LYRICS BY...?

"I ended up writing all the lyrics." Stephen Sondheim, quoted in "The Making of West Side Story"

By the end of the 1970s Stephen Sondheim was well along his way to his deserved fame as the pre-eminent figure of the modern American musical. The decade had dawned on the phenomenal hat trick that produced Company, Follies and A Little Night Music, any one of which, alone, would have propelled its author to the heights of renown. While he sought to make his mark as a composer, his lyrics, to his chagrin, often claimed the attention of his fans, critics and students of music and theater the world round. His lyrics were invariably witty, mature, intelligent and often challenging to execute. His reputation for disciplined perfectionism was so well-known that, in a 1979 PBS interview, André Previn put to him a question that would have been memorable of itself, even minus its astounding answer. Mr. Previn quite simply, and rather speciously (one would think), asked the composer if there was any work of his that he would like to do over, have another chance at. Knowing Mr. Sondheim's dogged and zealous quest for perfection, I was most interested to hear this response. Though not known for hubris, he may have easily said that every note and syllable of his oeuvre, painstakingly achieved, had met with his satisfaction. More likely was the possibility that the impossible-to-please taskmaster could draw from his repertoire some minuscule, almost insignificant, obscure word or phrase that didn't quite rhyme, didn't quite scan and didn't quite satisfy. And I do mean, teeny; you have to press your thumb and forefinger together, and then press them to the opposite thumb and forefinger, pressed as tightly as can be, to denote how trivial I expected this nagging imperfection to be. I tried to recall some bump in the various works, some little hitch that didn't quite fit properly, but there was none, indeed, all appeared to be perfection. But such cheery optimism is not the way of perfectionists. Mr. Sondheim did not hesitate for an instant. He knew exactly what little piece of music had to be re-done. "Oh," he replied heartily, "ALL of West Side Story."

Oh? Oh, really?

Oh, dear.

Naïve as I was—and that's quite an understatement—I was baffled and even injured to hear the fateful words coldly proclaiming third-class status upon this beloved musical. Admittedly, when you considered the body of work to date, the score of West Side Story was hardly the most interesting, or provocative, or even the cleverest. But it seemed a bit bloodthirsty to insert that damning "ALL" in front of the title. Again, I could understand if there was a phrase here or there, an unresolved vocal challenge, some little thing….Surely, not "ALL," Mr. Sondheim. Say it ain't so. Stunned, I barely heard the rest of the interview, though I remember wincing when he winced as he delineated the unforgivable amateurism of "…today the world was just an address," though we clearly were wincing for different reasons. However briefly or long this topic continued, I truly have no recollection. I endured the chill in my bones, the sudden, suspicious bleakness in the room. The following morning I took note of how well the world maintained its composure despite being wrung inside out. I thought I would never understand this blasphemy, and I doubted I would ever forgive him.

That was then. Today I know quite a bit more about Stephen Sondheim, about the Broadway musical, and about West Side Story. The picture is more thorough now, and more colorful. I have acquired some understanding with my gray hair, as well as some tolerance of the views of others. I am here to tell you that I have forgiven him. The person I haven't forgiven is André Previn for asking the damned question in the first place, but that's another essay.

During the earliest gestation period of East Side Story, composer Leonard Bernstein had been prepared to compose the lyrics to his own music. He was reportedly discouraged as the work progressed and he came to see how much music was going to be required to make the envisioned project a reality. In order to concentrate on that formidable task, he agreed to work with a partner. The job was offered to the librettist-lyricist team of Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who had collaborated with Bernstein twice previously on On the Town and Wonderful Town. They passed due to a prior commitment. Arthur Laurents brought in young Sondheim, after hearing the score of the unproduced Saturday Night. No small amount of speculation has been expended on divining the reason for Sondheim's reluctance in accepting the assignment. The general assumption—that he wanted to be recognized as a composer and not a lyricist—is only half the story. The fact was that Bernstein was not abandoning the chore of writing lyrics, but only sharing it. The job being offered Stephen Sondheim was that of co-lyricist, second-billed at that. [Note: Despite any initial apprehensions, the brief existence of the co-lyricists’ credits had Mr. Sondheim’s name first.] Unproduced or not, the young musician was unhappy about what he first perceived as a limited opportunity. Luckily he was persuaded to see the immeasurable advantages of working on this exciting project with these three heavyweights. Nevertheless, by accepting the assignment to work with these pros, his role as freshman contributor may have been more than daunting, less than satisfying. Given the imaginary opportunity, especially from a 1979 vantage point, one can understand how the gentleman might be justified in wanting another crack at the lyrics of West Side Story. The intriguing question is: Are all those lyrics his to re-write? Does re-writing "ALL of West Side Story" mean replacing lyrics that aren't his in the first place?

Matching the lyrics to the correct lyricist has been something of a Broadway insider's parlor game for as long as the lyrics have existed. At first it was generally hinted that Mr. Sondheim was given the authority to change and re-work Mr. Bernstein's stuff, and had re-worked it so much that it the end it was all his, Sondheim's ("I ended up writing all the lyrics."  #E2.1) Later accounts and suggestions seem to contradict that idea. Though he gave up his lyricist credit, one can safely assume that some of Leonard Bernstein's words are still in the work. Until recently, my very minimum, safest tin-eared-but-sincere-fan guess was that the finished product contains uncredited lyrics by Maestro Bernstein for "Maria" and "One Hand, One Heart," and possibly "Somewhere."

Smarter folk than me have weighed in on the question. Author and critic Ethan Mordden puts "One Hand, One Heart" on the Sondheim scoreboard, along with "I Feel Pretty." As proof of his allegation Mr. Mordden cites the relentless negative criticism Sondheim has heaped upon these two pieces, stating that the lyricist "never misses a chance to rip them to shreds." ( #E2.2) This observation is confirmed by none other than Mr. L. Bernstein in Sondheim & Co. ( #E2.3) Sondheim was not alone in his derision for "Heart." Privately dubbing it "The Cigarette Number," Sondheim and Laurents would inevitably duck out for a smoke during the rehearsal of the bridal shop song, presumably to avoid betraying their snickering disapproval. Allegedly, once the song was properly mounted, Robbins joined the smokers for a similar reprieve. Other accounts have called the song "The Lobby Number," because that's where as many as three of the show's collaborators could be found whenever it was being sung. I bow to Mr. Mordden on this one: The fact that Bernstein was the only one who could stand the song doesn't constitute actual proof that he wrote its lyrics.

I unhesitatingly add "Cool" to the Sondheim roster because of the evidence provided therein of the birth of a prolific career of internal rhymes, rhyming one word with two, and the unsettling and patently tantalizing practice of rhyming a whole word with a syllable within another word. Though not quite in the same category as what came later, rhyming "cool, boy" with "schoolboy" is a delicious promise of things to come. Another example resides in the Quintet ("rumpus" / "jump us"). Contained in "I Feel Pretty" is the equally effective "Chino" and "we know," which is mingled with the slightly dizzying feat of rhyming "her" with the first syllable of "Maria" ("keep away from her / send for Chino / this is not the Mar- / Ia we know").

Mr. Mordden and I happen to agree on "I Feel Pretty" only because Stephen Sondheim has frequently let his dissatisfaction with his efforts be known. His much-expressed self-disappointment seems to focus on the so-called mistake of giving Maria several clever rhymes that do not match her character. His position is grounded in education; unusual and internal rhymes, says he, are evidence of a better background—presumably societal but also educational—than the adolescent and sheltered heroine would be likely to have. I think it's safe to assume that he's not losing any sleep over this disaster, one presumably less and less worrisome as the years pass, but since this is the song he so frequently addressed on this matter, it's only right that it should be addressed here as well.

It's true enough that someone of Maria's protected upbringing, with a brief and limited exposure to the customs of her new home, might not be as well-informed as the character is portrayed in the work. She knows the custom of presenting an honored guest the key to the city. She has command of more than mere schoolbook English—she not only knows the expression about losing a son/gaining a daughter but she has wit enough to do a riff on it (admittedly the work of librettist Laurents and not lyricist Sondheim). A phrase such as "delicate-boned" (Laurents again) is not likely to spring from the mouth of even a native English-speaker of that age. She has "not yet learned to joke" in a flirting way, but she couldn't make such a statement without a fair knowledge of exactly what that suggestion entailed. As noted in another essay on this site, Maria is measurably sharper than she appears on the overview. My thesis is that, though unintentional, the savvy lyrics (if they can be so described) do not contradict the lady's character, they confirm it. Her education is not an issue to this theatergoer; she is meant to be seen as bright and rather astute, and the lyrics that have been torturing their author go far in creating and maintaining that image.

Nor is she alone in this state, even in the gallery of Sondheim's own creations. If ingenious rhymes and clever patter are meant to identify the singer as educated, one must wonder how the composer justifies the choices he made in Sweeney Todd. As pointed out by Joseph Swain, the young street urchin Toby Ragg is clearly understood to be undereducated and given his circumstances perhaps even illiterate. Nevertheless the boy is able to spin off several first-class rhymes such as "elixir/ tick, sir/ quick, sir." He can identify and accurately describe a literary figure like Shelley, though he knows enough to revert back opportunistically to his roots when necessary, pronouncing "isn't" as "i'n'" so that "i'n' it" will correctly rhyme with "minute." Along with elixir, admittedly a tool of his trade, he has assimilated a string of terms that are anything but mundane: "ambrosial," "luscious," "succulent," "rapture," and the irresistable "nostrils a-quiver," all indicating both a stunning vocabulary and a healthy libido. The complex and witty lyrics of both Toby and Mrs. Lovett give us reason not to wonder at Maria's comparable skills in that area. Their being the same nationality as Noel Coward is really not much of an explanation of their unsuspected erudition.

If he is not content to examine the vocabulary of members of his own cast (the Shark girls' knowledge of chromium steel and the wire-spoke wheel, the Jet boys' unexpected familiarity with a variety of terms belonging to a more cultured class—"neurosis," "psychologically," "sociologically") the lyricist could instead review the words of the various heroines of his mentor Oscar Hammerstein. Though far from stupid, it is not likely that Laurey Williams had much of a formal education, given her time and circumstances. The ability to rattle off an attitude like "never will I wander through the rye, wondering where has some guy gone" (efficiently rhyming it with a rather nifty and Sondheimesque inversion: "a kiss gone by is bygone") is appropriate for the leading lady of Oklahoma! but not exactly believable coming from a farmer of those days, even an intelligent one. The imagery of The King and I's shy and decidedly unworldly Tuptim ("painted cheek, tapering limb") or the robust, corn-fed Nellie Forbush of South Pacific ("I'm bromidic and bright as a moon-happy night…") continue to let me want to allow poor Maria the few comparatively unremarkable rhymes she was accorded.

Mr. Sondheim might wish to consider that he is on record (same interview) as being derisive of the sentiment "today the world was just an address." This constitutes something of a contradiction between his apprehension over the girl singing (what he claims is) a sophisticated lyric in "Pretty" and his disdain over (what I assume he is describing as) the more mundane passage in "Tonight." I'm not sure we can allow him to have it both ways. If the "Pretty" lyrics are "wrong," then the "Tonight" lyric is on the money, since it is plainly an image that an adolescent might actually conceive and express. However it tallies out, the gentleman does not need me to tell him that he wasn't writing for an innocent and naïve girl in love, he was writing for a leading character in a Broadway show. When she rattles off a clever round like "pretty/witty/pity/city/committee" she is doing exactly what she is supposed to be doing: entertaining the audience, giving them, to put it bluntly, their money's worth. Conversely, when she sings of "suns and moons all over the place" she is being very unsophisticated, very adolescent. And very boring. The lyrics of "I Feel Pretty" are exactly what they should be: engaging and uncomplicated at the same time. Someone should clue in their author to this very basic and happy fact.

The quest for Stephen Sondheim's satisfaction notwithstanding, the finicky disapproval does provide a solution to the original question: It is unthinkable that Sondheim would carry on at these lengths about anyone's work but his own. We now know very well who wrote the lyrics to "I Feel Pretty," for one.

Stephen Banfield offers a much more persuasive determination of the lyrics' authorship. By virtue of his examination of the lyric sheets housed in the collection of Sondheim's papers at the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Mr. Banfield concludes in his Sondheim's Broadway Musicals that all the songs but one can be attributed to Stephen Sondheim. This unambiguous assessment is achieved by noting that lyric sheets for every song (but one) containing a vocal line are written in Sondheim's hand. As confirmation, he doggedly lists every vocal number in the score, with the exception of "Maria." Having done so, he proceeds to cite another piece of the puzzle regarding "Maria," namely Leonard Bernstein's statement that he had indeed composed some of the music, decided on the title and had "some kind of lyric" in place when Sondheim joined the team. Even with the tune unfinished, he had determined the form of the lyric, including the repetitions, and "Sondheim's job was to find acceptable rhyming phrases." In other words, supply the lyrics. ( #E2.4) Thus Professor Banfield categorically gives full credit to Stephen Sondheim for the work as it was presented on Broadway and has been presented every since.

It is safe to assume that Mr. Sondheim's glib expression of desire to re-write the work referred to his own work, which he claims in its entirety. ( #E2.5) The meticulous scrutiny of authors, musicians and theater historians, only the smallest portion of which has been noted here, does little to refute that assertion, nor much to validate it. The single obstacle to a steadfast and unquestionable confirmation is an obdurate (and, in some cases, coy) variance in the reminiscences of the members of the creative team. For his part, Mr. Bernstein suggests that lyrics of his exist in the completed work, and is expansively unconcerned about questions of contribution and credit. ( #E2.6) Indisputably, many of the words were inspired by the work of Leonard Bernstein, and that of Arthur Laurents and of Jerome Robbins. Where inspiration ends and creative application begins seems to be a detail that concerns the collaborators far less than it concerns the critics. The collaborators have candidly referred to their contradictory accounts of the details of the musical's creation as the "Rashomon West Side Story," stating that it is only natural that there would be different recollections from the different points of view (and from the different sources of interest). One point generally agreed upon was that Leonard Bernstein's decision to remove his name from the lyricist's credit was unanimously viewed as an act of unprecedented generosity. The magnanimous gesture was offered because the younger musician had done "so much of" the lyrics by the time the work was complete. "Much" suggests "not all," but the speculation ends right about here. I am as eager as anyone to give credit where it is due, but the fact that certain words emerged from the pen of this man and not that one is eventually overshadowed by the words themselves, that they exist and that they will live forever. The lyrics of West Side Story may have been written by one man (or the other), but in the long run they were nothing less than the result of a collaboration of masters, a partnership whose like has not been repeated.

PARTING SHOT Bernstein as lyricist

PARTING SHOT Sondheim as composer

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