A Diseuse, NOT a Chanteuse

You may have heard that Elsa Lanchester was an Isadora Duncan dancer in her childhood. She remained a dancer for decades: taught as a teen, had a short stint as a "snake dancer", performed the Arabian dance in "The Nutcracker", danced in the smash hit revue "Riverside Nights", at her own nightclub, The Cave of Harmony, and in at least one film, the wartime curiosity "Thumbs Up" (which is worth seeing, if just for the fun she seems to be having).

Elsa was also an adept physical actor. She starred in several silent films in Britain and was touted as the "female Charlie Chaplin".  In the theatre, she garnered raves as an athletic Ariel to her husband Charles Laughton's less successful Prospero, and as Peter Pan to his Captain Hook. She was exhilarated by flying onstage, even though a few of her ribs were broken in a harness mishap.

What she couldn't really do was sing. But she loved music, enjoyed collecting songs from the music halls of her childhood, and--she sang anyway. She parodied Victorian songs, put her own special twist on traditional tunes, and learned phrasing and modulation for comedy or pathos. The characterization, of course, came easily to her.

In 1930's Hollywood, newly transplanted Elsa missed performing in variety--what she liked to call vaudeville. She said she hated making films and being in plays, and especially hated waiting for work to show up. So in 1941, when she heard about the Yale Puppeteers' new Turnabout Theatre in West Hollywood, she volunteered to be a guest star: three songs a night, three different costumes, and three completely different characterizations.

Again, she was a smash hit, largely due to the talents of the Turnabout's brilliant composer/lyricist, Forman Brown. He wrote songs specifically to Elsa's strengths, and those songs became Elsa's property in exchange for performing gratis. She stayed at the Turnabout for twelve years, leaving with a cache of tailor-made material for her subsequent club acts.

But could she sing?

Charles Laughton called Elsa a "diseuse", not a "chanteuse", a  talk/singer like Rex Harrison, not a Julie Andrews songbird. Not exactly the highest praise for someone who loved to sing as much as Elsa did. But she embraced that definition, and made it part of her, as we sometimes say today, brand.  Like her voice or not, Elsa had a unique sound, and she cultivated it.

In "ELSA LANCHESTER: SHE'S ALIVE", my tribute to Elsa's extraordinary life and music, I perform several of the early music hall songs Elsa collected, and I'm thrilled to say I've been given permission to perform some of Forman Brown's witty, wistful tunes! I'm beyond grateful. The hard part is deciding which songs to sing--there are so many, and they're so much fun to sing!

But can I sing?

I ask myself that question daily. I USED to sing. I've sung all my life: with my mother and sister, in choir, in chorus, in high school shows, in a rock band (briefly), as a folk singer--and in musicals where I was actually PAID to sing! In my youth, I studied voice, attempted art songs and arias, with no delusions of becoming the next Renee Fleming.

I stopped trying to sing years ago, too anxious to be vulnerable in front of people.  I convinced myself my voice wasn't good enough, because music was so important to me.

Now, here's where Elsa has been an inspiration! (How lucky am I to have found her?) I realized that I don't HAVE to sound great--I have to sound like her, only a tiny bit better! Whew!

At the end of her life, Elsa was still studying voice.  Not to sing onstage, but for the breath, the stamina, and for the sheer joy.

I've started taking vocal lessons again, and I am loving it, too. Does my voice sound like it did when I was younger? Of course not. The break in my poor old larynx is as big as--well, it's pretty honkin' big. Any woman of an age can tell you all about it, and sometimes it's pretty disheartening.

That's when I hear Elsa say,"That's what makes us distinctive! USE IT! Just don't forget to BREATHE, Towser! Have FUN!!!"

So, OK. Call me a Diseuse. I don't mind at all. Much.