Released in 1990, Red Hot + Blue was the music industry’s first major response to the AIDS epidemic. In today’s blog post, John S. Garrison discusses why it made sense to choose Cole Porter as the focus of the groundbreaking album.
By John S. Garrison
It couldn’t have been easy to love Cole Porter.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s easy to love his music. I need only to hear a few seconds of one of his songs — “In the Still of the Night,” “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” — and I’m singing the lyrics to myself for a week.
But it might have been hard to love the man. I’ve spent a lot of time with him over the past two years as I’ve been writing my book Red Hot + Blue. Reading his letters, I’ve often been struck by a sense of him as lonely, needy, obsessive, overwhelmed and overwhelming. Consider this telegram he sends to the dancer Boris Kochno, with whom he had a passionate relationship in the 1920s:
This – it’s just a word simply to tell you that I just left you a quarter of an hour ago + and that I miss you – but tanto. And to apologize if I didn’t turn off the light + take you in my arms + tell you that you are the only thing in the world that is dear to me.
Goodnight, my Boris.[1]
It’s only 15 minutes after Boris has left and Cole is already longing for him, saying he’s sorry if the evening wasn’t perfect. His letters are full of this kind of love. Multiple notes sent in quick succession to lovers who don’t respond. Alternating exclamations of devotion, regret, adoration, misgiving. That kind of love can push someone away, but think of the way songbook standards like “After You, Who?” and “From This Moment On” are brimming with sentiments like these.
To be honest, I’ve loved like that. Felt that kind of longing. Been gripped by that kind of desperation. Looked for ways in which I was to blame when things weren’t ideal. I’ve missed someone just moments after they’ve left. I’ve missed someone even during the time we’re together. Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it was just me when I was a teenager and in my early twenties. That was when I used to swoon over love songs on endless repeat. Honestly, sometimes I still do.
Porter’s songs distill the intensity of love into a few minutes of unforgettable lyrics and music. Consider “Night + Day.” I remember vividly being in my early 20s and hearing U2’s version of the song from the Red Hot + Blue album.
I don’t think I ever sat on a rooftop wanting the booming traffic to drown out my lament. But maybe I did, or at least I would have. I certainly have spent my fair share of time in a lonely room. Thinking of someone. Night and day.
So many kinds of love can make you feel like this. It’s why this song is a classic, a standard. It’s why this song reached the #2 spot on Billboard’s Modern Rock Tracks Chart, why within three months of the song’s initial appearance more than 30 artists had recorded their own version of it, and why it’s the highest earner in the Porter catalog. It’s no surprise that U2 chose this song when the Red Hot Organization brought major artists together to join the fight against AIDS by recording a Porter tribute album in 1990.
The album needed to jar people, to urge them to speak openly about what it meant to love even when the virus made connection increasingly more precarious. Porter’s music gives voice to a man unafraid to announce his desire for affection, even from those who rejected him and even in a world where many people disapproved of his kind of love. I can’t imagine a more fitting voice for the music industry’s first major response to the HIV/AIDS epidemic.
It might have been hard to love Cole Porter. But that might be because he knew about — and wasn’t afraid to talk about — the truth of love.
John S. Garrison
is the author of the 33 1/3 book, Red Hot + Blue. You can find him on Twitter/X (@JS_Garrison) and on his website. He lives in Los Angeles and is the author of seven books.
Red Hot + Blue is available to buy in bookshops and online (including at Bloomsbury.com).
