Remembering 1950s singer/actress Peggy King

This is Fresh Air. I'm David Bianculli. Today, Peggy King, a singer and actress who got her start singing in big bands in the 1950s, and had a string of hits, a contract with MGM, and was a popular fixture on many TV variety shows. She died late last month at the age of 96. Here she is in 1951 with Ralph Flanagan and his orchestra. I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it. That explains the trouble that I'm always in. Be patient is very good advice, but the waiting makes me curious. And I'd love to change should something strange begin. Peggy King signed a long-term contract with Columbia Records and recorded two best-selling albums, Wish Upon a Star and Girl Meets Boy. In 1952, MGM signed her to a movie contract. She was often told at MGM she looked and sounded like Judy Garland, something King disputed. She made a singing cameo in the film The Bad and the Beautiful. And she became a regular on the TV variety shows, starring Mel Torme and George Goebel. She made guest appearances on other TV programs, like Dragnet. In 1955, on that show, she played a nightclub singer who may have encountered a suspect. Yeah, it's a pretty song. Well, thank you very much. It's a new song. Written by a fellow named Arthur Hamilton. Yes, very nice. Now, what's this about a man I'm supposed to have seen? Well, we told you there was a shooting at 14th and Flower. Uh-huh. Well, one of the people in the neighborhood recognized you, and he tells us that the suspect ran right by you. Is that right? Gee, I don't remember. Um, just a minute. Oh, no, I remember, yeah. He ran out of the store, almost knocked me down. Didn't even stop to say anything. Did you get a good look at him? Well, he ran into me. Hmm. Can you tell us anything about him? Well, I'm afraid not. I didn't pay any attention. It's something that happens and you don't think about it, you know. Mm-hmm. Yes, ma'am. Would you know the man if you saw him again? I don't think so. The whole thing happened so fast. Mm-hmm. There's nothing about him that you remember? No, unless it was his eyes. Ma'am? Well, his eyes, like he was looking right through you. Peggy King also toured with the USO. Here she is with Bob Hope in 1956, performing for the troops during a stop in Alaska. What are you going to sing for us? Well, Bob, I'm going to sing for you. Oh, I thought I'd do that terribly pretty number from My Fair Lady. I've grown accustomed to your stage. Well, the stage is yours. Thank you. But I thought that since it's such a nice, intimate number, I wondered if I could go down there and sing it. Into the audience? Yeah. You mean down in that snake pit? Yes, sir. She must be bucking for Section 8. Go, Peggy. Come on. Come on. Come on. Peggy King stopped performing in 1961 and moved to Philadelphia with her husband to raise their family. In the 1980s, after her children were grown, she returned to show business with renewed vigor. She sang, She sang with the Philly Pops Orchestra, the All-Star Jazz Trio, and with other musicians. She performed in theaters and nightclubs and had stints in New York City at Michael's Pub and the Metropolitan Room. And she recorded new albums of standards, songs by Jerome Kern, Irving Berlin, the Gershwins, and Rodgers and Hart. In tribute, we're going to listen to Peggy King's Fresh Air concert from 1983. She was about to release her album, Rain Sometimes. At the piano was Michael Ebeni, who was featured on and wrote the arrangements for the album. It's a great pleasure now to welcome and introduce singer Peggy King and pianist Michael Ebeni. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Terry, for not saying that you weren't born when I was singing before. I appreciate that very much. They all laughed at Christopher Columbus when he said the world was wrong. They all laughed when Edison recorded sound. They all laughed at Wilbur and his brother when they said that man could fly. They told Marconi, wireless was a phony. It's the same old cry. They laughed at me wanting you. Said I was reaching for the moon, but all you came through. Now they'll have to change their tune. They all said we never could be happy. They laughed at us and how. But ho, ho, ho, who's got the last laugh now? They all laughed at Rockefeller Sander. Now they're fighting to get in. They all laughed at Whitney and his cotton gin. They all laughed at Fulton and his steamboat. Hershey and his chocolate bar. Ford and his Lizzie kept the laughers busy. That's how people are. Said it would be hello, goodbye. But oh, you came through. Now they're eating humble pie. They all said we'd never get together. Darling, let's talk about it. Let's talk about it. Let's take a bow. Cause ho, ho, ho, who's got the last laugh? Hee, hee, hee, who's got the last laugh? Ho, ho, ho, who's got the last laugh now? Thank you. That was from a film called Shall We Dance? I think Fred, Fred Astaire sang that song. You'll find that I do a lot of songs that Fred Astaire sang. I love his singing. People look at me like I'm crazy, but I love, I love his phrasing. I love what he does with the lyric. For a man with absolutely no voice, he's always been one of my favorite singers. And when I met him, I told him that. And he said, I said, oh, Mr. Astaire, I really love your, your singing. He said, you mean my dancing? And I said, no, I mean your singing. And he said, God bless you, Peggy King. This is, um, I want you to know, I want you to know, I'll tell you the name, we'll just surprise you. This is a very, this is the oldest song we're doing. It's from 1928. And I absolutely love this song. I could cry Salty tears Where have I been All these years Little while Tell me now How long has this been going on There were chills Down my spine And some things Thrills I can't define Listen, sweet I repeat How long has this been going on Oh, I feel Like I can't I could melt Into heaven I'm hurled I know How Columbus Felt Finding Another world Kiss me twice Then once more That makes thrice Let's try For four, four What a break For heaven's sake How long Has this been Going on How long has this been going on Kiss me once Then once more And once more, what a dance I was before. What a break, for heaven's sake. How long has this been going on? Those of you under 35, this song came from a film, a Gene Kelly film, called "An American in Paris." For those of you a little older than that, it came from a 1938 movie by Sam Goldwyn called "Goldwyn Follies," I think. It's very clear, our love is here to stay. Not for a year, but ever and a day. The radio and the movies and the movies that we know may just be passing fancies and in time may go. But oh, my dear, our love is here to stay. Together we're going along. way. In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble, they're only made of clay. But our love is here to stay. But oh my dear, our love is here to stay. Together we're going along the same road. For you, for me, forevermore. It's bound to be, forevermore. It's plain to see, we fall in love again. We're bound by finding each other, the love we waited for. I'm yours, you're mine, and in our hearts, the happy ending. What a lovely world this world would be, with a world of love in store, for you, for ♪ I'm yours, you're mine ♪ ♪ And in our hearts ♪ ♪ The happy ending starts ♪ ♪ What a lovely world this world would be ♪ ♪ With a world of love in store ♪ For you, for me, forevermore Thank you. Thank you. I didn't want to stop because I really wanted to go right into that. But that's from a 1947 film. George Gershwin died in 1937. But when they started doing this, Ira rummaged around and came up with some wonderful old melodies. And he loved that one. And he put these words to it. It was from a Betty Grable film called The Shocking Miss Pilgrim, which I saw, I was a little tiny girl, and I don't remember who the man was who sang it, unless it was Dick Hames. It was, somebody here knows. Okay, you're showing your age, sir. Thank you, thank you. Those were all Ira and George Gershwin, and then, of course, you know that Ira went on to write with just about every one of the great composers, and he died just a few weeks ago. I thought it might be interesting to do some songs by a contemporary songwriter. And this is someone I know very, very, very well. When I was just coming away from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Films, where I had been sitting and filing my nails for several years and taking fencing lessons and all sorts of things like that and not doing much else because it was the end of the big movie time. Arthur Freed had taken me there. I got a phone call. I did a local show, and I got a phone call from a young man named Arthur Hamilton. And he was working for Jack Webb on Dragnet, and he said he'd written a song for me, and he said he'd written a song for me and he'd like very much to have me come on a dragnet and do it. And I did, and that began a very long and happy relationship. This first song by Arthur is the name of my new album, Rain Sometimes. I don't think you've ever heard it. It was written in 1965, but it's a very nice song. ♪ Rain sometimes ♪ Money down the drain Sometimes reason to complain Sometimes that's how it'll be But there'll be champagne Sometimes lobster flown from Maine Sometimes we'll ride the gravy train Sometimes just you wait and see We may be stranded in the rain Sometimes dream our dreams in vain Sometimes lose more than we gain Sometimes, but this I guarantee Love is not for sometimes Love is for all times For all times For you and me. Rain sometimes. - Thank you. an old song, isn't it? Peggy King, performing in concert for Fresh Air in 1983. She also spoke to Terry Gross about her life in music. She died late last month at age 96. After a break, we'll hear more from that Fresh Air visit, and Justin Chang will review Bitter Christmas, the new film by Spanish director Pedro Almodovar. I'm David Bianculli, and this is Fresh Air. It's a lazy afternoon And the beetle bugs are zooming And the tulip trees are blooming And there's not another human in view This next song will be very familiar to you because it's really become a classic. Before it had ever been recorded, before anybody ever did it, I opened up Mocambo at the height of the Goble Show. Hello, George. George is in Valley Forge today. Hello, George. And it was Arthur's birthday, and he'd never heard this song done by anybody. It hadn't been recorded, and no one had done it anywhere. And he was sitting right there in the front row. And about halfway through the show, I said, Arthur, happy birthday. Now you say you love me. You cry the long night through. Well, you can cry me a river. Cry me a river. I cried a river over you. Now you say you're sorry for being so untrue. Cry me a river. You drove me, nearly drove me out of my head while you never shed a tear. Remember, I remember all that you said. Told me love was too much. Too plebeian. Told me you were through with me and now you say you love me. Well, just to prove you do, come on and cry me a river. Cry me a river. You drove me, nearly drove me right out of my head. Why you, you never shed a tear. Do I remember? Yeah, I remember all that you said. Told me love was too plebeian. Told me you are through with me and now you say you love me. Cry me a river. I cry me a river. Peggy, did you always plan on coming back to performing after you took your break? No. I really didn't plan to take that long a break, but, you know, we moved to the suburbs. I had two children in a year and ten days and I was very busy and, you know, I was, you know, the chauffeur, I was doing all the, you know, the PTA or whatever, those things. No, not the PTA. The Broadway. No, not the PTA. The brownies. That's it. The brownies. I was the greatest brownie leader that you ever had. Right, Susie? My daughter will tell you. But I never thought about it. I'm kind of a freak. If I don't sing for three or four years, then I open my mouth and it's there, you know. One day I'll open my mouth and it'll be dust, you know, if I don't stop that. I think now that I'm older, I will have to warm up a little. My husband says that someone said to him, "I'd like to use Peggy's warm-up thing," whatever she uses up. And Sam said, "That's easy." Peggy goes, "Ahem." That's because I did so much live radio and live television. You really didn't have a lot of time to get yourself together. Well, you recorded several albums. Oh, yeah. A lot of albums with Columbia, yes. And you just went back into the studio and recorded one that I think you produced yourself. I didn't produce it. Michael Abene produced it with the engineer whose name is Jay Messina. They produced it. You had the kind of control. I had a lot of input. What was the difference for you between what you wanted from the album now and what albums were like in the '50s? Well, the big difference was that Mitch Miller wasn't in the booth and I couldn't see all of that conducting. No. The major difference today in recording is that they do it in pieces. They do it in sections, you know, which we did not do the album in sections. We did it in three three-hour sessions right straight through. And people felt very strongly, and so did I, that we would get more of an emotional recording if we did it all at once. I think you tend to lose some of the—when you've done a song over and over and over, it almost becomes too emotional for me. I get—you know, I never like singers who cry while they sing. I think the trick is to make everybody else feel like crying or laughing while you do not do it yourself. But if you sing a song like that over and over, you will cry just from sheer exhaustion. I don't think we did more than two takes on anything. We just kind of did it right through. And Michael plays so beautifully. I really didn't need to do that many takes. You have a lot more control that you did than you did before, both in the recording studio but also in terms of what you want to do. Like, you referred before to being at MGM where it was in the tail end of the big studio days. Yes. And they created their performers into what their performers to be, and they told them what movies they were going to be, and someone had very little control there. What kind of changes do you want to make in your career now? What kind of career do you want to have that's different from the one from the '50s? Well, I'm not one of those singers who ever says, "Oh, that song is—you know, that's a terrible song." For instance, one of the songs, the one I like almost the most on the album, is "I'm in Love Again," which is 1929 Gershwin. And, you know, everybody that I ever mentioned it to until Michael Ebene said, "Oh, that's a corny song," it isn't. It comes out—it's terrific. I love it. I never turn a song down without looking at it. But I don't ever want to be told—I just don't want to be in one of those ruts again. I don't want to be told that I sound like Judy Garland or that I sound like, I don't know who else, Peggy Lee. You know, I mean, by the time you finish your career, they'll tell you that you sound like everybody. You know, I don't really think that I sound like anyone. I don't copy anyone. I don't try to sing like anyone. And I think that for the first time—you know, I'm a grown woman. I think people tend to take a grown person seriously. I'm not a kid. And I think that I want to be a little more relaxed. I was—I'm not hungry any longer. I'm not—I don't have to make a living. That's a terrible thing to say. But you are—tend to be a little more relaxed when you know that an ax is not going to fall and tomorrow you're going to be on the street. You know, it is a little different. Peggy King appearing in concert on Fresh Air in 1983 and speaking with Terry Gross. More after a break. This is Fresh Air. We'll be right back. My—if I had to choose a favorite set of—I love—I love Jerome Kern. And I sing a lot of Kern. But I really, really love the lyrics of Lorenz Hart. I think there has never again been any one of his like. He was the most prolific, the most incredible lyricist that ever lived. He was a dynamic little man under five feet. He never ran—he never walked when he could run, they say. And he never giggled when he could laugh. And he never talked when he could scream. You know, he was—there were no grays. And I understand that because that's me. He was just all out. And he had an unhappy life. He had an unhappy time. The world wasn't really ready for his personal life. And he was in Philadelphia doing a show and kept running to Wanamaker's and buying raincoats and overcoats. because he kept running out without them, getting cold. And he did that once too often, and he died at a very, very young age. But he left us this incredible legacy. Richard Rodgers, of course, went on to write with the great Oscar Hammerstein, and that's wonderful too. But for me, there isn't anything like Rodgers and Hart. Once I was young, yesterday perhaps Danced with Jim and Paul And kissed some other chaps Once I was young, but never was naive I thought I had a trick or two up my imaginary sleeve And now I know I was naive But I didn't know what time it was Then I met you Oh, what a lovely time it was How sublime it was too I didn't know what day it was You held my hand You held my hand Warm as the month of May it was And I'll say it was grand Grand to be alive To be young To be mad To be yours alone Grand to see your face Feel your touch Hear your voice Say I'm all your own But I didn't know what year it was Life held no prize I wanted love and here it was Shining out of your eyes I'm wise And I know what time it is now Grand to be alive To be young To be mad To be yours alone Grand to see your face Feel your touch, hear your voice, say I'm all your own But I didn't know what year it was Life held no prize I wanted love and here it was Shining out of your eyes I'm wise and I know what time it is now I'm wise and I know what time it is now You have to picture the girl singing this song looking in a mirror. It's very important. Look at yourself If you had a sense of humor You would laugh to beat the band Look at yourself Do you still believe the rumor That romance is simply grand Grand Since you took it right on the chin You have lost that bright, toothpaste grin My mental state is all a jumble I sit around and sadly mumble Fools rush in So here I am Bye. Very glad to be unhappy I can't win But here I am More than glad to be unhappy Unrequited love's a bore And I've got it pretty bad And I've got it pretty bad But for someone you adore, it's a pleasure to be sad. Like a straying baby lamb with no mammy and no pappy, I'm so unhappy. But oh, so glad. Thank you. Peggy King. Peggy King, appearing in concert and speaking to Terry Gross in 1983. She died October 25th at age 96. You can find her other appearances on Fresh Air at freshairarchive.org. Let's conclude our tribute to Peggy King with this Jerome Kern song. Dearly beloved, how clearly I see. Somewhere in heaven, you are fashioned for me. Angel eyes knew you. Angel voices led me to you. You, you, nothing could save me. Fate gave me a sign. I know that I'll be yours, come shower or shine. So I sing. Stay merely dearly, beloved, be mine. Coming up, Justin Chang reviews Bitter Christmas, the newest film by Spanish director Pedro Almodovar. This is Fresh Air. At age 77, Pedro Almodovar, the prolific Spanish director known for such films as Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, All About My Mother, and Pain and Glory, shows no signs of slowing down. His 24th feature, Bitter Christmas, opens in select theaters this week. It tells the stories of two different filmmakers who draw heavily on their own lives and the lives of their friends for artistic inspiration. Our film critic, Justin Chang, has the story. Has this review. Like many great filmmakers deep into their careers, Pedro Almodovar is sometimes accused of making the same film over and over again, a reductive criticism that's nonetheless worth unpacking. It's true that his films are invariably full of strong women and sensitive men, photographed in scenes where wardrobe and decor are always perfectly color-coordinated. There's a backsplash tile pattern in his 2021 masterpiece. Parallel Mothers, that's stuck with me more than some movies. It's also true that Almodovar increasingly straddles the gap between melodrama and metadrama. In films like Bad Education, Volver, and especially Pain and Glory, he's drawn on details from his personal history and playfully explored the ways that art imitates life and vice versa. Almodovar's splendid new movie, Bitter Christmas, continues in this vein by telling a story within a story. It begins in Madrid in the winter of 2004. A director named Elsa, played by Barbara Leni, is experiencing severe panic attacks and migraines. She's well taken care of by her loving boyfriend, Bonifacio, played by Patrick Criado, who drives her to the ER and, on another occasion, to the home of a rich friend who has some high-grade painkillers. Bonifacio is a firefighter who moonlights as a stripper on weekends. we get a sexy flashback to the bachelorette party where he and Elsa first met. Hilariously, Elsa's first move wasn't to ask him out, but to ask if he was interested in starring in an underwear commercial that she was directing. Before long, the movie pulls back the curtain. Elsa is a character in a screenplay that's being written in 2026 by Raúl, a veteran film director who's played by Leonardo Sparaglia. Elsa is a fictional stand-in for Raúl, who is himself a fictional stand-in for Amaldóvar. Bitter Christmas cuts absorbingly between these two stories and timeframes, and invites us to puzzle over their similarities and differences. Like Elsa, Raúl has suffered anxiety attacks and migraines, and Amaldóvar has spoken in interviews about dealing with the same medical issues. Also like Elsa, Raúl has an enormously supportive boyfriend, named Samuel. Who he sometimes takes for granted. There's another important character here too, Raúl's long-time assistant, Mónica, who's played by Aitana Sánchez-Gijón. Mónica is Raúl's closest confidante, which, as we'll find out in due course, makes her also potentially his most dangerous enemy. The two stories unfold with such fluidity that you can almost forget which one is fiction and which one is fiction within. Sometimes, Amaldóvar seems to be saying, a work of art can be so vibrant and larger than life that it outshines its source of inspiration. And sometimes, too, art can be so powerful that it changes the course of our lives entirely. In one scene, Elsa hangs out with her friend Patricia, played by a fiery Victoria Luengo, who's just found out that her husband is cheating on her. Patricia plays Chavala Vargas' recording of the classic song, Bitter Christmas, and its bleak mood of holiday heartbreak inspires her to make a momentous decision about her marriage. Acaba de una vez De un solo golpe ¿Por qué quieres matarme poco a poco? ¿Por qué quieres matarme poco a poco? A new conflict arises when Elsa decides to use Patricia's marital crisis as a plot point in a screenplay that she's writing, infuriating her friend. In a symmetrical twist, Raúl finds himself in much the same predicament when he's accused of exploiting someone's personal tragedy for his own artistic gain. The ethical implications of turning other people's lives into fiction have stirred endless debate over the years, especially in the United States. in literary circles. Compared with, say, the recent scandal around Life of M, Rachel Cusk's novel about a celebrity allegedly inspired by Natalie Portman, Elsa and Raúl's creative plundering seems relatively minor. Nonetheless, the movie doesn't let either of them off the hook so easily. What Bitter Christmas understands better than any film I've seen recently is how angry good friends can get at each other, how the closest pals, can suddenly become the most bitterly estranged. And here I wonder if Almodóvar might be speaking from personal experience. His own history is famously full of clashes and reconciliations with regular collaborators, including great actors like Carmen Maura and Antonio Banderas, that have become part of his legend. At the same time, I suspect that, for this filmmaker, art trumps life every time. How his characters come into being seems ultimately less important than what we feel for them and how we get drawn into their world, as we are in Bitter Christmas. If this is Almodóvar making the same movie over and over again, I truly hope he never stops. Justin Chang reviewed Bitter Christmas, the new film by Pedro Almodóvar. On Monday's show, how Americans have dealt with criminals has evolved over the years. Most people, in colonial America, would have seen an execution at some point in their lifetime. Award-winning documentary filmmaker Lynn Novick talks about her new four-part series, Crime and Punishment in America, which airs on PBS next week. Hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. You can subscribe to our YouTube channel at youtube.com slash thisisfreshair. We're rolling out new videos with in-studio guests, behind-the-scenes shorts, and iconic interviews from the archive. Fresh Air's executive producer is Sam Brigger. Our senior producer today is Roberto Churro. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham, with additional engineering support from Julian Hertzfeld and Diana Martinez. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Anne-Marie Baldonado, Lauren Krenzel, Teresa Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chavis, Susan Yakundi, Anna Bauman, and Nico Gonzalez-Whistler. Our digital media producer is Molly C.V. Nesper. Our social media video producer is Hillary Kissinger. For Terry Gross and Tanya Mosley, I'm David B. Incubo.