Theme songs are an essential part of classic television history, with many more memorable and beloved than the series themselves, but let's not neglect the great songs that appear within some of the best TV programs of the past. I hereby salute my favorites, focusing on numbers performed during episodes of fictional series. In other words, no variety show appearances, and I also thought it was unfair to consider The Monkees or The Beatles animated series, so, sorry, lads, you're out as well.
I Wish I Could Sing Like Durante
As lovelorn, quick-witted sitcom writer Sally Rogers, Rose Marie had opportunities to sing many different kinds of tunes on The Dick Van Dyke Show, including some torch songs, and the showbiz veteran sold every one of them. My personal favorite is the one she belts at a cocktail party in the series' premiere episode, The Sick Boy and the Sitter. It's the quintessential Sally routine, starting out wistful and sweet, then turning hilarious as she switches into singing Durante mode. She even gets to do a bit of business making asides to the musicians accompanying her and also delivers jokes in the middle of the bit a la Durante himself. “But it comes out plain, old me,” she closes. There's never anything plain about this remarkable character!
The Iffin' Song
Elizabeth Montgomery must have loved the Bewitched episodes in which she played identical cousin Serena, a free spirit who could cut loose without worrying about dreary Durwood--er, Darrin. Serena goes a little too far in Hippie, Hippie, Hooray, getting busted at a love-in and making the front page of the newspaper, but she provides a couple of fun, yet all too brief, musical moments. First, she delivers a lullaby for Tabitha--and, yes, Darrin even finds something to complain about here--but then comes the highlight of the episode, an impromptu rendition of something called 'Iffin'.'
But wait, it's not Serena! It's actually Samantha pretending to be Serena so the Tates will realize that the two ladies are distinct individuals and Sam is not the rebel consorting with those dirty hippies. You know what, though? It doesn't matter who it is, or who it's supposed to be, when she does the song. Larry Tate certainly doesn't care. How can he run an identity check when he's too busy gazing with rapt attention while Serena/Samantha twitches more than just her nose? His goofy grin is an indication that, like us, he only wishes the song were longer. Oh, Larry Tate, iffin' only you showed as much personality in the rest of the series.
When the Saints Go Marching In
One could write an entire column or 4 about the great songs on The Flintstones, many performed by great guest stars like the Four Insects (I wonder who they're supposed to resemble?) or Ann-Margrock. I still think the outstanding Stone Age stylist is Fred Flintstone himself. Granted, the series doesn't always depict him as a winner. In season 3's Wilma, the Maid, he makes their new maid Lollobrickida walk off the job by bellowing some kind of faux Italian lyrics in the shower.
But at the beginning of the series, he was pretty suave when he needed to be, and one of the earliest episodes, Hot Lips Hannigan, showcases this version of Fred. I like to think this original conception of the character is the true one because this Fred is really, really cool. Even in this episode, he first cracks the TV screen trying to show off his crooning for Wilma, but when he hits a nightclub stage later-—zowie! When an old pal asks him to do a number, Fred suggests they do “Number 42 from the old book,” and Hot Lips introduces him as The Golden Smog before he sings one of the heppest versions of When the Saints you'll ever hear (Bonus points for Barney sitting in on drums with aplomb). When Betty says it sounds like a hog-calling contest and Wilma makes a derisive reference to the “groaning,” we know they're just jealous. After all, Fred wins over a group of fickle teenagers, even making a few girls faint!
Lonesome Town
For some reason, I never really got into Ricky Nelson as a TV performer. His recordings come off much livelier to me because he seems like such a laid-back guy, even with a guitar, when you see him on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. For that reason, his more rocking numbers don't hold up as well as TV segments as they must have at the time. Even the audience seems to stand around and nod politely (to be fair, that's likely more on Ozzie and the rest of the production team and not a reflection on Ricky). If I'm not mistaken, the TV version of Hello, Mary Lou even has the gall to cut the James Burton guitar solo, one of the hallmarks of the record.
But Lonesome Town, performed in Ozzie's Daughters, is another story. It's a quiet, reflective number, and Nelson's reserved style suits this intimate “concert” in the living room for a handful of people. It's a music video, of sorts, that really does justice to a classic rock hit.
I Only Have Eyes for You
The Skyliners' take on this ballad is one of my all-time favorite oldies, but Connie Stevens acquits herself quite well in the Hawaiian Eye episode The Pretty People. If you can track it down, you'll be treated to Cricket Blake's sweet, languid interpretation of the standard. You might feel guilty, though, knowing that reportedly music clearances are some of the biggest obstacles keeping this and other Warner Brothers detective shows of the era (77 Sunset Strip, Bourbon Street Beat) off DVD. Sing away, Cricket...but couldn't you try something in the public domain next time?
Do the Hucklebuck
One of the simplest and goofiest songs I've ever heard on a TV show blares when Ralph tries to teach himself to dance in The Honeymooners episode Young at Heart. When Ed cranks up the hi-fi to play a little Kay Starr, it goes a little something like this:
Herrrrrre's a dance you should KNOW!
Do the hucklebuck, do the hucklebuck...
Sure, we laugh at Ralph's crazy outfit and wild dance moves, but the singer is so enthusiastic, she makes you want to dance as well. I have no interest in televised dancing competitions, but I might sit still for a one-time Hucklebuck with the Stars special if it used this particular recording.
Abra Kadabra
The year is 1964. The place is the Megapolis Zoo. As usual, zookeeper Stanley is worked up about something—in this case, a big talent show he's staging. What better venue for a prestigious talent competition than a zoo? Yes, it's just another day in the life of Tennessee Tuxedo and His Tales.
In Wreck of a Record, Tennessee and his pals Chumley and Baldy form a folk singing group to get the big prize. Poor Baldy is in a woman's wig the whole episode because in Tennessee's world, every folk act is a 3-piece with a blonde female. Hey, when you're confined to a zoo your whole life, your cultural worldview is somewhat limited. Stanley kicks them out of his office, saying the only acts on his show will be “stars—singers with hit recordings,” proving that the music industry hasn't changed all that much in 50 years.
Inexplicably, a succession of record companies give them the boot, including Record Records Inc. and Broken Records Co. Abra Kadabra still becomes a popular sensation when the folk singers take Professor Whoopee's sage advice and play it at the grass roots level. I don't mean they go on tour opening for The Grass Roots; rather, they play their song over and over again before an audience who eat grass and roots—their cohorts at the zoo.
It's no wonder the song is a smash with such intelligent lyrics as:
Abra Kadabra
Change-o-range-o-ree
If I recite these words just right
Their magic will change me
Abra Kadabra
Change-o-range-o-ree
But if I do, then I ask you
Which animal should I be?
Oh, which one should I be?
What may resemble a simple bit of whimsy is actually reflecting the tumult of the 1960s, when the social fabric of the nation was torn asunder by the momentous events of the era. Abra Kadabra also offers penetrating insight into universal questions of identity and how one discovers the self.
Or maybe it's just hilarious to see a walrus, an eagle, and a penguin singing harmony.
I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen
Some performances are so awful, so soul-crushing and relentless, that they somehow circle back around to being almost 'good.' One amusing example is navigator Kevin Riley's terrorizing of the Enterprise on Star Trek episode The Naked Time. Riley succumbs to one of the worst kind of infections there is: a space infection. Under the influence of the mysterious affliction, Riley declares himself Captain and commandeers the engine room. Then he embraces his Irish roots and treats the entire ship to his favorite ditty...over and over again. It gets so bad that when Riley ends a brief hiatus by announcing “one more time,” James T. Kirk--a man who stares down mysterious aliens, diabolical tyrants, and even fluffy critters--shows palpable fear. With a haunted expression on his face, he can only utter, 'Please, not again,' echoing the vast majority of his crew who would rather fly into a black hole than endure another verse.
To Be or Not to Be
Many scholars would argue that it is impossible to better the Bard, particularly in classics like Hamlet. I beg to differ. Not even Christopher Marlowe had the bright idea of sending Bob Denver out in period garb to sing a musical version of the To Be or Not to Be soliloquy to the tune of a song from Bizet's Carmen. The combination of Shakespeare and 7 stranded castaways in The Producer could only come from a creative genius like Sherwood Schwartz and the team he assembled on Gilligan's Island.
I must say that sometimes it's fun to revisit that world, but only if you overlook the ridiculous plot contrivances, over-the-top gimmicks like men dressing in drag, and characters doing things not in their best interests. And Gilligan's Island can be pretty silly, too.
Tell Me, Mama
Patty Duke, talented as she is, is nobody's idea of a rock goddess, but somehow her cover version on this ditty in The Wedding Anniversary Caper just flat out works. If ever a rock vocal combined reckless abandon with demure reserve, this one does.
Doberman Calypso
I hate to spoil a great episode of one of my favorite shows, but—this may come as a shock to you—this song springs from one of Sgt. Bilko's elaborate schemes. Mardi Gras is a fun episode about a spoiled, uptight lady getting her comeuppance, but all plot machinations are quickly forgotten when the motor pool, as “The West Indian Boys,” show up at a nightclub grooving lines like:
Doberman, Doberman, the greatest one is Doberman...
Top Fist
Only one television star is talented and versatile enough to appear twice on this list, and that musical icon is, of course...Bob Denver? Well, why not? If you're not satisfied by his take on Hamlet in Gilligan's Island (he wipes the floor with the millionaire and his wife, I might add), check out Maynard Krebs' warbling in The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, The Fist Fighter.
We first hear the song when Dobie, confident and full of pep, struts into the malt shop after having “knocked out” Moose, a local prizefighter who takes a dive so Dobie can scare off Milton Armitage and impress Thalia, who only wants to date athletes. It's already a fantastic send-up of classic Western showdown songs. It's actually irritating that we hear bits of dialogue and murmurs as people fawn over Dobie; we want to hear the words the Frankie Laine wanna-be is singing!
The reprise is even better. Dobie rethinks his physical confrontation with Milton and is in dire need of a pep talk. Maynard gives him a pep song, reminding him of the power of Top Fist:
Top Fist, fierce as a lion
Top Fist, quick as a snake
He'll break your jaw without tryin'
He'll make you suffer and ache
The song and Maynard's rendition of it, gets Dobie so fired up he punches the Thinker statue and breaks his hand; can't blame Dobie, though. I would have been willing to take on Floyd Patterson, let alone Warren Beatty, if Maynard had pumped me up with that kind of stirring theme song.
Rick Brooks is the proprietor of Cultureshark, a blog in which he uses an often irreverent approach to express his reverence for the classics and the un-classics.