By Lendon
Being a Catholic and a Twelve Stepper, long lapsed as both, I have decided to unburden myself of perhaps my most bizarre fetish. For the majority of my adult life I have indulged an indefatigable devotion to Tiny Tim. Fear not gentle reader. As kinky as this mania may sound, I refer not to the pale under-nourished, eternally chipper, crippled adolescent from Charles Dickens' classic tale, A Christmas Carol. So you need not bother alerting the local citizen militia of a prospective unregistered pederast on the prowl. Nor should you expect an impassioned apologia for NAMBLA. I refer instead to the pale, somewhat over-nourished, ecstatically chipper adult-child crooner who has been the object of international ridicule since his television debut in the late 60's.
Resplendent in his freakish finery, Tiny Tim was an illustrious vision of a queer knighthood, seemingly transported from an alternative universe. A universe where love and romance really were matters of moon/June flowers and butterflies; and childhood remains the standard of human relations. He was the fairy godfather unbeknownst to me, I had longed for.
Believe me,I realize what most of the world saw of him was this stringy-haired, lumbering, white faced, effete side show freak; much closer to the fairy end of fairy god-father. Yet there was something so naive and absolutely sincere about his "act".
Respectfully removing his ukulele from its tattered paper bag, he might spend a moment tuning his little instrument. Until the end of his career, his material consisted almost exclusively of songs penned before or around the time of his birth. Though audiences generally thought of his renditions of old tunes as parody or satire, his approach was always heartfelt, deferential and entertaining. His knowledge of early American popular music was encyclopedic. And when discussing songwriters he was reverential without exception. His manners could best be described as beyond old school; they were practically mid-Victorian. I can think of no other artist who exuded the kind of unbridled appreciation for his fans' applause as TT did. You'd think you were witnessing the debut of a young Maria Callas discovering for the first time that she could thrill an audience . He'd blush, roll his eyes heavenwards, fan himself, throw kisses to every sector of the audience; all this while moaning like Mae West in flagrante delicto. This was clearly what he lived for.
There he was. This hulking hair-ball strumming his Lilliputian uke. Then, from somewhere beyond the stratosphere came the cosmic invocation, "O-o-oh." Followed by the kindly invitation to "Tip Toe Through The Tulips." The incantation of this childishly sweet ditty, delivered in his characteristic nelly falsetto, purchased my lifetime devotion. It also was the calling card of his whole career.
His effeminacy and falsetto singing voice led many to assume he was gay. Irrelevant as it was to his art, it was also a misconception. He was married to at least three women in his life, not that this necessarily tells the tale. In an interview after their divorce, Miss Vicki, the mother of his only child (Tulip), said that Tim had admitted to one adolescent homosexual encounter of some sort. Regardless of any amount of gay experience or where he rated on the Kinsey scale, it's clear that his affectional preference was for women. This is all beside the point of my adopting him as a queer hero. Or maybe it actually highlights my point. The fact that he was not gay makes him even more of a queer duck.
I know little of his personal life, except those aspects that were publicly staged, i.e., the marriage to Miss Vicki on the Johnny Carson Show. For all of his outrageous appearance, TT was religiously and politically conservative. His invocations of patriotism bordered on jingoism. I think labeling him as gay is not just an over-simplification, I suspect it's inaccurate.
Tim was a man who had a driving passion for a type of music whose popularity had faded before he was born. He decided early in life that he wanted to make a living reviving this music that next to no one was interested in hearing. He also recognized that his appearance was about as far as the human species can vary from the ideal of male beauty. He knew he possessed something of value that he could capitalize on, if only he could find a way around his physical oddness. That way was to emphasize them.
He was that spinster kindergarten teacher whose sole raison d'être is to impress upon the kiddies the importance of making nice. Even though he may not have been the pinnacle of masculine pulchritude, his features had an engaging quality. That enormous beak and overbite, and those flirtatious eyes, ever vigilant of the stars, registered to me as a kind of beauty. Not the Brad Pitt school of hunk I'll grant you, but an allure all his own.
Some critics have suggested TT as the spiritual ancestor of Boy George, Marilyn Manson, Sylvester, and Antony and others. There is some undeniable truth to these comparisons; but like many comparisons, they often obscure more than they obviate. Most of these performers developed out of gay chic rock & roll cults to appeal to a mainstream audience. Whereas these guys had corporate entertainment support their careers, TT was fated to remain a marginal figure. The tenor of the times were ripe for these kinds of gender bending acts. They made their shticks fashionable. But Tiny was too real and too outre to be a successful commercial commodity. The closest comparison would be Sylvester, in that he actually lived the life he sang about. He was more himself than the hype. Like that ultimate suave chameleon, David Bowie, these performers were working hard to make what they did be perceived as fabulous. Tim spent his life trying to maintain a survivable niche for his queerness. He was never going to be all the rage, the latest thing. He was grateful for his fifteen minutes of notoriety here and there that made his life doable.
The peak of his popularity as a recording artist came as a result of his first album, "God Bless Tiny Tim." Masterfully organized by the legendary Hollywood producer Richard Perry, this lp gives a scant glint of what his career might have been like had he been allowed the level of professionalism a niche performer needs to hold the record buying public's attention. On "GBTT", Tiny carries us on a trip down the yellow brick road and somewhere way over the rainbow. Ever the dutiful son, the album cover features him sitting with his parents. Each song is an absolute jewel, exploring the range of his vocal qualities surrounded by excellent musicians with top shelf production values. To this day, I occasionally find myself whistling "Living In the Sunlight, Loving In The Moonlight." Chocked with ditties that were old chestnuts when he recorded them almost 40 years ago, the recording is still fresh and jolly to listen to today. Surfing through You Tube on the net, I've noticed that "Living/Loving" is one of the most lip-synced tunes. More surprising yet is that most of these kareoke-ers weren't even born when the songs was released. His first album got it right, God bless Tiny Tim.
Tiny had a massive heart attack while on stage singing "Tip-toe Through the Tulips". More than a career vehicle, this song was the exposition of his life's journey. I would like to play Sartre to his St. Genet by praising this classic misunderstood clown. So many of his songs are childhood fables. In Kabuki whiteface, imploring heaven for Allah-only-knows-what, batting those flirtatious Betty Boop peepers. O-kay, I've a penchant for the tasteless; perhaps it is because those who live outside of convention are forced to make a way out of no way; and sometimes the cleverness in this process reveals such extraordinary genius.
Tiny Tim had to tolerate a great deal of humiliation in his life. I've chosen not to focus on that here. However, occasionally I'll see an icon of St. Sebastian and I can't help but think how Tiny would simply sing on when people would make fun of him. Sometimes he seemed to join in with the hilarity. It was not that he was unaware that he was being made a fool; he was that happy idiot with a song in his heart.
Resplendent in his freakish finery, Tiny Tim was an illustrious vision of a queer knighthood, seemingly transported from an alternative universe. A universe where love and romance really were matters of moon/June flowers and butterflies; and childhood remains the standard of human relations. He was the fairy godfather unbeknownst to me, I had longed for.
Believe me,I realize what most of the world saw of him was this stringy-haired, lumbering, white faced, effete side show freak; much closer to the fairy end of fairy god-father. Yet there was something so naive and absolutely sincere about his "act".
Respectfully removing his ukulele from its tattered paper bag, he might spend a moment tuning his little instrument. Until the end of his career, his material consisted almost exclusively of songs penned before or around the time of his birth. Though audiences generally thought of his renditions of old tunes as parody or satire, his approach was always heartfelt, deferential and entertaining. His knowledge of early American popular music was encyclopedic. And when discussing songwriters he was reverential without exception. His manners could best be described as beyond old school; they were practically mid-Victorian. I can think of no other artist who exuded the kind of unbridled appreciation for his fans' applause as TT did. You'd think you were witnessing the debut of a young Maria Callas discovering for the first time that she could thrill an audience . He'd blush, roll his eyes heavenwards, fan himself, throw kisses to every sector of the audience; all this while moaning like Mae West in flagrante delicto. This was clearly what he lived for.
There he was. This hulking hair-ball strumming his Lilliputian uke. Then, from somewhere beyond the stratosphere came the cosmic invocation, "O-o-oh." Followed by the kindly invitation to "Tip Toe Through The Tulips." The incantation of this childishly sweet ditty, delivered in his characteristic nelly falsetto, purchased my lifetime devotion. It also was the calling card of his whole career.
His effeminacy and falsetto singing voice led many to assume he was gay. Irrelevant as it was to his art, it was also a misconception. He was married to at least three women in his life, not that this necessarily tells the tale. In an interview after their divorce, Miss Vicki, the mother of his only child (Tulip), said that Tim had admitted to one adolescent homosexual encounter of some sort. Regardless of any amount of gay experience or where he rated on the Kinsey scale, it's clear that his affectional preference was for women. This is all beside the point of my adopting him as a queer hero. Or maybe it actually highlights my point. The fact that he was not gay makes him even more of a queer duck.
I know little of his personal life, except those aspects that were publicly staged, i.e., the marriage to Miss Vicki on the Johnny Carson Show. For all of his outrageous appearance, TT was religiously and politically conservative. His invocations of patriotism bordered on jingoism. I think labeling him as gay is not just an over-simplification, I suspect it's inaccurate.
Tim was a man who had a driving passion for a type of music whose popularity had faded before he was born. He decided early in life that he wanted to make a living reviving this music that next to no one was interested in hearing. He also recognized that his appearance was about as far as the human species can vary from the ideal of male beauty. He knew he possessed something of value that he could capitalize on, if only he could find a way around his physical oddness. That way was to emphasize them.
He was that spinster kindergarten teacher whose sole raison d'être is to impress upon the kiddies the importance of making nice. Even though he may not have been the pinnacle of masculine pulchritude, his features had an engaging quality. That enormous beak and overbite, and those flirtatious eyes, ever vigilant of the stars, registered to me as a kind of beauty. Not the Brad Pitt school of hunk I'll grant you, but an allure all his own.
Some critics have suggested TT as the spiritual ancestor of Boy George, Marilyn Manson, Sylvester, and Antony and others. There is some undeniable truth to these comparisons; but like many comparisons, they often obscure more than they obviate. Most of these performers developed out of gay chic rock & roll cults to appeal to a mainstream audience. Whereas these guys had corporate entertainment support their careers, TT was fated to remain a marginal figure. The tenor of the times were ripe for these kinds of gender bending acts. They made their shticks fashionable. But Tiny was too real and too outre to be a successful commercial commodity. The closest comparison would be Sylvester, in that he actually lived the life he sang about. He was more himself than the hype. Like that ultimate suave chameleon, David Bowie, these performers were working hard to make what they did be perceived as fabulous. Tim spent his life trying to maintain a survivable niche for his queerness. He was never going to be all the rage, the latest thing. He was grateful for his fifteen minutes of notoriety here and there that made his life doable.
The peak of his popularity as a recording artist came as a result of his first album, "God Bless Tiny Tim." Masterfully organized by the legendary Hollywood producer Richard Perry, this lp gives a scant glint of what his career might have been like had he been allowed the level of professionalism a niche performer needs to hold the record buying public's attention. On "GBTT", Tiny carries us on a trip down the yellow brick road and somewhere way over the rainbow. Ever the dutiful son, the album cover features him sitting with his parents. Each song is an absolute jewel, exploring the range of his vocal qualities surrounded by excellent musicians with top shelf production values. To this day, I occasionally find myself whistling "Living In the Sunlight, Loving In The Moonlight." Chocked with ditties that were old chestnuts when he recorded them almost 40 years ago, the recording is still fresh and jolly to listen to today. Surfing through You Tube on the net, I've noticed that "Living/Loving" is one of the most lip-synced tunes. More surprising yet is that most of these kareoke-ers weren't even born when the songs was released. His first album got it right, God bless Tiny Tim.
Tiny had a massive heart attack while on stage singing "Tip-toe Through the Tulips". More than a career vehicle, this song was the exposition of his life's journey. I would like to play Sartre to his St. Genet by praising this classic misunderstood clown. So many of his songs are childhood fables. In Kabuki whiteface, imploring heaven for Allah-only-knows-what, batting those flirtatious Betty Boop peepers. O-kay, I've a penchant for the tasteless; perhaps it is because those who live outside of convention are forced to make a way out of no way; and sometimes the cleverness in this process reveals such extraordinary genius.
Tiny Tim had to tolerate a great deal of humiliation in his life. I've chosen not to focus on that here. However, occasionally I'll see an icon of St. Sebastian and I can't help but think how Tiny would simply sing on when people would make fun of him. Sometimes he seemed to join in with the hilarity. It was not that he was unaware that he was being made a fool; he was that happy idiot with a song in his heart.
1 comment:
Here is a You Tube link to see Tiny Tim singing Tiptoe Through the Tulips:
Tiny Tim on Rowan and Martin
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