PAUL LAZARUS
The Woman
from the
City
Stage to be
set like a Berlin Jazz Club circa 1932.
Video
backdrop to show blacked-up ‘hot’ jazz band in action as a bizarre, syncopated
film loop.
The Woman
from the city takes the stage as music plays raucously behind her.
The Woman
from the City (in dinner jacket, slicked hair and monocle).
I talked
about the city and red hot mood
I talked
about the hop heads, how the jivers moved
I talked
about the dances and the pretty girls
I talked
about the cafes and the straights and swells…
She listened
to me talking in an addled haze
She wondered
if I loved her and her country ways
She laughed
aloud, I lit another cigarette
Blew smoke
into her peepers and said not yet….
Chorus;
I’ve wasted
all my money on looking like a honey
And I oughta blame it all on you
I’ve stopped
licking candy and started drinking brandy
And I guess
it’s all down to you.
The Woman
I took her
from her mutti and started the car
We drove
towards the highway and she said how far?
I kissed the
pretty madchen, unbuttoned her dress
But I swear
it was she who gave the First caress.
I took her
to La Monocle to dig the scene
I knew my
little Kitty was less than green
But when she
saw the girlies in the girlie show
Had I done
the right thing by letting her go?
Chorus;
I used to
spend my time drinking little but wine
And I used
to blame it all on you
But you’ve
shown me round the scene, got me hooked on benzedrine
So I guess
it’s all down to you.
The Woman;
I thought my
little Kitty looked so pretty in the city
I thought my
little bubbi looked a swell
With her
cupid bow lips and her corkscrew curl
She’s the
perfect reproduction of the Model T girl.
The Chorus;
Each week a
newer model to keep up with demand
Modified,
commodotified, supercharged, alarmed.
So reliant,
so compliant, your wish is our command
We’re the
perfect duplication, the latest replication,
The wonder
of creation, supply no limitation,
We’re the
shining reproduction of the Model T girl.
The Woman;
Mass
produced; she’s used, polished and abused.
An infinite
variety, for mistress and propriety,
Procured,
seduced, six months; reduced.
She’s the
perfect reproduction of the Model T girl.
The Chorus;
Immaculate
conception for immediate reflection,
Intending no
deception with a rapturous reception,
Ponder our
selection for we offer no rejection
We’re the
perfect duplication, accept no imitation,
And at our instigation do begin
negotiation
We’re the
shining reproduction of the Model T girl.
The Woman;
Electric,
automatic, convenient, machine
She needs
the coke to feed her head; she has no time to dream.
This week’s
dance to this week’s song; always short but overlong
She’s the
perfect reproduction of the Model T girl.
The Chorus;
The night
spins past in ecstasy, the day begins the same,
A stranger’s
bed to rest my head, the madness starts again,
The marvel
of the age, costume all the rage,
Complexity
dramatic;
The Woman;
Buoyancy
pneumatic…
The Chorus;
The wonder
of creation;
The Woman;
Amazing
duplication…
The Chorus;
Electric,
incandescent;
The Woman;
Daily
obsolescent…
The Chorus;
A novelty;
The Woman;
Commodity…
The Chorus;
The perfect
reproduction of the Model T girl.
Three men
dressed as Satyrs dance onto the stage
and run about the girls, who launch into an extravagant dancing frenzy. The
woman from the city sighs and lights another cigarette.
The Woman;
Half woman,
half child, made completely wild,
Noble savage
of the adage, djinn of the abyss,
Comatose
Salome in seven silken veils
And no
wonder for without these she ceases to exist…
She can’t do
without a mirror; the merest threat would force a shiver,
Without a
mirror, she ceases to exist.
She can’t do
without her make up; deprived of it she’d break up,
Without her
make up, she ceases to exist.
She can’t do
without silk stockings; the very thought is just too shocking,
Without silk
stockings, she ceases to exist.
Such
temptations she dare not resist, for without them
She ceases
to exist.
The Chorus;
Such temptations
we dare not resist, without them
We would
surely not exist.
The Woman;
She can’t do
without a motor car; such a thought she must disbar,
Without a
motor car she ceases to exist.
She can’t do
without a camera, the loss if it would hammer her,
Without a
camera she ceases to exist.
She can’t do
without a dance floor, without a dance she’d never score,
Without a
dance floor she ceases to exist.
Such
temptations she dare not resist, for without them
She ceases
to exist.
The Chorus;
Such
temptations we dare not resist, without them
We would
surely not exist.
The Woman;
She can’t do
without an audience, without it she would make no sense,
Without an
audience she ceases to exist.
She can’t do
without attention, please ensure you make a mention,
Without attention
she ceases to exist.
She can’t do
without her latest beau, without him she would fail to show,
Without her
latest beau she ceases to exist.
Such
temptations she dare not resist, for without them she would surely not exist.
The Chorus;
Such temptations
we dare not resist, without them
We would
surely not exist.
The Woman;
She can’t do
without her gramophone, without it she’d be all alone;
Without a
gramophone she ceases to exist.
She can’t do
without a cigarette, that is perhaps her one regret;
Without a
cigarette she ceases to exist.
And she
can’t do without her medicine, deprived of it she starts to scream;
Without her
medicine she ceases to exist.
Such
temptations she dare not resist, for without them she ceases to exist.
The Chorus;
Such temptations
we dare not resist, without them we would surely not exist.
The Chorus
and the Woman;
Such
temptations we dare not resist; without them we would surely not exist.
Men in evening wear glide onto the stage and dance
with the girls. The woman sighs.
The Woman;
The empty
trumpets play their bland cavalcade,
The city
swirls in rhythm to their serenade,
Everyone’s a
millionaire but can’t afford a thing
The virgin’s
have got nothing left and still the showgirls sing.
The savage
beating tom-tom is the latest, newest creed, Sumptuary of the working girls the
only code you need.
But burning
books is perilous and plots to block the way
Of the
headlong rush for trivia and all that’s fun and gay.
Chorus;
I’ve blown
away my brain on the craziest cocaine
And I oughta
blame it all on you
Now I’ve
settled in the city where they call me little kitty
So I guess
it’s all down to you…
The Woman;
Well, let me
tell you about the City and all about her ways. She is of course a woman, but
she wears many disguises and is many things to many men…
To the poor
she is a temptress,
And way
beyond their means.
They work so
hard to buy her love
Yet nothing
may be gleaned
From what
she has discarded
And what she
cannot sell…
They would
try to steal her kiss
But they’d
end up in a cell.
The bold
amongst them try such tricks
And most
amongst them fail
But those
that don’t may try her love
And pass
themselves as swells.
The city’s learned to tell such
rogues
From their
vulgar, showy swagger
And sure
enough she tires of them
And leaves
them to the dagger.
The Chorus;
Thus we deplore
The City of
the Poor.
The Woman;
Ah yes, the
city is a cruel woman, but she knows how to have a good time…
To young
clerks she is a working girl
A grasshopper, a parvenue…
A Friday
fumble from the pay cheque
Municipal
source of revenue
Which
services her roadways,
Her
pathways, her avenues
And clothes
them in silk lingerie
To shield
her from the views
Of window
shopping galavants
And other
lowly chaps
Who’d seek
to profit from her losses
Then blow it
all on craps.
These
youthful clerks become her chums
Her best
friends and her beaus
But woe
betide the callow youth
Who would to
her propose.
The Chorus;
How we do
shirk
The City of
the Clerk.
The Woman;
Oh, such are
her ways…in times such as this a girl cannot love who she chooses…she has to
pay the rent…
Her private
parts to most denied
But those
who have the wealth
For though
her fancies may be robbed
There’s
higher means than stealth.
Her heart
belongs to richer men
But not to
say her mind
For whilst
she flatters with her face
There’s so
much more behind.
She courts
the dukes and princes
With palaces
and balls
She wears
the baubles they donate
Yet they
shelter one and all.
Our lady
fair metropolis
Has many
wanton wiles
Yet somehow
she is virtuous
To those who
make her smile.
The Chorus;
That callous
bitch…
The City of
the Rich.
The Woman;
You see, it
pays dividends to pay a lady’s way, all gentlemen know that. That’s why the
lady is a tramp…
The Chorus;
And what of us, my dear, where are
we in all of this?
The Woman;
My cherubs,
your names are everywhere, plastered as badges upon her lapels, as labels in
her underwear for all to seek who have the nerve…
The Chorus;
The Café
Braun, Haller-Revue, Haus Vaterland, Heaven and Hell, Hackepeter, Rio Rita Bar,
The Stork’s Nest, The White Mouse, The Resi, The Kakudu, The Aukula Lounge, The
Domino, The Olala, The Monocle, The Toppkellar, The Verona Lounge, The
Meyer-Stube, The Mali and Ingel, The Birkenheide, The Eldorado, The Silhouette,
The Blue Stocking, The Hundegustav, The Sing-Sing and the Red Mill…
The Woman;
Oh, and in my heart I can recall
them all…and none more succinct than you my dears…
The Chorus;
Aaahh…
The Woman;
The tourists
heard about us and shouted out our names
The middle
classes panicked and cried about the shame !
They looked
around for leaders and finding there were none
Voted in for
chancellor Attilla the Hun.
He marched
around the meanest streets looking for a scrap
And found
that where we counted people didn’t give a crap,
So pooling
all the bully boys to muster a parade
He
triumphantly proclaimed himself the king of the raid…
Three clowns
dressed as Nazis storm into the auditorium, one of them bearing a comical
Hitler moustache. They brandish foam rubber truncheons and liberally cosh the
audience, blowing whistles in time to the music. The girls scream. Before them
runs a young woman in a shabby cloth cap and overcoat with an oversized Star of
David on it. The girls scream as they run onto the stage and perform a
knockabout, Keystone Cops style performance as the dancers try to block their
path and hide the Jewish girl. The woman from the city grabs the girl and pulls
her to her side. They exchange a furtive embrace before the woman from the city
produces a pair of scissors and snips the braces of the clown wearing the
moustache. His trousers fall down to reveal his naked arse. The girl tears the
Star of David from her lapel and sticks it onto his bottom. Embarrassed, he
pulls up his trousers and runs over to his comrades, but his trousers fall down
again. Seeing the star on his bottom, the other clowns accost him with their
truncheons and drag him away in triumph. The chorus begins again.
The Chorus;
They’re
brandishing their pistols as they dress the night with Crystal
And they
want to blame it all on you…
They’ve
tried to stop our games, whitewashed out our names,
But we’ll
always be a part of you…
Though bombs
drop on your streets as they panic in retreat
They’ll
never put a stop to you…
Cos we’ll
open up our doors and reinvent the cause
We’ll always
be in love with you!
For a
finale, the woman from the city reappears on the back of a centaur. Accompanying her is the Jewish Girl, in full
burlesque outfit. The other girls dance with them, arm in arm with the Satyrs.
The Woman
Oh…It all
goes to show, you can take the city from the woman, but you can’t take the woman from the city.
