The guy was funny. The sheer volume of stuff that he did that still makes me laugh is amazing, on a par with his contemporaries Bob and Ray, Ernie Kovacs, and Jackie Gleason. His production values were impeccable; his contempt for everything phony and dumb gleefully anarchic. Stan Freberg took no prisoners.
He didn't even go to college; he got on a bus to Hollywood, got off and started working. (He was a DIY kind of guy, just as was his best friend from childhood -- Ray Bradbury.) His first credit for voice work in a Warner Brothers cartoon is 1946. He was half of the voice team for the "Hubie and Bertie" mouse series (he was Bertie) by Chuck Jones. He voiced Pete Puma. For Disney, he voiced Busy the Beaver in "Lady and the Tramp."
In 1949, he played and voiced Cecil, the Seasick Sea Serpent, in the groundbreaking, beloved live puppet show "Time for Beany" alongside his friend and future collaborator Daws Butler.
He started putting out hit records in 1951, including the immortal "I'm Gettin' Nuttin' for Christmas," "John and Marsha," "St. George & the Dragonet," and "Banana Boat Song."
After a short radio series titled "That's Rich" in 1954, Freberg was famously slotted in as Jack Benny's replacement on CBS in 1957. For 15 unsponsored weeks (Freberg wanted one through-show sponsor, as in radio's earlier days, instead of spots, but would accept no tobacco or liquor sponsorship), one of the most imaginative and hilarious shows in American comedy history took place. By this time, Freberg had gathered a group of astonishing voice talents -- Daws Butler, June Foray, Jesse White, Pete Leeds, Marvin Miller, Byron Kane, Paul Frees, and Walter Tetley among them. And don't forget the amazing composer/conductor/arranger Billy May! Find a link to all the shows here.
Freberg pulled no punches. He made fun of witch-hunter Joe McCarthy; he was denied permission to mock both Arthur Godfrey and Ed Sullivan, the media heavyweights of the day; his incredibly dark satire "Incident at Los Voraces" was censored by CBS and could only be heard with its original ending later, on record.
He mocked political correctness in his famous "Elderly Man River" sketch, and marketing greed in "Green Chri$tma$."
For sheer silliness, his tributes to "Omaha!" and "Oregon! Oregon!" can't be outdone.
And I even gasped with pleasure when I recognized him in "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."
Mainstream media is focusing on his advertising work. It was staggering. He did indeed invent the humorous commercial (the germ can be found in the playful, integrated Jack Benny radio show ads for sponsors Jell-O, Grapenuts, Lucky Strikes, et al., and Henry Morgan's merciless attacks on sponsors during his radio shows in the 1940s). Sunsweet pitted prunes ("Today the pits. Tomorrow the wrinkles"), Chun King, Contadina tomato paste ("Who put eight great tomatoes in that little bitty can?"), and Jeno pizza rolls, which were terrible but we bought them anyway because of the commercial. That's how expertly persuasive he was. (His Heinz Great American Soup commercial didn't do much for the product, but it is the most glorious, and until that time, the most expensive commercial ever made. Cue Ann Miller!) Staid advertising types hated him.Too bad!
His masterpiece was his 1961 "Stan Freberg Presents the United States of America, Volume One: The Early Years," an LP that took history from Columbus to the founding of the nation in musical-comedy fashion. (A second volume going through the Civil War came out in 1996.) "Take an Indian to Lunch" is an anthem of cynicism whose acidity is neutralized by the fact that, hey, it's a damn catchy song!
This was the secret to Freberg's success. His take on humanity's chances were pretty bleak, but there was something exuberant and infectious about his humor. He won us over every time. This winningness, along with his obvious talent and intense professionalism, left us with a plethora of well-made comedy from which to learn. He had the beautiful knack of making the most outrageous thoughts acceptable to the mainstream.
On a personal level, he inspired me. I sat there with my friends, listening over and over obsessively, memorizing the bits from the Freberg records, just as we did with Bob Newhart, Bill Cosby, and the Smothers Brothers, creating a private universe of in-jokes, punchlines, and references that only our weird brotherhood would understand. I created my own audio comedy sketches on my little cassette recorder, in imitation of Freberg, doing all the funny voices, while crashing the sound effects and playing music cues all at the same time. Freberg showed us it could be done. When we created our hour-long parody of "Star Wars" in high school, and later when I was on the air, and writing and performing lots of material, Freberg was there behind me.
Loved that he was obviously a sound man. Anyone can get a laugh visually, but heard comedy requires content. And timing. He relished the incredible imaginative freedom radio and recording gave him; he trusted in the intelligence and sensitivity of the listener to fill in the blanks, to collaborate with him by engaging belief. Remember "1964 Radio Advertising Bureau," in which Lake Michigan is turned into an ice cream float in front of thousands, in less than a minute?
My favorite would be his recurring character on his short-lived radio show, the Abominable Snowman (ten feet tall, in orange sneakers). Somehow, that incidental character, only in existence for a few minutes, is as vivid to me as many other more famous fictional creations. Why is that?
Now that I am older, I know how hard it is to make this funny magic happen. Stan Freberg's work will last, is still inspiring kids. Mine sometimes can be heard to say, "'DAY-O! 'It's too loud, man. It's too piercing.'" Miss you, Stan. Thanks for everything.
