`September Song'

I’ve been listening to a CD of 19 Kurt Weill songs, Life, Love and Laughter: Dance Arrangements, 1927-50, performed by Das Palast Orchester, a very tight 12-piece ensemble that recreates the sound of “sweet jazz” with a Weimar strain. The singer, a light tenor, is Max Raabe, and the musical director is H.K. Gruber. When my 4-year-old first heard the music in the car he said, “Little Rascals music,” and he was right. The sound is reminiscent of the soundtracks to the Our Gang shorts, which in 1994 were recreated on CD as The Beau Hunks Play the Original Little Rascals Music: 50 Roy Shield Themes.

Anyway, I’ve listened repeatedly to the Weill songs, particularly “September Song,” which has more meaning now than it did when I was a kid and I found it mawkish and boring. I’ve listened again to versions I have by Walter Huston, Lotte Lenya and Urs Affolter, and I find it haunting though almost schlocky. The schlockiness worries me, so I consulted American Popular Song: The Great Innovators, 1900-1950, Alec Wilder’s learned, witty and often acidic anatomy of the American soundtrack to the 20th century and beyond. He mentions Weill only in passing but provides an excellent antidote:

“I happen not to be a Kurt Weill fan. I don’t swoon at the mention of `The Three Penny Opera,’ as I’m told I should; I don’t weep at the downbeat of September Song; and I find Mack The Knife no more than one more proof of the appeal of the sixth interval of a scale. Part of my irritation in listening to his music stems from my feeling that there was no personal involvement on his part.”

He has a few good things to say about Weill's "Speak Low," from One Touch of Venus. Otherwise, that's it.