singer but an expert pianist who demonstrated songs for top publishing companies. Wasting no time, Kay awarded them all the final slots on her all-star team.
Next, she spread the word that she was looking for a rehearsal pianist. Loulie Jean Norman recommended a twenty-one-year-old friend from Birmingham, Alabama, named Hugh Martin. When Hugh came to audition at Kay’s apartment, he met an Oklahoman singer named Ralph Blane and, subsequently, they joined forces to become one of the most successful composing teams of the 1940s (“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” “The Trolley Song,” among others). In the meantime, though, Hugh would collect $25 a week playing piano for Kay—and Ralph would join her choir the following year.
“We rehearsed every single day,” Elizabeth Newburger recalled. “The hours were unbelievable.” Even though Kay was the red-nailed dominatrix of a vocal chord sweatshop, the Rhythm Singers were having too much fun to hold it against her. And the results were astonishing.
“I have never heard anything like the sound that came out of them,” Hugh Martin rhapsodized. “It actually made me ill. All the blood went to my feet and I had to lean against the wall for support. It was such a thrilling sound.”
In addition to rhythm, swing, and jazz, Kay specialized in comic novelty songs, like “Us on a Bus” and “The Old Man in the Mountain,” for which she’d have her singers doing sound effects, funny accents, and silly voices. “I Can Pull a Rabbit Outta My Hat” featured imitations of Betty Boop, Portland Hoffa, and a chicken.
And there was a certain mascot who often popped up unexpectedly during rehearsals. “Kay always used to do the Eloise bit,” Bea Wain recalled. “She would come into the room and do the voice: ‘How’s everybody? Well, I was late today because I did so-and-so and so-and-so.’ And we used to be hysterical.”
“Kay used to do Eloise a lot,” Elizabeth Newburger confirmed. “It was as if her freedom gave us permission to come up with crazy things of our own.”
“Kay used to use her Eloise voice to quiet us down when we were not behaving or singing the right note or something,” Virginia “Jitchy” Vass explained. “She would say, ‘I’m Eloise and I think Jitchy and Loulie are talking too much and I’m gonna report them to the management.’ Then we’d all stop and laugh and get to work again.”
Another habitué of their rehearsals was Mr. Chips. Unfortunately, he was not always a gentleman. “I wasn’t crazy about Chips,” recalled Loulie Jean. “He got on my leg once, and well, he lost me there.”
“Kay also had a housekeeper,” Bea explained, “which was very impressive. Her name was Mamie. She was young and black, a sophisticated Lena Horne type, who did everything from cooking to cleaning to secretarial duties.”
In the mornings, Kay would rehearse the small army at her place, then march everyone over to CBS at 485 Madison Avenue (between Fifty-first and Fifty-second Streets) for afternoon and evening sessions with Kostelanetz—Kosty, as they called him. In addition to his regular musicians, the maestro brought in a number of top jazz sidemen, including, quite conveniently, Jack Jenney—who, by then, was “living in sin” with Kay at her apartment.
“Kosty was crazy about our group,” Bea remarked, “which was quite something because he was really a very cultured conductor.”
They charmed other starched collars, too. “This very dignified gentleman came to one of our first rehearsals,” Bea recalled. “He was a big shot. And our little Southern girls, Jitchy, Weezie, and Sally Vass, shouted, ‘Cousin Willie!’ ”
It turned out that William Randolph Carmichael, vice president of Liggett and Myers Tobacco Company, was a cousin of the Vass sisters. Jitchy’s diary entry understated the obvious: “Kay is so thrilled that we’re kin to the Vice President.” No kidding.
Thompson was very careful not
Next, she spread the word that she was looking for a rehearsal pianist. Loulie Jean Norman recommended a twenty-one-year-old friend from Birmingham, Alabama, named Hugh Martin. When Hugh came to audition at Kay’s apartment, he met an Oklahoman singer named Ralph Blane and, subsequently, they joined forces to become one of the most successful composing teams of the 1940s (“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” “The Trolley Song,” among others). In the meantime, though, Hugh would collect $25 a week playing piano for Kay—and Ralph would join her choir the following year.
“We rehearsed every single day,” Elizabeth Newburger recalled. “The hours were unbelievable.” Even though Kay was the red-nailed dominatrix of a vocal chord sweatshop, the Rhythm Singers were having too much fun to hold it against her. And the results were astonishing.
“I have never heard anything like the sound that came out of them,” Hugh Martin rhapsodized. “It actually made me ill. All the blood went to my feet and I had to lean against the wall for support. It was such a thrilling sound.”
In addition to rhythm, swing, and jazz, Kay specialized in comic novelty songs, like “Us on a Bus” and “The Old Man in the Mountain,” for which she’d have her singers doing sound effects, funny accents, and silly voices. “I Can Pull a Rabbit Outta My Hat” featured imitations of Betty Boop, Portland Hoffa, and a chicken.
And there was a certain mascot who often popped up unexpectedly during rehearsals. “Kay always used to do the Eloise bit,” Bea Wain recalled. “She would come into the room and do the voice: ‘How’s everybody? Well, I was late today because I did so-and-so and so-and-so.’ And we used to be hysterical.”
“Kay used to do Eloise a lot,” Elizabeth Newburger confirmed. “It was as if her freedom gave us permission to come up with crazy things of our own.”
“Kay used to use her Eloise voice to quiet us down when we were not behaving or singing the right note or something,” Virginia “Jitchy” Vass explained. “She would say, ‘I’m Eloise and I think Jitchy and Loulie are talking too much and I’m gonna report them to the management.’ Then we’d all stop and laugh and get to work again.”
Another habitué of their rehearsals was Mr. Chips. Unfortunately, he was not always a gentleman. “I wasn’t crazy about Chips,” recalled Loulie Jean. “He got on my leg once, and well, he lost me there.”
“Kay also had a housekeeper,” Bea explained, “which was very impressive. Her name was Mamie. She was young and black, a sophisticated Lena Horne type, who did everything from cooking to cleaning to secretarial duties.”
In the mornings, Kay would rehearse the small army at her place, then march everyone over to CBS at 485 Madison Avenue (between Fifty-first and Fifty-second Streets) for afternoon and evening sessions with Kostelanetz—Kosty, as they called him. In addition to his regular musicians, the maestro brought in a number of top jazz sidemen, including, quite conveniently, Jack Jenney—who, by then, was “living in sin” with Kay at her apartment.
“Kosty was crazy about our group,” Bea remarked, “which was quite something because he was really a very cultured conductor.”
They charmed other starched collars, too. “This very dignified gentleman came to one of our first rehearsals,” Bea recalled. “He was a big shot. And our little Southern girls, Jitchy, Weezie, and Sally Vass, shouted, ‘Cousin Willie!’ ”
It turned out that William Randolph Carmichael, vice president of Liggett and Myers Tobacco Company, was a cousin of the Vass sisters. Jitchy’s diary entry understated the obvious: “Kay is so thrilled that we’re kin to the Vice President.” No kidding.
Thompson was very careful not
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