Eulogy for Marshall Barer
'Twas on a night like this Sated with food, Marshall quite nude, And on a night like this With songs we all love - let's hope he's above To share the bliss Marshall Louis Barer, born February 19th, 1923, was an
artiste unique, calling himself, "The irrepressible, wafer-thin Anglo-sexual,
psycho-Semitic, and almost unbearably gifted, For those of us who were honored to house Marshall for
brief periods, (probably everyone here) there are many stories. At my
house; most times Marshall, knowing there was quite a turnover Once Marshall's through the front gate, he's off headlong into the refrigerator. –What'cha got to eat? Don't get up. I'll help myself." --A minute later he's standing in the middle of the living room chomping and dribbling from what he says is a tuna fish sandwich. Now, HOW the hell did he open a can of tuna and make the sandwich that fast? Marshall, chomping away, says, "It's quite unusual. Rather sweet. I like it. Sweet tuna fish. Interesting". --My daughters had left a bowl of cookie dough in the frig. "Rather sweet," --Like Marshall --at times. His Sunday songwriter-singer evenings, when he lived near
us in Venice, were wonderful and, like Marshall, always interesting The
cuisine he served was no different. Some first-look responses to one of
his "guess-what 's-in-this" dishes might be: "Do you think
it's safe to eat that? That's an odd color. Taste it! YOU taste it! Laurie
ate some. --And David. Where are they? I can see Marshall now; endlessly plugging and unplugging and replugging and tracing down cords to amplifiers. Often he would disappear then later return with a change of costume and a new focused dedication to finding, through an M.C. Escher-like maze of useless cords, the end of yet another useless cord. Then, frustrated, he would go for a somewhat "edgier" costume change. Once, I recall his wearing a voice-activated brooch, down
about "There" on his tights, that lit up and twinkled when spoken
into. He walked over to my visiting lady friend, Susan, who was Nothing technical ever or rarely ever worked. Feedback.
Dead. Whoever could accompany on the piano would have to leave early following
the many delays of complicated technological failures. The evening would
completely fall apart and THEN, before your very eyes, RISE FROM THE ASHES,
somehow turning into a special, wonderful evening with Marshall telling
stories and singing a capella, or along to tracks from a pink boom-box,
dueting with himself. Eventually a talented tickler of ivories would stroll
in. Michael Feinstein would come in late, from a performance elsewhere.
Andrea Marcovicci the same. Or Dale Gonyea. Or Michelle Brourman. My daughters,
Amber and Fiona might duet. Fiona, at the age of eleven, and encouraged
by Marshall, started playing and singing her own highly personal and sophisticated
songs at Marshall's parties. Marshall, praising Fiona, who (using her
middle name) is now And my daughter, Amber Maggart, (changing her~name to Maude Maggart, after my grandmother, Maude Apple) made her professional debut right here in this theatre earlier this year in Marshall and Hugh Martin's "Happy Lot". The musical was originally called, "A Little Night Music," and written before the "other one," but that's another story. It was originally written for Jeanette MacDonald and Liza
Minelli. But unfortunately set aside after Jeanette MacDonald's death.
You can imagine my thrill at being on stage in my friends' Forgive me, I've drifted! Back to Marshall's Sunday soirees,
with Anita Nye or David Ross, both of whom wrote beautifully with Marshall.
Carl Anderson. Ronny Graham with a major Myself, producer Jeannine Frank and many, many more, I
haven't mentioned, were LUCKY enough to share those Marshall Barer evenings.
Making for a truly "Venice Beach" Marshall Barer evening, Marshall
always kept his front door open with neighbors and some of the local homeless
drifting in and out. You might see a few shabbily dressed, unbathed and
mystified nomads grazing Marshall's table and overhear: "There's
no accounting for what rich people will eat. --It looks a little like
what I ate here about a month ago and that tasted pretty good. --That
might be the case, looks like somebody ate it about a month ago." Marshall's "pitch" meeting was at Disney. He
got there a half hour late, driving in his start-stop, bucking style.
---"Aruum-aruum-aruum-aruum." The "suits" were NOT
receptive. I think he frightened them. Marshall was known be quite animated
under stress. Although, merely relieving himself, he became a "minor
legend" within some circles at Disney that day. After the dismal
meeting, he left in such a huff that he forgot to take a much needed trip
to the men's room. So, he opened his car door, partially shielding himself,
and peed there in the Disney parking lot. Word quickly spread around the
lot about Marshall's meeting and that Marshall's act was an artistic COMMENT.
Of course, you know how things tend to get exaggerated when wind of a
"legend" begins to circulate. Marshall told me that they could
believe it if they wanted to but he definitely did NOT pee on their conference
table. BUT, so goes the legend. By the way, I believe the show he was
"pitching" that day was a musical that he had written with Dean
Fuller. It's a show that really should be done. The name of the show was,
and is, "Appearances Everyone knows about his denim-patch covered Mercedes that he drove around BUT, besides being a terrible driver, "Aruum-aruum," he wore two pairs of glasses at the same time when he drove. One over the other. "Aruum-aruum." --(Those magnifying glasses you buy in the drug store.) "Aruum-aruum." What a sight, seeing Marshall drive by, especially for camera-happy tourists. Low in the driver's seat, barely peeping over the hood, a shock of grey hair over a double row of glasses and a tan, leathered, very intense face, all wrapped within a denim Mercedes. "Aruum-aruum-aruum." ---Sometimes he rode his motor scooter. That was a sight as well. When he moved to Santa Fe, a few years ago, I insisted that Marshall let my son, Brandon, drive him there. AND I insisted that Marshall, should he have ANY illegal substances, God forbid, PLEASE jettison such substances BEFORE leaving. BECAUSE, should the highway patrol observe this denim-patch covered Mercedes, a younger man driving an older gentleman, the older gentleman wearing a tie-dyed parachute-like ensemble and listening to a pink boom-box, and red kerchief tucked in the pocket of the right rear window, the law enforcement officers MIGHT POSSIBLY, I repeat, MIGHT POSSIBLY become curious enough to pull such vehicle over for a closer look!! Marshall agreed. But RENEGED, even before reaching the end of the block, as I later found out. I was, what you call, really pissed. MUCH later it became a long hilarious story that my son loves to tell, concerning a long side trip to the biosphere and several scary stops at diners along the way. My dear son and Marshall weren't fond of each other before the trip and they LOATHED each other afterwards. Back in L.A., safe and sound, rid of Marshall, but still shaking off the trauma, Bran walked into the neighborhood card shoppe on the corner and saw someone, looking somewhat like Marshall Barer, scanning the cards, and standing in a Marshall manor; That being, he would put one leg forward and rock back and forth with slight pelvic thrusts while expounding, or in this case, scanning. Bran said his heart stopped. --"Could there be two of them!?!" Then he was truly ashamed when the gentleman walked away, in the same rocking manor, ---physically impaired. Marshall WAS, in many ways, the "eighth" of my talented and lovable (at times) children. Certainly he was, along with Ronny Graham, a member of our family and treated as such. One afternoon I heard my actor son, Garett, from an upstairs bathroom, cry out in his best Shakespearian anguish, "NO! NO! NO! NO! NOOO! Marshall's heeeeere!" He didn't even know Marshall was in L.A. until he opened his new jar of a special hair gel. There a perfect, singular HANDFUL of gel had been scooped out. Besides the refrigerator, Marshall was fond of using other peoples toiletries. I told Garett that at least Marshall had put the top back on. Garett replied, "But couldn't he have put the top back on with his NON-GELLED hand?" Marshall and Amber adored each other, while, according to Marshall, he and Fiona were the most alike AND the most at odds. "We're both true eccentrics," he said. "We're very much alike." But Fiona, being a vegan, kept her food sealed and in its place in the frig. Marshall was, shall we say, "not like that". Besides helping himself to her special juices, non-dairy and meatless dishes, he would leave his prey out on the counter top and uncovered. Fiona's reaction; "expletive deleted." And that girl can really "expletive delete". Over the years Marshall allowed me to video-tape hours and hours of himself talking about his life and how he perceived his curious world. Sometimes I could get both of my best friends together, those being Marshall and Ronny. Their mutual admiration and respect was a joy to behold. I highly recommend such friendships for whatever might ail you. On one of the last tapes, Marshall said, "This, Brandon, will be a 'NOW IT CAN BE TOLD' session". Marshall said that he had loved and/or had affairs with at least four women. The first (I'll only give first names for obvious reasons) was Rosemary. Rosemary and Marshall were madly in love with each other. This was before puberty. Puberty changed the relationship but they loved each other until Rosemary's premature death. I hope I remember this story correctly but this was not taped. He told this to me during brunch about six weeks before his death. We were eating at the Dandelion in Venice. I had eggs benedict and he had eggs Florentine. He talked about how the two of them were inseparable growing up in West Palm Beach. How their love had survived their differences and even through her marriage and having children and his --not. Rosemary was his "first and PUREST love," he said. He told how after his mother's death he had left the funeral
services and retreated to his old neighborhood in West Palm Beach, where,
as a young boy, he had many times walked down the street and tossed small
stones up to Rosemary's second-floor window. And how, on this night, Marshall was so focused telling the story that he didn't
notice,--as he was talking, he was spraying me and my plate of eggs benedict
with missiles from his eggs Florentine. I'm sitting directly across from
him and, not wanting to interrupt, I move down a space, in an effort to
avoid the flying Florentine. Marshall didn't notice I'd moved, but he
spoke more forcefully and propelled more bits of spinach and egg. So,
I'm dealing with this and the inherent impulse to laugh, while, at the
same time, I'm being truly moved by the story. Now, we're both gathering
eye moisture and it could go either way. But, just as the story hit it's
emotional peak, I lost it, laughing in poor Marshall's face. Marshall
was, of course, taken aback, stunned, and puzzled, until I explained.
He understood, as would, we agreed, Mary Tyler Moore; knowing that laughter
He was less understanding on another occasion. On his first trip back after moving to Santa Fe, he shows up at my front gate all bedecked in cowboy duds. The Kid had gone "cowboy," full tilt boogie; complete with cowboy hat, long "Shirley Temple" ringlets, leather fringed jacket, cowboy boots and lots of turquoise. At first glance, one might think it was Buffalo Bill Cody himself. But as he posed, I blurted out, "Well, I do believe it's mister Annie Oakley!" --That was not the reference he was looking for. Speaking of women, there was also, (I WILL give her name) Anais Ninn. Yes. He had "been with Anais Ninn" in Paris. "She liked young beautiful boys," Marshall said. AND there was Jill. She with, "the most beautiful and saddest eyes." And finally, Mary. (NO last name here, but Marshall referred
to her as "Dorothy's daughter") Mary and Marshall had been successful
creative partners, friends, and finally lovers. They planned to be married.
They had already told Marshall's parents, who were quite happy. And surprised.
Although his sister, Natalie, according to Marshall, was not so sure. So, who was Marshall Barer and what was he doing here? How could such order and beauty come out of such chaos? How could someone so exhausting be so loved? --And, is it possible that his whole creative performance mode could have come from a highly unorthodox but successful formula that he stumbled onto and was loathe to abandon?? --I'm quoting here from a cabaret review printed in the New York Daily News on December 1, 1977, and written by Patricia O'Haire. "The world's first, and possibly last, performance of "An Evening With Marshall Barer" took place Monday evening at the Ballroom, as part of it's continuing Composers' series. IT WAS A HOWL." It goes on to give some of his credits and that he was,
.. so nervous in the spotlight that his hands Again: "For Example, the show opened with Marshall and all the women singing while holding aloft flickering votive lights. His went out and he couldn't read his music. On stage he had trouble with his mike. --"I don't like this much anyway," he said. His hands trembled so he couldn't read the list of his songs, so he decided just to muddle through. He went to sing with his tape recorder only to find he had the wrong tape on; at one point, Larkins sat down to play for Anita Ellis and discovered that it was Tally Browns's song time. (Here comes my favorite) Craig Zadan, who had put the show together, stood on the side divorcing his hair from his scalp." And it winds up: "It was a stew of a show --everything was thrown in; without regard to its mix-match qualities; YET THE RESULT WAS A DELECTABLE DISH THAT I AM SURE COULD NEVER POSSIBLY BE RECREATED." End quote. --Not so fast there O'Haire! Is it possible that Marshall got such a RUSH out of that nights' performance, in 1977, that he DID RECREATE that same CHAOS the rest of his life? Did he, there, that winters night, become instantly addicted to an intermingling of disaster and triumph? --I know I saw endless versions of that (whether by design or not) when he would place an abrasive stone in our shoe and, then by removing it, make it a JEWEL IN HIS CROWN! Marshall Barer was no Timothy Leary but he did venture into the far reaches of space on excision. He's out there now. But not to worry, he wouldn't miss this! He's probably in a Celestial Cab now, putting the finishing touches on a lyric he wants to drop off at Duke Ellington's Cloud, or David Ross' or Alec Wilder's. After chatting and laughing with as many friends as he could here in Twinkle Town, Marshall proceeded to, of course, "leave us wanting more." Finally rejecting any more "chemo," he told me and his doctor that he "was ready". He'd "had a wonderful life". My son Garett and I drove him to the airport for his final trip to Santa Fe, where he said he wanted to curl up in his own bed with his dog, Sweetheart, and his cat, named Cat, and have "some wonderful food and some wonderful drugs". He asked Garett if he'd ever experienced a morphine high? Garett asked him what it was like? Marshall said, "000000, S'WONDERFUL" On the way to the airport, Marshall laughed and sang some of his songs. (one about 'belching') And he said something very curious. He was laughing and he said, "This is--. I might just pull this off." I'm not sure what it meant. Maybe that he was feeling so good he couldn't possibly be dying. Carolee and Izumi were at the terminal, waiting with a wheelchair and a very considerate fellow from customer services provided by the airline. One final item, or as Marshall considered it, one final honor, that I'm sure he would like everyone to know. He was very, very proud that he was "barred for life" from The Comedy Store. On an open-mike night, years ago, Marshall had made an attempt at "standup" comedy. He performed some bizarre act involving a string of small wieners. After stripping down to his jocky shorts he apparently pulled said string of weiners from his frontal nest. This act, perceived lewd by even the very liberal Comedy Store, got him "Barred for life!" In an effort to make me understand the "lewdness," he performed the "act" in my living room one night. Roaring~ with laughter. I never did figure out what the hell the act was about. He was laughing too hard to be understood, except for the part about being "barred for life". He loved that. The visual alone was probably enough to get him tossed out. And to be honest, I thought about asking him not to come back myself! He was laughing his ass off, "You can't get banned from the Comedy Store! Nobody gets banned from the Comedy Store! But I DID!!" I think we can safely say that Marshall Barer did not go through life "unnoticed". Marshall told myself, Ronny Graham, Laurie McIntosh and his good friend and archivist, Reg Fulton that he wanted to put the FUN back in "funeral". He wanted to "Exit Laughing!" And he and we did quite a bit of that. THEN he wanted his friends and admirers to gather again and have lots of laughs and sing some wonderful songs, preferably his. So, everybody get loose and join the celebration. Ronny Graham knows how to start us off. So--. Wait a minute! Excuse me. I've just handed myself a note--. "Someone wearing a cowboy hat, jockey shorts, and Angel's Wings held together by a safety-pin or two, just fell through an open window into the upstairs office and he seems to be TWINKLING." --MARSHALL BARER IS IN THE HOUSE! ---HIT IT RONNY!! |
|
|