Nice guy, great voice: Happy birthday, Mr. C
Like quite a few of you, I more or less faithfully check out the little "Happy Birthday" box that appears daily on page A2 of this here paper.
What does this say about me . . . and, for that matter, you? Why should we care? I've never heard of half these people. So the lead singer of the band Sucking Chest Wound just turned 23: How, precisely, am I supposed to come to terms with that?
Every now and then, however, one of these entries leaps out and whacks me right between the eyes. So it was last Thursday. There was of course the usual collection of parties unknown checking in from Alpha Centauri: Actor Spencer Breslin, for instance, had just turned 8. (He any relation to that New York columnist?) Can anybody possibly deserve the honorable title of "actor" at the ripe old age of 8? "Mini-thespian," maybe.
Ah, but atop the pile stood . . . Perry Como.
And get this: Perry Como is 88 years old.
How in the world did that happen? Who authorized it? And why wasn't I notified?
This just makes no sense at all.
Perry Como can't be 88 years old. Because if he's that old, then I . . . well, you get the idea. I don't like this. I don't like it one little bit.
Why all this consternation about a singer who's been out of the spotlight for at least a decade? I'll tell you why: Because this guy has been part of my personal landscape from time immemorial. I remember those long, long trips from Austin to the Rio Grande Valley with ol' Perry singing "Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes" or "Catch a Falling Star." No CD players back then. Nossir. No cassette players. No eight-tracks either. Just the AM radio: You took your chances, and if you were lucky you'd dial up Perry every now and then. Perry Como is part of the soundtrack of my youth.
But that's more or less beside the point. What really shakes me is how conspicuously American pop culture has failed to come up with anyone to fill (however inadequately) the void Perry has left on the musical scene.
What made him so special? Well, of course he could carry a tune: In those innocent days that was a prerequisite for success in the business. (Just as well for the likes of Neil Young and Sting that they came along later. A lot later.)
But what was special, really special, about Perry was that he pulled off one of the most difficult gigs in music: He made everything he did seem so effortless.
You would have to have caught his act to understand what I'm talking about here. Perry Como was always spot-on, musically - but from the consummate ease with which he pulled it off, you would have thought he was at home, singing in the shower. (With the curtain discreetly pulled, of course: Perry is not a child of this naughty age of ours.) Perry did not wiggle; nay, neither did he writhe. He just stood up there and did the music justice - unforgettably.
To the extent it is possible for any singer to own a piece of music (and sacred music at that), Perry Como owns the "Ave Maria."
And, so far as I know, there has never been a hint of scandal, sleaze or cheesiness in his life, personal and professional. In 1933, at 21, he married his sweetheart. They stayed married until her death in 1998.
Didn't this guy know anything about show business?
Unlike others of his generation - Frank Sinatra comes to mind - Perry Como didn't rage at the fading of the spotlight. When he thought it appropriate, he simply walked away from performing, his dignity and integrity intact.
But plenty of us still miss him. Happy Birthday, Mr. C.
Source: http://www.caller.com/2000/may/22/today/brooks_p/604.html
