As I've said before I love the cover art from sheet music. It's a quirky thing, visuals to represent music before the concept of television (not to mention the music video) was a subject for science fiction writers. The artwork on the covers reflects the mores of the time: you get the ugly prejudices, stereotypes, right along with the idealized visions of what the fine life was all about. Some of it is really high quality, some of it is grotesque and cartoonish, but it always is interesting.
Today I thought I'd go trawling through the internet again, searching for a cover to write about. I went to Google images and right on the first page was the cover for a song I knew,
Million Dollar Baby. The lyrics for the song are penned by the famous Billy Rose and music was written by the equally famous Fred Fisher.
Million Dollar Baby was written for Rose's 1931 Broadway review
Crazy Quilt and after that it enjoyed popularity as a song standard performed by various artists including Bing Crosby. I think the sentiment of finding something of great value (or, more appropriately, someone of great value) at a place like Woolworths must have been very appealing as the great depression was just getting its teeth and claws into America. The high times of
Puttin' on the Ritz were gone and we weren't quite to
Brother can you Spare a Dime but the trajectory had led just about ever average citizen into the bargain basement. It's a nice thought - in the middle of facing the ugliness of economic woes you stumble upon a a pretty face among the cheap, knock-offs and shoddy merchandise and realize all that's gold doesn't glitter.
The cover of this particular printing of
Million Dollar Baby proudly states "With Ukulele Accompaniment". There's something you don't see nowadays. I think if you went to a show and were told at the door, "Hey, did you know there's a ukulele accompaniment?" you'd probably turn and run with the specter of Tiny Tim nipping at your heals all the way home – and I don't mean the Dickensian character! Still, that doesn't deal with my most favorite part: the artwork.
Here we see a dear lass of the era holding up a tiny curio that is staked with a price of 10¢. In fact everything in the background bears the same price, 10¢. Makes you wonder why it's called a FIVE and ten cent store if everything in it costs ten cents? Maybe she's shopping the Bergman Sacs of bargain basements. None of that cheap five cent stuff here, we only carry top of the line! That taken as given it still doesn't explain the fact all of the prices are mounted on stakes that apparently are driven into the merchandise. Maybe that's why the stuff's being sold at a discount? De Havilland forgot to fire that batch of china – no problem, the poor sods in the states who'll buy it, mark it ten cents! Or maybe she's shopping in a store that specializes in marzipan that's shaped like dishes? Not that you'd want a stick driven through your dish-shaped marzipan but, it's an explanation (albeit not a good one).
By the way, a brief aside. When is the last time you typed the symbol for cents? Ever try to find it on a computer keyboard? Don't waste your time, the old lazy "c" isn't there any more. You've got to delve deep into the special character set to find the thing. Sign of our time, I guess. Still I like the cent sign a lot better than representing everything as some decimal part of a dollar. I mean can you imagine if the song had been called "I Found a Million Dollar Baby in a $0.05 and $0.10 Store"? There is no poetry in decimals, no romance at all. Not to mention they play jolly hell with the song's rhythm!
Turning my attention back to the artwork and away from the skewered dishes around the subject of our desire, I'm struck by a few things about this lovely, dime-store find. Firstly, she's a bit heavy handed with the blush don't you think? I've seen clowns with cheeks that weren't as fructose-infused-fake-apple red as this picture implies. Not to mention she's apparently applied her blush from bottom eyelid down past her cheekbones and back to her ears. Maybe that's not her fault. Maybe her roommate, Kongo the Gorilla, applied her blush this morning. Gorillas don't know a whit about good makeup. If you don't believe me just try to name three really good cosmetologists who are gorillas. Can't do it, can you? See, I told you.
Her posture is a bit troubling too. I can't decide if the artist was attempting to imply some weird perspective or if our million dollar baby should be wearing a back brace. I tend toward the perspective angle because when you take it in tandem with the circular matting around the picture you get the impression she's being watched through a hidden, dime-store peephole. Maybe she lives in a state where there's a thriving dime store peep-hole fetish community? I almost can hear the heavy breathing of some hot and bothered clerk. If you look closely she's casting a sloe-eyed glance toward the inferred spy with a smirk that makes her seem a lot less like the innocent victim. Oh, knows she's being watched...and she likes it! "Follow me to the gardening department if you're brave enough, you dime-store savage, you!"
There's one more thing I noticed. I don't mean to be crass but – does it look to you like she isn't wearing a bra? I mean, to use the parlance of the fashion channels, the girls aren't exactly well behaved. They seem to be off on their own individual errands if you get my drift. Drift does seem to be the appropriate term there. This of course means that our "Million Dollar Baby" is, in fact, a bra-less dime-store perv with a bad back and poor grooming habits. Good lord, now I've creeped myself out!
