Modern Methods

Begin with a wail or a low-pitched moan
To lugubrious lowing of a sad saxophone,
Or the blubbering brays of the slide trombone,
Or the shattering shriek of a trumpet.
Tell all the world that you’ve got the blues,
Burble bathetic and unctuous views
On living and loving, broadcasting the news
You are off, right off your crumpet.

Sobbing and sighing a sickly refrain,
Cribbed from the classics and mangled amain,
Slobber and snuffle and strive to attain
The tone of a passionate poddy.
Then ululate loonily lachrymose love—
Being careful to rhyme it with “stars up above”—
And use all the bromides that go hand-in-glove
In the sorriest lyrical shoddy.

Be tender, be tearful, be maudlin, be moist
O’er the coldness of “cutie” whose charms once rejoiced
Your heart in the days when she counted you “foist,”
Ere she fled to the arms of another.
Transgress every rule of the singer’s sweet art;
Dwell long upon consonants, lips scarce apart,
Be mournful, be modern, and pour out your heart,
No confidence seeking to smother.

Be this, and do thus, and they’ll rush to engage
Your services, son, at a wonderful wage.
Work your diaphragm hard, and you’ll soon be the rage—
(And so happily finish the sooner).
Keep all feeling of reticence well underneath;
You’re a wonder! A wow! You’ll be wearing a wreath!
Sing your “m’s” thro’ the nose, and your “e’s” thro’ the teeth—
You’re a crooner, my son! You’re a crooner!