“Danny Kaye Uses His Musical Talent To Benefit Others”
Daytona Beach Sunday News-
By: Martin Bernheimer (Of The Los Angeles Times)
HOLLYWOOD – “Blissful balderdash.”
That is what your faithful scribe wrote Feb. 5, 1973, in his report of the last Danny Kaye concert with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The exclamation was inspired by the multitalented gentleman’s oft repeated claim that he cannot read music.
This not so casual observer couldn’t believe that anyone so impeccably attuned to sonic, structural, harmonic, rhythmic, stylistic, technical and melodic refinements could be a musical illiterate. The incredulous critic questioned the claim, and promptly forgot about it.
Danny Kaye, like the proverbial elephant, never forgets.
The other day, your dauntless scribe braved Kaye’s lavish lair in Beverly Hills in anticipation of his long awaited return to the podium. The maestrissimo answered the door himself, exuded bonhomie, proffered coffee and cookies. Then he announced that he had to get one thing straight before any interview could begin.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a dozen years,” he confided, his steely dimples all but crackling. “It has been on my mind ever since you wrote that review.”
Your scruffy, admiring, innocent scribe gulped. This actor-
“I can’t read music,” he said. “Not a friggin’ note.”
Danny Kaye is a wonder man, a kid from Brooklyn up in arms in defense of the loftiest muses, a Walter Mitty whose secret life involves diverse baton triumphs as well as uplifting services as a court jester, an inspector general of orchestras who knows exactly when and how a song is born, a Hans Christian Andersen of concert halls in Utopia and on the Riviera, a five penny merry Andrew who thinks it is a great feeling to make music on the double – on the triple, too – and who, knock on wood, will continue to do so for at least another century of white Christmases.
Over the past quarter century, he has helped raise more than $6 million for orchestra players in the gala pension fund benefits that have become his specialty, both here and in Europe. Tonight, he will make his long awaited debut at Hollywood Bowl.
Sir Charles Groves will be his august colleague and/or stooge. The stoic musicians of the Los Angeles Philharmonic will be his collective instrument, his accomplices and/or victims. Patrons – there could be as many as 17, 600 of them – will pay up to $50 to be his instantly surrendering adulators and/or prisoners in happy hysteria.
The bowl may never be the same again.
Kaye has never conducted an orchestra in a location of such magnitude. But he says that he isn’t worried about the possible evaporation of wit or wisdom in the wide open spaces.
“At first, we considered using one of those big closed circuit TV screens at the top of the shell, like Diamondvision. I vetoed the idea.
“I didn’t want people looking up and down, from the screen to the podium. I didn’t want to encourage a loss in concentration. TV is too easy. It does everything for you. There are enough problems as it is with the fractional sound delays. I don’t need sight delays, too. I’d rather have the audience imagine what is happening than see it delayed, and blown up out of proportion, on the screen.”
Comedy is hard, serious work. Kaye likes to have at least six hours of rehearsal for his special programs, and even then he isn’t always satisfied.
When Kaye and friends make up a symphony, they create a sort of dissonant delirium that many consumers like to confuse with the more expensive spread.
“It’s like wine tasting. Did you ever hear what the experts say to each other at
wine tasting sessions? The pretentious gobbledy-
Kaye, incidentally didn’t use the word “obfuscation.” He used a simpler word. He spices his observations generously with the sort of expletives and related adjectival constructions editors deem inappropriate for a family newspaper.
“Years ago,” he continued to muse, “I did my modern music number with the Boston Symphony. A few days later, Charles Munch found himself preparing a new piece by David Diamond. ‘I Danny’s piece better,’ he said.”
He smiles the smile of a contented thinker.
“The important thing, here and everywhere else, is making it look easy. That’s the part that drives us all crazy. Someone asked me the other day to name the greatest baseball player I ever saw. I didn’t even have to think. It was Joe DiMaggio. It wasn’t just that he could do it. It was that he could do it and make it look easy.
The following portion was included in a different version of this article published in The Bulletin, August 23, 1985.
“All the great ones are like that. It’s the same in all professions. Especially in mine. Being an entertainer is no joke.”
"Remember the story about Edmund Gwenn on his deathbed? Ed Wynn, his friend, visited him in the hospital. Wynn asked Gwenn if it was very hard to die. Gwenn thought a moment and let out a sigh. 'Not as hard as doing comedy.'"
Danny Kaye sighs.