One of the bizarre and wonderful things about Bernadette Peters's Royal Albert Hall concert--and I watched the VHS of this pretty much constantly, throughout high school--was the moment BP chose to cover "Later" from "A Little Night Music."
This is not a song that anyone covers. It needs context. Also, it's a song for a young man. And yet: There was BP, singing it.
Do you love the song "Later"? Do you think about it, still, on occasion, even though you haven't seen the Royal Albert concert in years? Then join me, reader. Let's take a look.
This is a song about an emotionally- and sexually-constipated twentysomething. It's a monologue from a man who very much wants to sleep with his new stepmother. Of course! Broadway musical behavior!
A feature I love: Henrik is "all dammed-up inside," at least for a portion of the monologue, and this is captured in the actual syntax of his song. Henrik cannot express himself well; he cannot form long, fluid thoughts, at least at first; this isn't because he is unintelligent, but simply because he is young and frustrated. Henrik's sensation of being "dammed-up" is conveyed through the short, abrupt sentences he spits out at us. It's as if we're witnessing coitus interruptus, over and over again.
Later.
When is later?
All you ever hear is later, Henrik.
Henrik, later.
Yes, we know, Henrik.
Oh, Henrik.
Everyone agrees, Henrik.
Please, Henrik.
Henrik would like very much to be acknowledged by the world, to experience life, but he seems to lack agency; he cannot make his mark on this planet. Viciously, humorously, he satirizes the adults around him, the adults who are (at least apparently) more at ease in their own skin:
What's your rush, Henrik?
Shush, Henrik.
Goodness, how you gush, Henrik...
Hush, Henrik!
It's as if the adult in question can't be bothered to put together a full thought; it's like swatting at a fly. The short, choppy sentences make me think of every parent who has said, "We'll see," in response to a child. Subtext: "You are worth only two (meaningless) syllables. I will not be bothered with the thought of giving you further context or elaboration." Imagine the rage you felt whenever you heard: "We'll see." That's what this song is about.
Toward the end of the song, Sondheim brings out the pyrotechnics. Henrik exclaims: "Though I've been born, I've never been!" (Notice how BEEN echoes BORN, and how striking it is to have BEEN unattached to anything, how striking to have BEEN as its own verb.) Also, Henrik, like any impetuous twentysomething, imagines he will reach ninety without having thrust himself onto the world stage. "I will be the late--or rather LATER--Henrik, and I still won't have achieved anything (specifically, sexual congress)." I love the pun--the play on "later," which is the word we have heard over and over in this song. Discovery is seeing something no one else spots, though we're all given the same raw materials. Sondheim takes the word "later," and it's like putty in his hands: It offers more than one possibility.
Well, that's how I spent my teen years. With Bernadette, and with this song about frustration. It resonates. Henrik, c'est moi. Which is what Sondheim had planned--I'm sure--while he was writing.
I'm going on break now. I may write over the next two weeks; I may not. Regardless, Happy Holidays and See You in January!
P.S. Also note: The song builds and builds--all those short sentences--and then there is an orgasmic outpouring at the climax. A sentence that seems never to end. A ranting sentence. Song as foreplay--delayed gratification--climax. This seems deliberate to me.
P.P.S. The final thought crystallizes Sondheim's main idea: "Doesn't anything BEGIN?" Of course there's irony in ending a song with the word "begin." This is part of what sets SS apart.
This is not a song that anyone covers. It needs context. Also, it's a song for a young man. And yet: There was BP, singing it.
Do you love the song "Later"? Do you think about it, still, on occasion, even though you haven't seen the Royal Albert concert in years? Then join me, reader. Let's take a look.
This is a song about an emotionally- and sexually-constipated twentysomething. It's a monologue from a man who very much wants to sleep with his new stepmother. Of course! Broadway musical behavior!
A feature I love: Henrik is "all dammed-up inside," at least for a portion of the monologue, and this is captured in the actual syntax of his song. Henrik cannot express himself well; he cannot form long, fluid thoughts, at least at first; this isn't because he is unintelligent, but simply because he is young and frustrated. Henrik's sensation of being "dammed-up" is conveyed through the short, abrupt sentences he spits out at us. It's as if we're witnessing coitus interruptus, over and over again.
Later.
When is later?
All you ever hear is later, Henrik.
Henrik, later.
Yes, we know, Henrik.
Oh, Henrik.
Everyone agrees, Henrik.
Please, Henrik.
Henrik would like very much to be acknowledged by the world, to experience life, but he seems to lack agency; he cannot make his mark on this planet. Viciously, humorously, he satirizes the adults around him, the adults who are (at least apparently) more at ease in their own skin:
What's your rush, Henrik?
Shush, Henrik.
Goodness, how you gush, Henrik...
Hush, Henrik!
It's as if the adult in question can't be bothered to put together a full thought; it's like swatting at a fly. The short, choppy sentences make me think of every parent who has said, "We'll see," in response to a child. Subtext: "You are worth only two (meaningless) syllables. I will not be bothered with the thought of giving you further context or elaboration." Imagine the rage you felt whenever you heard: "We'll see." That's what this song is about.
Toward the end of the song, Sondheim brings out the pyrotechnics. Henrik exclaims: "Though I've been born, I've never been!" (Notice how BEEN echoes BORN, and how striking it is to have BEEN unattached to anything, how striking to have BEEN as its own verb.) Also, Henrik, like any impetuous twentysomething, imagines he will reach ninety without having thrust himself onto the world stage. "I will be the late--or rather LATER--Henrik, and I still won't have achieved anything (specifically, sexual congress)." I love the pun--the play on "later," which is the word we have heard over and over in this song. Discovery is seeing something no one else spots, though we're all given the same raw materials. Sondheim takes the word "later," and it's like putty in his hands: It offers more than one possibility.
Well, that's how I spent my teen years. With Bernadette, and with this song about frustration. It resonates. Henrik, c'est moi. Which is what Sondheim had planned--I'm sure--while he was writing.
I'm going on break now. I may write over the next two weeks; I may not. Regardless, Happy Holidays and See You in January!
P.S. Also note: The song builds and builds--all those short sentences--and then there is an orgasmic outpouring at the climax. A sentence that seems never to end. A ranting sentence. Song as foreplay--delayed gratification--climax. This seems deliberate to me.
P.P.S. The final thought crystallizes Sondheim's main idea: "Doesn't anything BEGIN?" Of course there's irony in ending a song with the word "begin." This is part of what sets SS apart.
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