The tradition of Carlotta flubbing the lyrics started with Yvonne and was repepated in many of the "old babes" who played the part or sang it in cabaret settings, the excuse always being that it was a "list song," and the verses were interchangeable.
But they're not. There is a definite progression to the song. So pay attention to PalJoey's coaching session, Old Babes, and you'll never flub the lyrics to "I'm Still Here" again:
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When the song starts out, you're being clever and charming, superficially bragging about how you've survived all these years:
Good times and bum times,
I've seen them all and, my dear,
I'm still here.
Plush velvet sometimes,
Sometimes just pretzels and beer,
But I'm here.
I've stuffed the dailies
In my shoes.
Strummed ukuleles,
Sung the blues,
Seen all my dreams disappear,
But I'm here. But the inadvertent mention of your dreams disappearing takes you to a hard place, when your life was actually tough and your dreams DID disappear and you had to do some humiliating things:
I've slept in shanties,
Guest of the W.P.A.,
But I'm here.
Danced in my scanties,
Three bucks a night was the pay,
But I'm here.
I've stood on bread lines
With the best,
Watched while the headlines
Did the rest. But that's not you. You didn't let your problems defeat you. So make a little joke, a little wordplay, lighten the mood:
In the Depression was I depressed?
Nowhere near. And you go back to charming and clever:
I met a big financier
And I'm here. Show 'em your big, fat diamond ring, baby! You earned it!
Back on your game again, show off with some references to the crazy things everybody lived through back then, easy stuff, identifiable stuff:
I've been through Gandhi,
Windsor and Wally's affair,
And I'm here.
Amos 'n' Andy,
Mah-jongg and platinum hair,
And I'm here.
I got through Abie's
Irish Rose,
Five Dionne babies,
Major Bowes. That's it! Camp it up a little, be silly, have fun:
Had heebie-jeebies
For Beebe's
Bathysphere. And now make a joke they'll all get about the Paris Hilton of her day:
I lived through Brenda Frazier
And I'm here! Sailing now, in your zone, use the names of two of the biggest drips ever, guys who were definitely not fun, as a big punchline, make then sound like brothers, like a comedy team:
I've gotten through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover,
Gee, that was fun and a half.
When you've been through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover,
Anything else is a laugh. But the memory of the FBI and the investigations drags you do to places even lower than the Depression: divorce, addiction, unemployment, the Blacklist...all those friends whose lives were destroyed--why them and not you? A moment of quiet reflection for the deaths and the divorces and the suicides:
I've been through Reno.
I've been through Beverly Hills,
And I'm here.
Reefers and vino,
Rest cures, religion and pills,
And I'm here Start to let yourself get angry:
Been called a pinko
Commie tool,
Got through it stinko
By my pool. Now make a quick self-deprecating joke:
I should have gone to an acting school.
That seems clear,
Still, someone said, "She's sincere,"
So I'm here. But the joke doesn't work. Your anger doesn't go away. There's been failure in your life, time after time after time. Success and happiness came and went. You survived each time but at such great cost. When does the hardness end? Ever?
Black sable one day.
Next day it goes into hock,
But I'm here.
Top billing Monday,
Tuesday you're touring in stock,
But I'm here.
First you're another
Sloe-eyed vamp,
Then someone's mother,
Then you're camp. Which is pretty humiliating.
Then you career from career
To career. And that's where you are now: in what seems like your 19th career. You're not even a performer any more. You sell yourself. You're a glorified salesgirl. You need to make another self-deprecating joke--and quick:
I'm almost through my memoirs.
And I'm here. Good. No one can ask you now if you've finished your book yet! Which leads you to the ultimate self-deprecating joke an actress can make:
I've gotten through "Hey, lady, aren't you whoozis?
Wow! What a looker you were."
Or, better yet, "Sorry, I thought you were whoozis.
Whatever happened to her?" But that hurts. That's the end. When someone asks an actress "Whatever happened to YOU?"--that means she's done, she's over, she's finished, she's through, she's a has-been, she's unemployable, she's irrelevant, she's TOO OLD...she's as good as dead.
So as you hold that note and the music modulates, what do you have to say to all the people who are telling you that you might as well be dead? Repeat the lyrics from the beginning of the song, but this time not clever and charming but fierce, defiant, determined, still alive, still that glorious word: HERE. You're still HERE:
Good times and bum times,
I've seen 'em all and, my dear,
I'm still here!
Flush velvet sometimes,
Sometimes just pretzels and beer,
But I'm here!
I've run the gamut.
A to Z.
Three cheers and dammit,
C'est la vie!
I got through
All of last year
And I'm here. Getting through each year requires your greatest performance ever--and speaking of your greatest greatest performance, why not make this it? Do you have a final statement for us, Miss Vance?
Lord knows, at least I was there,
And I'm here!
Look who's here!
I'm still here!
Updated On: 5/13/11 at 08:29 AM