A WOMAN SINGING SONGS

Susannah McCorkle

“The Chilton-Larkin Entertainment Supply Company's first star”

The extent to which Philip Larkin's work has influenced other creative artists,

including playwrights, novelists, poets, film makers, artists, choreographers,

animators, composers, comedians—a seemingly countless variety of disciplines—has

yet to be investigated in any depth. It seems almost every day that one of the

broadsheets or Internet news providers carries a reference to something Larkin wrote

or said or believed (or was thought to have written or said or believed); or references

a new work of art, or ballet, or musical composition which takes its title (or

inspiration) from a Larkin poem; or prints a review of a new literary novel one of

whose characters quotes Larkin, or admires Larkin, or thinks they are Larkin.

For example, on BBC Radio 4's Desert Island Discs, on 22 February this year,

comedian, actor, novelist and cross-channel swimmer David Walliams named Larkin's

Collected Poems as his sole book choice (he rejected The Bible), and spoke of how he

admires Larkin's “world view”. Walliams had previously told Suzi Feay, in an

interview published in The Independent (12 October 2008), "I always travel with

Philip Larkin's Collected Poems ...”

This kind of influence is, undoubtedly, cumulative, and has been permeating Western

popular culture since the publication in 1955 of The Less Deceived. And with the

regular inclusion of Larkin on the national curriculum (in the UK), and in literature

courses elsewhere, many of the leading creative personalities in the Arts today are

likely to have encountered Larkin—or even studied him at some level—and imbibed

the 'Larkin influence' discernible in the works of their contemporaries and

predecessors. Consequently, it is far more likely that today's artists and aspiring artists

will have some creative—even emotional—connection with Larkin's oeuvre, than,

say, those of twenty-five, thirty, or even thirty-five years ago—prior to the publication

of High Windows and Larkin's most widely known poem 'This Be The Verse'.

It is all the more interesting, then, to come across an artist to whom Larkin was—well

before the publication of High Windows—not only an inspiration and an influence, but

also an aid in the achievement of her dream.

Susannah McCorkle was born on 1 January 1946 in Berkeley, California, where, as a

student at the University of California, she first discovered, and bought, Philip

Larkin's The Whitsun Weddings. Having experienced a brief earlier sojourn to Europe,

McCorkle decided to return for a much longer period in 1969. She took with her her

copy of The Whitsun Weddings, but found that she had to buy fresh copies “several

times in several countries” because she kept giving away each new copy she bought

“to people I care about”.

While living in Rome in April 1971, McCorkle felt impelled to write a fan letter to

Larkin to tell him how much his poetry moved her; and despite attempting to fight “a

tendency to quote your own poetry back at you”, she took up most of her two pages

doing just that. The letter (DPL3/1/13) is passionate and articulate, and clearly written

by someone with a great love and command of language; with a strong emotional

attachment to Larkin's poetry.

Larkin responds characteristically in a letter dated 18 May, expressing his gratitude at

the admiration heaped upon him by McCorkle, but comments: “Of course, it's a bit

like being praised at the age of 40 for the high jumps you did when aged 20!” He

continues: “Recently, I have been compiling...The Oxford Book of Twentieth Century

English Verse…just now the Press is saying it hasn't got enough well-known poems

in. When we have settled this squabble, I hope...that you will...see it.”

On 15 June, still in Rome, McCorkle writes another letter to Larkin. This time the

letter was typewritten (the first was in her own hand), and seems to give some small

indication of the darkness, stresses and demons that haunted McCorkle her whole life.

In the letter, she refers to “my dreadful years at Berkeley”, and comments that

“everyone in the class hated my stories”, and, “I have fled the U.S. (to return, I hope,

when I feel I have the strength to wage the daily battle which is life in America these

days)”.

The reason for this second letter, she tells Larkin, is that she has been reading a book

of essays on jazz and had spotted his name among the reviewers. She goes on to say

that during “eight very lonely months” spent in Paris—where she discovered “Billie

Holiday and the blues”—she had decided she wanted to be a singer: “I came to Rome

with the idea of being a singer...” She concludes by telling Larkin that she hopes they

can one day meet; and urges him to continue writing poetry and not to get “too

bogged down in selecting anthologies and writing editorial introductions.”

McCorkle's energy, her adventurous and independent spirit, and her passion for the

music of Billie` Holiday, must have appealed to Larkin: he continued the

correspondence; and in a letter dated 27 June expresses his regret at the decline of

jazz: “...jazz as I understand it, which is probably the way Benny Goodman

understands it, started dying about 1945 and now is virtually dead...” He also tells

McCorkle about the publication of All What Jazz, commenting: “In the introduction I

really went to town: I don't think I've ever enjoyed writing anything as much.”

Larkin's final paragraph discounts the possibility of their meeting, but states: “I'll

watch out for your stories/novels/poems. Do you write under your own name?

Sometimes I think I'll write under my own name, and live under a pseudonym.”

This lively debate continues in McCorkle's third letter (13 July), in which she agrees

with Larkin about the death of jazz as they both understand it, but opposes Larkin's

view about Goodman: “...but not Benny Goodman!” she argues, “I can't really believe

he understood jazz, or felt it...”

In the same letter, McCorkle gives a brief but impassioned description of a jazz event

in which she participated: a memorial jam session for Louis Armstrong which took

place on 13 July, just a week after Armstrong's death:

No one gave any speeches; they just played music like

“Black and Blue” and “Basin Street”, and a long, long,

long “When the Saints Go Marchin' In.” We went on for

hours (I shouldn't say we, because I didn't play and only

sang one song at the very end, since the mood was

brass-band-funeral and not Billie-Holiday-blues, but I

was so swept up in the music that I felt like a

participant) and I think we gave Louis Armstrong the

kind of send-off he would have wanted.

Despite such excitement and joy, once again the letter contains hints of McCorkle's

inner turmoil, when, in juxtaposing the end of Larkin's 'The Importance of Elsewhere'

with how she herself feels, she writes: “Maybe you're sure enough of your existence

now and don't need to have it underwritten any more. I'm not, and anyway America

negates my existence when I'm there.” McCorkle closes this letter with a delicately

flirtatious tease: “...you're probably annoyed by so many dashes and parenthesis (but

you like colons, confess!).”

It's clear to see why Larkin was happy to continue the correspondence with

McCorkle: her vivacious and fluent writing style, her bold intellect and youthful

enthusiasms, are very appealing. However, McCorkle pre-empts any further

correspondence—for the time being—by insisting: “I am grateful for the letters I've

had from you and truly don't expect you to write back.”

Almost a year passed before Larkin heard from McCorkle again. In her letter of 4

June 1972, McCorkle tells Larkin of her imminent relocation to London and asks if he

could recommend any clubs or agents “I could talk to about what I want to do”. She is

also keen to meet like-minded jazz musicians, and asks Larkin if there is “anyone you

think I should (or could) look up in London.”

On 15 June, Larkin sends letters simultaneously to Susannah McCorkle and to John

Chilton, who he describes in his letter to McCorkle as “the only individual to whom

this letter might serve as an introduction”; and tells her that Chilton is “part-author of

a magnificent book on Louis Armstrong, besides being a first-rate traditional

trumpeter.” In his letter to Chilton, Larkin explains that he doesn't know anything

about McCorkle, but that “she sounds sensible enough, if a little brash.” And he

apologizes to Chilton “for landing this on you.”

Twelve months later, on 8 June 1973, Chilton sent Larkin a brief note, accompanied

by a cutting from the previous week's Melody Maker (2 June):

Dear Philip Larkin,

Just in case you haven't seen the Melody Maker lately,

I've enclosed a cutting concerning the Chilton-Larkin

Entertainment Supply Company's first star.

No acknowledgement needed,

Yours sincerely,

John Chilton

In a short response to Chilton, dated 11 June, Larkin writes: “I am so glad she

surfaced, and proved not too bad. […] The idea of myself as a latter-day Brian Epstein

is rather agreeable.”

McCorkle is clearly starting to make a name for herself in London. The Melody

Maker article mentions that Larkin had arranged an introduction to Chilton; and that

whilst singing with Chilton, McCorkle was spotted by Bruce Turner, who “invited her

to sing with the Jump Band.” Her career as a jazz singer—and her dream— had

begun.

In Larkin's last letter to McCorkle, dated 2 April 1974, he writes:

I was half-afraid you might end up singing to cinema

queues (if there still are such things) – not of course

through lack of talent but through lack of breaks. And I

might have been responsible.

[…]

I've pretty much lost touch with the jazz world, but of

course I still have my records – I hope one day I'll have

one of yours.

The inference to be drawn from the first paragraph quoted above is that Larkin feels

he has, in some small way, contributed to—or at least helped to facilitate—

McCorkle's increasing success.

McCorkle wrote only once more to Larkin (5 July 1974): to tell him how moved she

was by the poems in High Windows and that she had bought a copy as soon as she

heard it had been published (after reading a review by Kingsley Amis); and to update

Larkin on her career progress, “(if any jazz musician in London may be said to have a

'career')”.

Two-and-a-half years later (14 December 1976 ), Larkin wrote to John Chilton: “I see

that Susannah McCorkle is featured on a record by Keith Ingham which gets a rave

review in Jazz Journal…I think I might order it simply as a souvenir, though I am

glad to see that she has realised her ambition to this extent.” The record Larkin is

referring to is There will never be another you: The Music of Harry Warren (World

Records WRS 1001), a copy of which can be found in Larkin's record collection in the

Larkin archive at the Brynmor Jones Library.

The Music of Harry Warren (Larkin's copy)

Susannah McCorkle went on to record more than twenty albums, and was able to

draw on a repertoire of over 3,000 songs. She translated many lyrics into English,

including what Terry Gross of America's National Public Radio (NPR) considered to

be McCorkle's signature song, a beautiful version of Antonio Carlos Jobim's 'The

Waters of March'. She had an enviable reputation as a meticulous researcher of songs,

and as an individualistic interpreter of melodies and lyrics, often resurrecting obscure

or neglected songs, and discovering lost verses to well known standards.

In May 2001, at the age of 55, Susannah McCorkle finally succumbed to the

depression that had plagued her all her life. She committed suicide by jumping from

her 16th floor New York apartment.

A decade earlier, in an interview on CBS News's Nightwatch (12 December 1991),

Susannah had confessed: “I didn't gravitate to [jazz musicians] because I wanted to be

a jazz musician: I always wanted to be a woman singing songs".

A week after her death, McCorkle's former husband and manager, Dan DiNicola took

part in a radio tribute to Susannah, on NPR. Terry Gross asked him if he had any idea

why Susannah had killed herself. DiNicola replied: “The only answer that I can come

up with is that she wasn't singing enough—she loved to sing.”

Haunted Heart: a biography

of Susannah McCorkle

Susannah McCorkle's fascinating and compelling life-story is told with precise and

sensitive scrupulosity and great insight by Linda Dahl in Haunted Heart: a biography

of Susannah McCorkle (The University of Michigan Press, 2006) ISBN-10:

0472115642

Thanks are due to the Larkin Society's Don Lee for alerting me to the incongruity of a

Susannah McCorkle LP in Larkin's personal record collection; and Linda Dahl for

allowing me to see copies of Larkin's letters to Susannah McCorkle.

James L. Orwin

(12 March 2009)