On the occasion of Leonard Bernstein's 70th birthday celebration in 1988 at Tanglewood, Stephen Sondheim penned a parody lyric to Kurt Weill's, The Saga of Jenny.. The Saga of Lenny was performed by Lauren Bacall and broadcast March 19, 1989 on PBS Great Perfomances. What follows are those lyrics:
There once was a boy named Lenny
Whose talents were varied and many,
So many that he was inclined
Never to make up his mind.
In fact, he was so gifted
He seldom felt uplifted,
Just undefined.
Poor Lenny,
Ten gifts too many,
The curse of being versatile,
To show how bad the curse is
We'll need a lot of verses
And take a little Weill:
Lenny made his mind up
When he was three,
He'd write a show, a ballet,
And a symphony.
But once the winds were tootled
And the first strings plucked,
He decided it was terrible--
He'd have to conduct.
Poor Lenny,
Time and again he
Complained, "I'm in this dreadful bind.
I feel for Leonardo--
God, genius is so hard--oh,
You cannot make up your mind."
Lenny made his mind up
When he was nine,
He'd be not only Bernstein,
He'd be Rubenstein.
"But just Rubinstein," he grumbled,
"That's like calling it quits,
When there's Hammerstein
And Wiggenstein
And Gertrude and Blitz."
Poor Lenny
Knew there and then he
Might easily get oversteined.
From Ein to Ep to Jule
to Liechtenstein--no, truly,
He could not make up his mind.
Lenny made his mind up
At twenty-two
To do whatever Pinza
Or Astaire could do.
Though the voice was truly base,
He had the charm of a kid,
And if the dance floor didn't suit him,
The podium did.
Poor Lenny
Wondering when he
Could show off his gifts combined,
Began a TV feature:
It's best to be a teacher
When you can't make up your mind.
Lenny made his mind up
At twenty-eight
That marriage and a family
Would be just great.
But he had no time for weddings
Till a moment came
He was free between a tennis
and an anagrams game.
Poor Lenny,
Worse though, poor Jennie,
Who muttered all those years, resigned,
"I don't care if he picks a
Schlemozzle or a shiksa,
He should please make up his mind."
Lenny made his mind up
At forty-six
That maybe atonality
And rock would mix.
Though it certainly was serial,
With rhythm on top,
It had lots of snap and crackle,
But not enough pop.
Poor Lenny,
Pacing his den, he
Was worried he'd be left behind.
He mumbled, "How ironic,
Atonal is a tonic
When you can't make up your mind."
Lenny made his mind up
At Seven-oh,
To be a modern Renaissance
Like, man, you know.
And there's virtually nothing that
He hasn't done--
So get ready for his club act
At seventy-one.
Poet, pundit, seer,
Politician, skier,
Still at sea at three score ten.
Decked with every laurel
Lenny, here's the moral:
Do whatever pleases you and when.
Follow all your talents,
Don't attempt a balance,
Shower us with every kind.
Share your every vision.
Stick with indecision.
Don't make up,
You shouldn't make up,
You mustn't make up,
Don't ever make up--
Live another score and
Write another score and
Don't
Make
Up
Your
Mind!
