Thursday, January 30, 2014

And Flo, She Don't Know...

From a privately issued recording from 1938, please enjoy amusingly bonkers NYC socialite Florence Foster Jenkins and her inimitable version of the "Queen of the Night" aria from Mozart's The Magic Flute.



If you don't know Florence...
In her time, Florence Foster Jenkins was a novelty in the history of music, an operatic coloratura who had all of the requisite charms and trappings worthy of a diva, minus the voice. Married to a wealthy industrialist and well entrenched in upper-crust New York society by 1912, "Madame" Jenkins obtained a divorce that year. The resulting settlement was handsome enough to set Jenkins up in style and to pursue her extensive charitable interests. She had already been studying voice for some time, and her charity fundraisers included such gala events as "The Ball of the Silver Skylarks," involving special costumes made at her request, and usually culminating in a sample of her singing. Jenkins' voice was high, scrawny, and seemed to have a mind of its own, warbling its way through difficult coloratura arias with the grace and control of an upright piano pushed down a spiral staircase. Well-heeled society types would attend Jenkins' recitals and patiently endure her auditory assault, along with enjoying a well-concealed chuckle or two at her expense. Jenkins' annual gala would remain a popular fixture in New York society for decades.

In 1938, Jenkins made her only recordings at the Melotone studio in New York, which were pressed up and sold privately. On this occasion, and most others by this time, Jenkins employed the services of accompanist Cosme McMoon, a flamboyant and eccentric character well known in New York's underground gay community. McMoon proved an excellent foil for Jenkins, waiting for her entrances at key points in arias and writing special material to best show off her vocal "assets." At age 76, Jenkins finally achieved her lifelong dream of performing at Carnegie Hall's Recital Hall on October 25, 1944, but this may have backfired, as rumor has it that afterward she discovered what her audiences really thought about her music making. Jenkins collapsed and died a month later in Schirmer's Music Store, her last words allegedly being "It must've been the creamed chicken."

I should add that RCA Victor actually issued this stuff on a couple of LPs in the late 60s, apparently on the theory that Florence could become a sort of cult hepster camp figure like Mrs. Miller.

I also love the fact that her accompanist/Svengali was named Cosme McMoon. I'll betcha he was a lot of fun at parties, if you know what I mean.

10 comments:

Gummo said...

I wonder if she was part of the inspiration for the character Susan Alexander Kane in Citizen Kane?

And, yes, it's quite excruciating.

steve simels said...

I suspect she was. Because Hearst's real mistress actually had talent.

Anonymous said...

Sounds like those clucking chickens in 1930's cartoons. Pass the creamed chicken.

Allan R.

Visorman said...

I would have loved to hear Groucho comment on this. She's certainly no Margaret Dumont.

steves said...

Tiny Tim stole her schtick.

Ken J Xenozar said...

I have always wondered about recordings like these if the musicians have any sense of whether they are in tune? This one is interesting, because she actually does seem to have a sense of pitch. But her "instrument" does not cooperate. She is fighting to get the pitch right in some cases (and outright missing by at least a half step in other cases). While it will not make the frequent play list, I refuse to pass judgement, because 1) I am afraid that I might sound like this at 76 when my voice gives out, and 2) in the spirit of Pete Seeger, I would rather have people singing badly than have no music in their hearts.

Ken J Xenozar said...

Oh screw it. This rich bitch sux.

pete said...

Mrs. Miller can't hold a candle to her.

buzzbabyjesus said...

Susan Alexander for sure.

Anonymous said...

This calls for a laryngectomy. Scalpel, please.

Vickie Rock