This is not the first time at “Sometimes a Song” that we have done more than one song by any single songwriter, but it’s the first time (I’m sure) that we are doing a song which the composer avowed to be his least favorite of all his hits. Why, why, why?
Well, imagine that you are the “toast of Broadway,” known for your terribly witty and sophisticated lyrics and charming and elegant tunes? You’ve written such fine music as “Night and Day,” “I’ve Got You under my Skin,” “Begin the Beguine," and “Just One of those Things,” to name only a few of your over 800 songs. You’re in demand not only in New York, but in Tinsel Town. You have a massive portfolio of work, even a ballet to your credit. And the Warner brothers ask you to write a “cowboy song” for them, for a musical to be called “Adios, Argentina”?
Well, you are Cole Porter, and sure, you can write a cowboy song for a big film studio production, in your Cole Porter way, right? So you look for an inspiration about the Old West for a film to center on a character called Wildcat Kelly who wants to avoid being “fenced in” by obligations of any kind. And you come upon a poem by an engineer named Bob Fletcher, a surveyor and a tourism writer for the State of Montana whose slim poetry volume was published by the state publishing company. Fletcher said that he was not a poet, but that he had worked hard to “corral” his few poems and hoped that they might make a nice diversion for a reader. His poem, “Open Range,” is very light verse of the sort that might have made its way to a local newspaper. But by a happy fluke, a so-so poem caught the eye of a genius of 20th century popular music and gave him an idea for a song.
Now, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I love Cole Porter’s music (here), and that I enjoy a good country song (here and here), so I actually looked up Fletcher’s poem to see if it could have been used for a lyric for any kind of a song, and guess what? No. There is nothing like a song about it. But Cole Porter did not make a practice of lifting lyrics or musical phrases from anyone, so having found a poem about the “open range” and having been inspired by the last line of it, he generously (for the time) and honestly (out of his own pocket) bought the rights to the poem from the Bob Fletcher for $375 (almost $9,000 today). Then he sat down and wrote himself the most clever and wonderful and perfectly marvelous “cowboy song” ever.
All good, you say? Except that “Adios, Argentina” never made it to production, and Cole Porter’s clever song went into his “slush pile” of unpublished work. That was one thing. But, lo! Something DID happen, ten years after Porter wrote the song, and that’s why we are talking about “Don’t Fence Me In” during our week about what it means to go beyond the pale.
In 1944, Warner Brothers found a use for Cole Porter’s cowboy song. They gave it to their number-one singing cowboy of the day, Roy Rogers, to introduce to American movie-goers in a picture called “Hollywood Canteen.” But neither Roy’s singing nor that film made a hit of Porter’s least-favorite song. What did the trick was the aligning of three “stars” in the entertainment firmament: Bing Crosby, The Andrews Sisters, and the excellent arranger and orchestra leader, Vic Schoen. Crosby and the Sisters were under contract to Decca records at that time, and they showed up at the recording studio one day in July of 1944 to record a song that none of them knew. All they knew was that Cole Porter had written it, that Vic Schoen had arranged it, and that the studio wanted them to record it. Thirty minutes later, “Don’t Fence Me In” was preserved in shellac and ready for production. Decca released the song, and it immediately shot to the top of the Billboard charts, where it stayed for eight weeks, selling over a million copies. Good deal, all around, yes?
Well no. Out west Mr. Fletcher got wind of it that Porter’s song was a hit and hired a lawyer to sue for rights to the royalties from sales. Sigh and sigh again. Cole Porter, when he heard of this suit, asked Decca to add Fletcher’s name to the record and be done with it. But Decca persisted, and a law suit followed, and Fletcher prevailed. Sadly, the myth continues to this day that Porter borrowed heavily from the original poem, when the truth is that ALL he borrowed was the expression, “don’t fence me in” (a phrase that was in general use) and the rhyme of the words “cayuse” and “loose.” The song — a “cowboy” number with plenty of syncopation! — was as charming as any of the best Cole Porter songs, for which he almost always wrote both the lyrics and the music in artistic and most entertaining combinations.
So now we know why “Don’t Fence Me In” was Cole Porter’s least favorite song. Let’s listen to what it sounded like when Bing and The Andrews Sisters rode it out on the range, under the direction of master arranger and band conductor Vic Schoen.
Word & Song is an online magazine devoted to reclaiming the good, the beautiful, and the true. We publish six essays each week, on words, classic hymns, poems, films, and popular songs, as well a weekly podcast, alternately Poetry Aloud or Anthony Esolen Speaks. To help support this project, please join us as a free or paid subscriber.
It amazes me that a large group of musicians could learn, perform, and record an unfamiliar song in under an hour. Doris Day said her recording of “Secret Love” was quickly done in one take, no rehearsal, so I guess it’s a matter of professionalism and superior talent. Increasingly, I am impressed by “The Wrecking Crew”—the mostly anonymous studio musicians who created so much of the music of the 1960s. I don’t think a lot of time was spent rehearsing and recording those songs, either.
I would have chosen the performance by Riders in the Sky