When “Rhapsody in Blue” was first performed at New York City’s Aeolian Concert Hall 100 years ago this month, it was a cultural watershed. Concertgoers gushed. Critics swooned. The work’s composer, 25-year-old George Gershwin—already lauded for his impressive output of jazz gems—was celebrated hither and yon. No less than Vanity Fair gave it a rave, comparing “Rhapsody” to the works of Strauss, to Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, and even to the latest urban American phenomenon, the skyscraper. VF’s Samuel Chotzinoff went so far as to call it “a symphonic poem… magnificent enough to make musical history.”
A century on, Michael Feinstein—the vocalist, musical savant, and arbiter of the American popular songbook—has recorded a podcast devoted to Gershwin’s triumph; recently spoke at the opening of the new exhibition “George Gershwin and Modern Art” at the Baker Museum in Naples, Florida; and this week is releasing a new album, Gershwin Rhapsody, with Jean-Yves Thibaudet.
Here, Feinstein, the longtime assistant to Ira Gershwin, reveals the role that Ira played in the creation of his brother’s epic composition.
The legacy of George Gershwin is solid and secure, built upon two brief decades of musical expression that changed the face of American music, gifting us inspired creations that will never be equaled. He wrote stage musicals, film scores, string quartets (though only one survives), the greatest American opera, Porgy and Bess, and half a dozen concert works that all began suddenly and unexpectedly with the spontaneous combustion of a new work titled “Rhapsody in Blue.” Churned out in about 10 days, George said, it premièred 100 years ago, on February 12, 1924. It was written as a commissioned piece for the Paul Whiteman band and was an immediate sensation.
The origin story of “Rhapsody in Blue” has been oft-told and, with the arrival of its centenary, is being retold. There is little that hasn’t been said, except perhaps in viewing the piece from the perspective of Gershwin’s older brother, Ira, who played an important role in its creation.
George Gershwin was born in Brooklyn in 1898, preceded by Ira by some 21 months. Ira, in fact, was the first person to recognize the genius of his younger brother and dutifully watched as he evolved into a world-famous musical figure. He also witnessed his unimaginable demise at the age of 38, in 1937, from a deeply embedded brain tumor, a “fulminating” tumor that would have recurred even if the operation to save him at the eleventh hour had been successful. But it wasn’t. Ira became the caretaker of George’s musical legacy, guarding it with an uncharacteristic fervor that he didn’t apply to his own work as the lyricist for some of the most famous Gershwin songs in the permanent canon of American popular music.
He was always there at George’s side—watching, encouraging, commenting when invited to do so, and regularly collaborating by adding his words to George’s immortal tunes. But in 1924 he had nothing to do, not directly, at least, with the musical composition of “Rhapsody,” but he did suggest two elements that contributed immeasurably to the new work’s success.
The first was the title. Ira had been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art one afternoon to see an exhibit of the works of Whistler and was “particularly impressed,” noting that many of the paintings were titled by their colors, such as “Study in scarlet and gold,” “Study in blue and green,” etc. Later that Saturday, at the Greenwich Village home of Emily and Lou Paley, who would often host musical salons in their apartment, George played about half of his unfinished composition for the enthusiastic attendees. One of them asked what he intended to call it, and he said, “Oh, maybe ‘American Fantasy’ or ‘American Rhapsody.’” In a flash, Ira piped up with, “How about ‘Rhapsody in Blue?’” George liked the title and it stuck, in the words of Ira, “just like that.”
The second, and more important story, is lesser known but is an example of the deeply symbiotic relationship the brothers shared in life and work. Shortly after the Paley party, George was back in his workroom at his family apartment on 110th Street and was playing other sections of his as-yet-uncompleted opus for Ira and Ferde Grofé, the composer and arranger who was there to orchestrate the work for Paul Whiteman’s band. When George finished what he had thus composed, he asked Ira for his impressions.
While Ira strongly praised the work, he felt that it contained a lot of jazz themes that needed to be leavened with a slower section to break up the uniformity of the rhythmic material. He even suggested that George incorporate a lush romantic melody, one that had been composed two years earlier. Then and there, he recalled the tune, humming it for George. Upon remembering the melody, George incredulously replied, “That corny thing?” and played it on the piano, replete with the rich harmonies that came back to him as he fingered the notes.
Ira was adamant, reasserting that he thought it would be good for the piece; Grofé heartily agreed. Thus, the most famous theme of “Rhapsody in Blue,” the E major andante, was interpolated into the concerto, quickly becoming globally renowned and, eventually, immortal. If Ira hadn’t piped up with his suggestion, what might have become of “Rhapsody”? Of course, we’ll never know. But filial affection gave us one of the greatest gifts to American music.
As a postscript, I should point out that there’s a mistake on the plaque outside the building at 501 West 110th Street, commemorating the Gershwin home. In part it reads: “The composer lived here with lyricist Ira Gershwin during 1924, the year they wrote ‘Rhapsody in Blue.’” Maybe the joint credit for the masterpiece was (inadvertently) intentional.