Burt Bacharach

Interview, Feb, 1996 by Isaac Mizrahi

Long considered the soundtrack to a national cocktail hour, Burt Bacharach's music seemed to single-handedly ring in a sophisticated, breathlessly fun era in American pop. Since his early days as musical director for Marlene Dietrich's cabaret act, through his legendary partnerships with lyricist Hal David and vocalist Dionne Warwick, to his award-winning film music, Bacharach has always put melody first. Striking the right emotional pitch - his magic touch launched a flotilla of hits, including "I Say a Little Prayer," "I'll Never Fall in Love Again," and "Walk On By." The Bacharach sound of the mid-'60s was a feast of luscious boredom and full-time swinging. Part of his trademark is the feeling that the fun was often in a minor key, and that though exuberant, the period was also perfumed with loneliness.

These days, the resonance of his work seems to depend less on lifestyle and more on his gorgeous, rueful orchestrations. In the '80s, several of Bacharach's songs were covered by a knowing set of pop curators such as Elvis Costello, Chrissie Hynde, and Everything But The Girl. More recently, groups like Saint Etienne, Stereolab, and Pizzicato Five have plucked more than a few chords from the Bacharach songbook, as his knack for arrangements is carried toward the next century. The influence of his poignant use of horns, for example, can be heard on "The Universal," a track on Blur's recent album, The Great Escape. And the Bacharach-edged piano on the Aimee Mann song "Amateur," from her new album, I'm With Stupid, could have been an alternate take from Bacharach's Oscar-winning score to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

Fashion designer Isaac Mizrahi, who has often taken the '60s for his muse, is a lifelong fan of the composer. Here, the creator of clothes that are the wearable equivalent of what Bacharach might call "a tune you can whistle," asks pop's most beautiful believer in melody, "What's new, pussycat?" A.P.

ISAAC MIZRAHI: [In a very sultry, deep voice] Hello?

BURT BACHARACH: Hi.

IM: [laughs] I was pretending to he Dusty Springfield for a second when I picked up the phone. I just have a fantasy about that. You're sort of an idol of mine. I saw you every time you played the Westbury Fair.

BB: Did we ever say hello there?

IM: I ran up to the stage once and threw this note at you, and you picked it up. I was so thrilled.

BB: [laughs]

IM: What ever happened to that note, Mr. Bacharach? Huh? I'm just kidding. So what instrument did you play as a kid?

BB: I played the piano, but it was not my idea. My mother pushed me to take piano lessons, so there was never much joy in it. I grew up in Forest Hills [Queens, New York] and coming home from school meant having to practice the piano for a half hour before I could go out and play. I aspired to be an athlete like my father, who was a football player in his youth, and I thought music was just a real chore, but I did it to please my mother.

IM: When did you finally realize that it was something that you wanted to do?

BB: My parents bought me a Steinway, which made the guilt even worse. I guess it must have been pretty exasperating for them to keep nudging me. My mother came in to say good night to me one night when I was about eleven or twelve and said, "We've pushed and pulled and we're kind of out of patience, it's really your call now, do you understand?" I thought it would hurt her feelings if I stopped, so I said, "No, I'll keep going." If I hadn't, maybe I'd have gone into the menswear business. [laughs] I would have been selling clothes.

IM: Can you imagine? Or modeling them, for heaven sakes. For me, that was the biggest thing about you. How could someone that good-looking also be so incredibly talented?

BB: I don't know I'm either one, to tell you the truth.

IM: Is there anything you can't do, but you'd love to, or are fascinated with because you can't?

BB: Well, I was very small in high school, and I was never able to be the kind of athlete I admired. But even though I was the smallest kid at Forest Hills High School, because I played piano in the band, I could meet girls.

IM: Do you ever want to teach music?

BB: I don't think so. I think I've got some knowledge that I could impart, but there really is no way to teach composition. I studied with the great composer Darius Milhaud. He gave me a lot of insight into the importance of melody; don't ignore it, don't disregard it. A very critical thing happened to me when I was first starting with him. At the time we were all writing severely dissonant music, and I wrote a sonatina for violin, oboe, and piano. It was unabashed melodically, and I thought I'd be laughed at. The teacher must have felt my reluctance, because he said to me, "Never be afraid of something that people can whistle or remember. That's melodic, it's very good."

IM: What do you make of all these young bands now that are taking their cues from you?

BB: It's very flattering. It's happening in England, but I don't know if it's happening here. I'm often asked what the explanation is, and I think it's got something to do with a yearning for melody.