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THE CAMP TRACE IN CORPORATE AMERICA 133
The stage technology dominated the experience, even more so than the music
itself, which was supposed to be the real focus. There was also an attempt to
legitimize popular music by associating it with the London Philharmonic. But the
effect was playful and in a way exposed the artifice of “high culture” on the one
hand, at the same time preserving the distinctions for those who wanted to
distinguish. These kinds of playful integrations, or juxtapositions, permeated the
entire show, as was particularly evident in the next segment.
Liberace told the audience that many classical pieces have been turned into
popular tunes, but what he wanted to do was to turn popular tunes, like “Mack
the Knife,” into the classics, suggesting further that this is what the “classic”
composers would do if they could have their revenge. Even suggesting that a
classical composer would want to turn a popular song into a classical one is a
curious reversal. In truth “Mack the Knife” is a popularized song derived from
Bertolt Brecht’s The Threepenny Opera, music by Kurt Weil, itself based on
John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera. In essence, Liberace was deconstructing
hierarchically structured categories. First, he played it “straight.” Then he played
“Mack the Knife Sonata in C Major” by Mozart, “Claire de Lune de Mack the
Knife” by Debussy, and finally “Blue Mack the Knife Danube” by Strauss. In
elevating a pop tune to the status of classical music, or so he would have it, he
simultaneously highlighted the impact of style on content. Playing “Mack the
Knife” straight before totally transforming it commented on the absurd way in
which the categories themselves, which are human constructs, operate to
organize attitudes and taste.
Afterward Liberace stressed how he always loved the classics, but he learned
to respect pop music as he grew older. Here again is a reversal of what is thought
to be the more usual process, that is, as one grows older, one becomes more
sophisticated, learning to appreciate the classics. Continuing his monologue,
Liberace told of his training with Polish pianist Paderewski, but also of his later
admiration for Eddie Dutchin, whose most memorable dance tunes he then
played. As he sat down on his piano bench in his tuxedo with tiny mirrors
attached, he cracked a joke that he had to be careful in sitting, or else he could
have a “shattering experience.” He then played another medley—“Dancing in the
Dark,” “Cheek to Cheek,” and so on.
At this point, Liberace danced a brief soft shoe, but said it was no fun to dance
alone and so invited a woman, Bea, in the first row to come up and dance with
him. After a brief fox trot, he thanked her and gave her a gift—the white silk
scarf with his signature that was on sale in the lobby. She gave him a kiss. With
this, he gave her a second gift—his newest album with the London Philharmonic
—also on sale in the lobby. She kissed him again. Then he asked Bea if she had
ever been to Las Vegas. He took this opportunity to tell the audience about the
Liberace Museum. (The woman next to me said to her friend, “I’ve been there.
It’s gorgeous!”)
The Museum, he said, serves as the funding arm of the nonprofit Liberace
Foundation for the Performing and Creative Arts. With it, he is able to fund