Music
From The New York Times: "Though the work featured memorable dance sequences by a choreographer on the rise named Michael Bennett, what really set it apart was its score, written by the solid-gold pop composer Burt Bacharach with lyrics by Hal David. Mr. Bacharach introduced to Broadway not only the insistently rhythmic, commercial-jingle buoyancy of 1960's soft-core radio fare, but also a cinematic use of Teflon-smooth, offstage backup vocals."
The best-known songs from the musical include the title song, which was an international hit for Dionne Warwick, released before the show's December 1968 Broadway opening; "I'll Never Fall in Love Again", a hit for Warwick in the US and Canada (No. 6 and No. 1, respectively) and for Bobbie Gentry in the UK (No. 1); "Knowing When To Leave" (also recorded by Warwick), "She Likes Basketball" and "Turkey Lurkey Time", a dance number featuring McKechnie, Lee and Sappington. Warwick also recorded "Whoever You Are (I Love You)" and "Wanting Things" in 1968 before the show opened for her Scepter LP "Promises, Promises".
Read more about this topic: Promises, Promises (musical)
Famous quotes containing the word music:
“A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall....”
—T.S. (Thomas Stearns)
“I believe that water is the only drink for a wise man: wine is not so noble a liquor; and think of dashing the hopes of a morning with a cup of warm coffee, or of an evening with a dish of tea! Ah, how low I fall when I am tempted by them! Even music may be intoxicating. Such apparently slight causes destroyed Greece and Rome, and will destroy England and America.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;
Yet slower yet, oh faintly gentle springs:
List to the heavy part the music bears,
“Woe weeps out her division when she sings.”
Droop herbs and flowers;
Fall grief in showers;
“Our beauties are not ours”:
Oh, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature’s pride is, now, a withered daffodil.”
—Ben Jonson (1572–1637)