THE TWILIGHT ZONE: A TRIBUTE IN SONG, CONCLUSION

Welcome back for the conclusion of our musical tribute to the 50th anniversary of The Twilight Zone. Here’s another session’s worth of songs based on some of TV’s most memorable half-hours.

KICK THE CAN by George Clayton Johnson. In which a resident in a senior citizens’ home intuits an unexpected way to get a second lease on life. Sung to the tune of “Young at Heart”.

If the truth should be told, you don’t have to stay old

If you kick the can.

All the seniors agree, it works magic, you see

When you kick the can.

You can moan, you can sigh, like you’re ready to die,

Or be fresh and be spry and be ready to fly.

It’s better to look forward to your frisky days,

Not stuck there in a home where you’re set in your ways.

If you frolic and hoot, you won’t stay an old coot.

Just play Kick the Can.

You’ll get back all your fire while your children retire.

Just play Kick the Can.

And if you should endure to a hundred and four,

It’s okay, for you’ll score as a youngster once more.

You won’t stay an old man, and you’ll know it began

When you played a rousing game of Kick the Can.

TO SERVE MAN by Rod Serling from the story by Damon Knight. In which we find the alien Kanamits have a real, ahem, appetite for good deeds on behalf of humanity. Sung to the tune of “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music.

Humans by nature we know are suspicious.

But we assure you our plans are delicious.

We know your problems; we’ll take them in hand.

This is our promise: We’ve come to serve man.

We’ll stop your wars and we’ll cure your diseases.

Famine and suffering, we’ll make sure it ceases.

All human wishes will be our commands.

This is our mission: We’re here to serve man.

We’ll leave our book here; we don’t mind you looking.

Once you translate it you’ll know just what’s cooking.

Our tasty menu we’ve carefully planned.

Come to our planet; we love to serve man!

For our wisdom, altruism, you can take our word:

We’re all dedicated to serving mankind

And you’ll be our just dessert!

NIGHTMARE AT 20,000 FEET by Richard Matheson. In which William Shatner plays a recovering mental patient who finds he has unwelcome company on the flight home from the sanitarium. Sung to the tune of “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”

I once had a breakdown, but I’m better.

And now with my wife I’m flying home.

You would just love to make me crash, that’s your way.

You’re an obnoxious little gnome.

So now I’m the one who gets the weird looks,

While you are the one who flits away.

And I try to warn them, but the crew won’t believe

That you’re out there tearing up the plane.

My wife thinks that I still have a screw loose.

The crew thinks that I’m a ding-a-ling.

Yes, I’m a recovering mental patient

And you are the monster on my wing.

You’re floating so smug outside my window.

When anyone comes, you disappear.

The Captain pretends he knows the truth; of course he doesn’t.

I’ve got to get you out of here.

Now everyone thinks that I’m still crazy,

That I should be in the loony bin.

But I’m gonna plug you with this pistol

And bump off the monster on my wing!

(Repeat.)

Oh die...die...die...die...die, you beast...!

NIGHT CALL by Richard Matheson. In which a lonely old woman’s persistent phone caller is dialing person to person--or something like that--from the Twilight Zone. Sung to the tune of “I Heard it Through the Grapevine”.

I’d never shut up until I got my way.

Whipped my boyfriend Brian every day.

Didn’t care for how my lover feels.

Wouldn’t let him get behind the wheel.

When we crashed, no one could save

My poor Brian from an early grave.

And now I heard it through the phone line:

You’re the ghost of who was once mine.

Said I heard it through the phone line,

And I’m just about to lose my mind. Honey, honey, yeah...

(Heard it through the phone line, you’re the ghost of who was once mine, baby...)

So I paid a call out to Mama Bell.

Asked the operator, “What the hell?”

She told me the wire had fallen from the pole,

And had got the number of your soul.

Onto your grave the wire had gone,

Person to person from the beyond.

That’s how I heard it through the phone line:

You’re the ghost of who was once mine.

Said I heard it through the phone line,

And I’m just about to lose my mind. Honey, honey, yeah...

(Heard it through the phone line, you’re the ghost of who was once mine, baby...)

How long has it been since the accident

When my fiance through the window went?

Now I’m an old lady sitting all alone

Hearing voices on my telephone.

And so I’m stuck here in my bed

Getting long distance from the dead.

That’s how I heard it through the phone line:

You’re the ghost of who was once mine.

Said I heard it through the phone line,

And I’m just about to lose my mind. Honey, honey, yeah...

(Heard it through the phone line, you’re the ghost of who was once mine, baby...)

NUMBER TWELVE LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU by John Tomerlin from the story by Charles Beaumont. The tale of a future in which everyone is beautiful because the government requires people to be made over during adolescence into a range of specific physical ideals--and they’re considerate enough to think all your thoughts for you too! Sung to the tune of Madonna’s “Material Girl”.

One is all and all is one; that’s what our life’s about.

Drink your Instant Smile ‘cause we don’t like to see you pout.

When you turn 19 they’ll make you perfect; wait and see.

I was once a mess, now Number 12 looks just like me!

‘Cause we are living in an identical world and I am an identical girl.

‘Cause we are living in an identical world and I am an identical girl.

Once they said that beauty was as deep as just the skin.

That’s the kind of profound talk that really does me in.

Differences and intellect, from these we are now free.

What’s the need of pesky individuality?

‘Cause we are living in an identical world and I am identical girl.

‘Cause we are living in an identical world and I am identical girl.

We’re hooked in an identical world. (Identica-al!)

Same looks in an identical world.

No mind in an identical world. (Identica-al!)

We’re blind in an identical world.

Into deeper meanings I no longer want to delve.

Life’s a cabaret now I look just like Number Twelve!

‘Cause baby, we are living in an identical world and I am an identical girl.

You know that we are living in an identical world and I am an identical girl.

‘Cause baby, we are living in an identical world and I am an identical girl.

You know that we are living in an identical world and I am an identical girl.

An identical...an identical...an identical...an identical world.

And that wraps up our musical journey into Rod Serling’s Fifth Dimension. I hope you’ve enjoyed our little suite of macabre melodies and this tuneful look back at one of the best TV series ever produced. Until our next Quantum Blog, never forget: Mama may have and Papa may have, but God bless the child who’s got his Zone!

THE TWILIGHT ZONE: A TRIBUTE IN SONG, PART 2

If you don’t know The Twilight Zone...well, my first response is, “And you call yourself a culturally literate American?” My next response is, “There’s no better time to learn the show!” That’s because we’re celebrating the 50th anniversary of the classic Rod Serling series here at The Quantum Blog, and we’re doing it in song! Continuing our musical montage of Zone episodes, here are more tuneful treatments of unforgettable stories...

THE HOWLING MAN by Charles Beaumont. In which a man traveling through Europe has a Devil of a time when he falls ill and recuperates in a monastery. Sung to the tune of “Leave a Tender Moment Alone” by Billy Joel.

I was hiking through Europe. And there in the dark stormy night,

I was ready to throw up, but that was when I saw the light.

Found an old monastery, where I thought I’d shake off the flu.

But the monks were so wary, of what I just hadn’t a clue.

This was more than an abbey, built out of mortar and stone,

But I wasn’t so savvy...to leave a howling Devil alone.

He was making a racket, there in the cell where he lay,

And I just couldn’t hack it, when all that the monks did was pray.

This poor bastard was seeming to be like a regular guy,

But they called him a demon who’d put on a pleasing disguise.

So I blew off the warning that I got from Brother Jerome,

And I learned by the morning to leave a howling Devil alone.

And he wasted no time, when I let him get out of the door.

Soon as I turned him loose on the world, he had started the Second World War!

(Leave a howling Devil alone...

Leave a howling Devil...leave him alone....

Leave a howling Devil alone.)

Now myself I am hating. I curse my mistake all the time.

‘Cause I couldn’t see Satan, and the world has to pay for my crime.

No, the truth I was missing, the good word of Brother Jerome.

How I wish I had listened: Oh, leave a howling Devil alone!

Oh...oh...oh... Leave a howling Devil alone.

Leave a howling Devil alone...

Leave a howling Devil...leave him alone...

Got to leave a howling Devil...leave him alone...

THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER by Rod Serling. In which Donna Douglas, the future Ellie Mae Clampett of The Beverly Hillbillies, goes through a dozen plastic surgeries in hopes of looking “normal” in a world full of...well, you should know this episode. Sung to the tune of “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face” from My Fair Lady.

We simply can’t accept your face.

It makes us want to gag and retch.

The operations didn’t work, the surgeries you chose.

Your eyes, your lips, your cheeks, your nose

Are still repulsive to us now.

We swear they make us want to heave.

You know we’re hung up on conformity; that’s why we make a fuss.

We think the world should be a bunch of gargoyles just like us.

We simply can’t abide your pan. We can’t live with your mug.

We can’t accept your face.

THE SILENCE by Rod Serling. Not one of my favorite episodes, this is really among the less impressive ones, but I couldn’t resist the idea when it came to me. At a posh gentleman’s club, a young boor drones on and on until one of the senior members makes him a wager he can’t refuse. Sung to the tune of “I Could Have Danced All Night” from My Fair Lady.

Noise! Noise! I’m tired of his voice.

A peaceful evening we will never get.

Blab! Blab! I’m fed up with his gab.

Could I stop his prattle with a bet...?

He could have talked all night. He could have talked all night,

Until my nerves were gone.

He could have blown his breath and bored me half to death,

The way he’d babble on.

You never heard so much ado for nothing,

Enough to make your eardrums bleed.

I only wished that lout would shut his flapping mouth.

He could have talked, talked, talked all night!

The man’s so dull, Sir. He numbs your skull, Sir.

Can this fool please...shut...up?

He could have talked (they made a bet) all night (for half a mill).

He could have talked (if he could keep) all night (his flapper still),

Until we made a deal.

(The wager said he couldn’t say a word until the time was up and everybody heard.)

If he would still (he couldn’t make) his gums (a single peep),

I’d pay a generous (then half a mil-) sum (-lion he would reap)

And then he’d be well-heeled.

(We didn’t think the boy could keep it zipped without a single slip.)

When bad investments took away my fortune,

I was afraid the bet was lost.

But then I learned (we’re so relieved) that lout (we all rejoice)

Had cut his larynx (we’ll never hear) out (his droning voice)!

He’ll never talk, talk, talk...all night!

It’s awfully sad, Sir. It’s gone so bad, Sir.

But now the deed...is...done.

He could have talked all night. He could have talked all night,

Until my nerves were gone.

He could have blown his breath and bored me half to death,

The way he babbled on.

When bad investments took away my fortune,

I was afraid the bet was lost.

But then I learned that lout had cut his larynx out!

He’ll never talk, talk, talk...all night!

NEXT POST: And still more episodes come in for lyrical lunacy, including “To Serve Man” and “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet”!

THE TWILIGHT ZONE: A TRIBUTE IN SONG, PART 1

Heavenly shades of night are falling: It’s Twilight time. Or, more to the point, it’s the beginning of our musical tribute to Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone. I’ve been preparing for this ever since I realized this is the 50th anniversary of the premiere of Rod Serling’s masterpiece. For the next few posts, we’re going to be singing the stories of The Zone to the tune of a diverse program of tunes. If for some reason you don’t recognize any of the melodies we’ll be singing, or need a refresher on them, I suggest you do as I did to make sure I got them right: For whatever I didn’t already have in iTunes (which I used as one reference source), I went and looked it up on YouTube or Googled the lyrics to make sure I got the meter and rhythm right. There are ways of doing these things!

And now, without further ado, the curtain rises and our program begins:

MR. SERLING. A tribute to the man himself. Sung to the tune of “Mr. Sandman”.

(Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum-bum.

Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Mr. Serling, write us a dream. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Make it the weirdest that we’ve ever seen. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Spin us a yarn of things too strange to mention (bum-bum-bum-bum).

The kind you conjure from your Fifth Dimension.

Serling, give us a fright. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

We hear you beckon from your Zone of Twilight. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Make us shake and make us scream.

Mr. Serling, write us a dream.

(Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.

Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Mr. Serling, tell us a tale. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Give us an ending that makes us go pale. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Tell us of mannequins who turn to shoppers (bum-bum-bum-bum)

And neo-Nazis played by Dennis Hopper.

Serling, you really are (bum-bum-bum-bum)

The master teller of tales so bizarre. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Make us shake and make us scream.

Mr. Serling, write us a dream.

(Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.

Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Mr. Serling (“Yes?”), fill us with fear. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Make Finchley’s gadgets tell him, “Get out of here.” (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Tell us of Martians playing tricks in diners (bum-bum-bum-bum)

And haunted cars that get the truth from liars.

Serling, we love your show. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Your signpost tells us right where we want to go. (Bum-bum-bum-bum.)

Make us shake and make us scream.

Mr. Serling, write us, Mr. Serling, write us,

Mr. Serling, write us a dream.

(Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.

Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.)

WALKING DISTANCE by Rod Serling. In which a world-weary advertising executive takes a walk back to his home town, through the Twilight Zone, and into his own childhood where he meets himself as a boy. Sung to the tune of “The Longest Time” by Billy Joel.

(Boom, boom, boom...) Oh, whoa, oh, oh,

On a walk through time.

Whoa, oh, oh,

On a walk through...

I was feeling tired and stressed out.

My achievements left me filled with doubt.

(Ah-ah-ah...)

I missed my boyhood, so I hiked back to Homewood

And spent the day there on a walk through time.

There I was, myself as just a kid,

Carving on that post just like I did.

(Ah-ah-ah...)

How I was wary, because of how I scared me

The day I met me on a walk through time.

Whoa, oh, oh, oh,

On a walk through time.

Whoa, oh, oh,

On a walk through...

Then I went to see my Mom and Dad

In that cozy home that we once had.

(Ah-ah-ah...)

But I confused her, telling Mom I’m from the future

And that I’d come there on a walk through time.

Dad said I had better hit the road.

He didn’t want to see the proof that I showed.

I just wanted them to see the truth,

I’d come to find my youth; that was all that I hoped for.

So I made my way back to the park

And the fun I had there after dark.

(Ah-ah-ah...)

And I tried calling to myself and saw him falling

And changed my childhood on my walk through time.

My leg got caught in the carousel.

Got ground up mighty bad; it hurt just like hell.

Now I know one summer’s all we get,

That in this life I’ve led, that is all I could hope for.

For the past no longer will I beg,

As I walk back on my limping leg.

(Ah-ah-ah...)

Goodbye to sorrow. I’m living for tomorrow

‘Cause that was the lesson of my walk through time.

Oh, whoa, oh, oh,

On a walk through time.

Whoa, oh, oh,

On a walk through time.

Whoa, oh, oh,

On a walk through time...

THE MONSTERS ARE DUE ON MAPLE STREET by Rod Serling. In my favorite episode, a friendly suburban neighborhood descends into paranoia and violence because of a UFO and oddly selective power failures. Sung to the tune of “On the Street Where You Live” from My Fair Lady.

Things were lovely here in our neighborhood.

But since something went by overhead it’s not so good.

Now we’re nervous wrecks, for we all suspect

Monsters lurk on the street where we live.

Lights go off and on at our neighbors’ place

And we think our friends are really spies from outer space.

We’re all looking out, for we have no doubt

Monsters dwell on the street where we live.

And oh, the shocking discovery

That we shot the guy down the street.

And no, there’ll be no recovery

From this riot now we’ve let fear take the lead.

We’re the aliens, watching from afar,

And we can’t believe what suckers these fool Earthers are.

It’s come down to this, with their prejudice:

Soon we’ll own all the streets where they live!

NEXT POST: The musical mayhem continues!