The Part Of Wall*E I Really Liked

It was a good thing we were in the drive-in, and that I have a sturdy car. Because you could have knocked me over when (Put On Your) Sunday Clothes came warbling over the speakers with Michael Crawford’s familiar voice.

My parents didn’t allow Rock and Roll in the house until I was eleven, and then only grudgingly. (I give them credit for not making it totally forbidden.) But they truly loved music and had one of the best record collections I’d ever seen. I think to this day they probably regret letting me have free access to all that music, seeing as how stacks of vinyl would be strewn around the living room and my odd dj-ing of a peculiar variety of showtunes usually blared everyone out of the house.

Certain things–the smell of vinyl in old cardboard, the scratch of a needle on a record and the slight static hiss of a hi-fi speaker make me feel like a kid again. But none of those things are as evocative of my childhood as some of the songs. “I Got Plenty O’ Nuthin” from Porgy and Bess. “L’Chaim” from Fiddler On The Roof. “The Farmer And The Cowman Should Be Friends” from Oklahoma. If you asked, and you’re probably not going to, I could sing Fiddler, Oklahoma and Hello, Dolly straight through from their opening songs to the Finales. Oh, and Sound Of Music, too. (The Good version from Broadway with “How Can Love Survive” and “Ain’t No Way To Stop It” and without that stupid “somewhere in my youth or childhood” song from the movie.) I used to get up every morning when I was a small child and sing various snatches of those musicals while swinging on the swings. Our neighbours hated it, but my parents never made me stop.

Of those musicals “Hello, Dolly” is the bounciest, cheeriest and most full of fun from beginning to end. There are no Nazis, no lynchings and no pogroms. Just out and out hysterical optimism. The goofiest optimism comes from Barnaby and Cornelius’ virgin hopefulness and bubbles over in “Sunday Clothes” and “Elegance”. I realise now that I can’t sing to save my life, but over the last few years I realised that dogs are a captive audience and they don’t really mind my singing. So nearly every morning while I get dressed I sing either “Sunday Clothes” or “Elegance” to the dogs. Well, now it’s just “dog”. In fact, before he died Casey loved to hear me sing “Elegance” especially. Every time I’d break into it with the enthusiastic “Yes! New York it’s really us!” that goofy dog would give me the biggest grin and wag his tail.

Because I’ve been singing those songs for so long and in private I think I fooled my brain into thinking that they belonged to me. To hear Sunday Clothes bounce through the opening of the movie just made me glad.