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.

THE END