Words by Raymond W. Peck and music by Percy Wenrich (1922); featured in the Broadway musical Castles in the Air (1926). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle, accompanied by Carroll Gibbons and an unidentified violinist, on May 6, 1927. HMV B-2489 mx. Bb-10514-5.
“Baby (Fox-trot Lullaby)” was written in 1922 but was most prominently featured four years later in Castles in the Air, a musical comedy of manners that saw moderate success in 1926 on Broadway (less so the next year in London, where the show had only 28 performances). The lyrics have a surprisingly simple thesis, suggesting that “old-fashioned lullabies” have given way to modern “fox-trot lullab[ies],” that babies are no longer rocked in cradles but rather in the arms of dancing parents. The song tries to make its point with an introduction that roughly resembles a lullaby but that gives way to a catchy, fast-paced refrain. It would appear that Peck and Wenrich did not originate the notion of a foxtrot lullaby, as there had been a 1921 song entitled “Nestle in My Loving Arms — A Lullaby Fox-Trot.”
Elsie Carlisle successfully realizes the conceit of “Baby” by applying sweet earnestness to the intro at a measured pace but then propelling her way into the refrain. At the end of the song she repeats the refrain in a slow, dreamy way, thus integrating the ideas of “foxtrot” and “lullaby” into one. In the middle of the recording there is a remarkably good, quick-paced violin solo. The identity of the violinist is unknown; a contemporary review in Melody Maker suggests that it could be Hugo Rignold, although the reviewer gets the pianist wrong, suggesting that he is Arthur Young (we can be fairly sure that it is Carroll Gibbons).1
“The Moon Remembered, But You Forgot.” Words by Frank Eyton, music by Noel Gay. Composed for the comedy film Let’s Be Famous (1939). Recorded by Elsie Carlisle with orchestral accompaniment under the musical direction of Jay Wilbur on August 4, 1939. Rex 9610 mx. R3786-1.
“The Moon Remembered, But You Forgot,” from the British comedy film Let’s Be Famous, was composed by Frank Eyton, an English popular lyricist most famous for having contributed to the words of “Body and Soul,” and Noel Gay, a prolific composer who also wrote such popular hits as “The Sun Has Got His Hat On” and “Lambeth Walk.” Its singer describes an outdoor anniversary rendezvous to which her partner does not show up. Left all alone in the presence of the evening moon, she engages in the pathetic fallacy, attributing to the moon human faculties, qualities, and emotions: memory, patience, certainty, and regret. Elsie Carlisle applies her best sincerity and pathos to this song on the first record she made for Rex Records (1939-1942). Rex was the last label that she was signed to, and it was there that she was reunited with musical director Jay Wilbur, who had played the same role in her career in the late 1920s and early 1930s, at Dominion, Imperial, and Eclipse. This was also the last record that Elsie made before war broke out in Europe.
