Bette Midler Sings In Berkley
September 23, 1973 - San Francisco Chronicle
Author Unknown

Bette Midler, "The Divine Miss M.," returns to the Bay Area this week. The first truly big star of the '70s who describes herself as "the last of the truly tacky women," will sing Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday at the Berkeley Community Theater at 8 p.m. each night.

Bette Midler became a star the best way possible. She did it as no one had done it before. In an era of superstar overflow, where every branch of every medium has its celebrities, even hamburger stands, Bette Midler exercised real class. She was the one who did take-offs on the Shangri-La's, one of the 1960's silliest female groups. They sang "Leader of the Pack."

But what was silly in the 60s is suddenly chic a few years later. And what's chic today stirs up a lot of interest.

Bette Midler did not approach stardom in a conventional manner. Like many other aspiring young girls, she came to New York to be discovered, but not from any backwater town. Midler was raised in Honolulu and described her formative years as being "the only poor, white, Jewish family in a neighborhood of Eurasians."

She spent her early New York years typing and filing at Columbia University. Later she sold gloves at a department store. Then came work in revues at resorts in the Catskills, a part in the chorus of "Fiddler On The Roof" which led to a bigger role, that of Tevye's daughter, Tzeitel and the Off Broadway musical, "Salvation."

Then, "after listening to Aretha Franklin a lot," she said she decided to try singing herself, in clubs. She put together an act of '40s, '50s and '60s songs, a good rap, a frenzied style of delivery and costumes no one could believe. Her first engagement was the Continental Baths, a Turkish bath establishment in New York where the toweled patrons grew to love her.

Soon after, Johnny Carson got wind of her and booked her on his show. It wasn't long before she became a regular guest on other popular host shows, such as Merv Griffin's, Mike Douglas' and David Frost's. Last year, after the release of her first album and a nationwide tour, the rest of the country got to meet her. There hasn't been such public adoration bestowed on anyone in a long time.

What is her appeal? She's kooky and campy and unconventional. There's a little bit of tainted lady behind the wholesome smile. She's no beauty, but she does have charm and she certainly sings in an arresting fashion.

Her repertoire is as big a catchall as her style of dress. It shows a great affection for many types of music, from the Andrews Sisters to Frankie Lyman, from Leon Russell to the Contours. How many singers can do "Old Cape Cod" and "Do You Love Me (Now That I Can Dance?") in the same set?

She brought the music-hall setting back to rock. She established the leading lady as singing star once more. She revived some great old songs and reinterpreted some not-so-old ones in a style you couldn't help but like. She's Bette Midler and she's coming back.

Every Gay Blade's Fantasy
September 29, 1973 - San Francisco Chronicle
By John L. Wasserman

Predictably enough, Bette Midler's return to the Berkeley Community Theater on Thursday night was a veritable concatenation of disorder.

Not riots, you understand. The Divine Miss M. would never STAND for unruly behavior amongst her slavering devotees. They are there to love her and pay court, to be sure, but hardly to attract a spotlight that is hers alone.

Still, the evening was not like any other, on stage or off. To begin with, the show started unpardonably late; 8:48 p.m. for an alleged 8 o'clock curtain. Out in the audience, one bushy-haired lad was howling "C'mon everybody, yell 'We want Bette!' C'mon! C'mon!!" No one yelled "We want Bette." The bushy-haired lad looked around. "What is this ...?" he cried. "Is everybody Jewish?"

Rosh Hashanah will do that to people.

MUSICIANS
Finally, the musicians arrived. Murmurs and gurgles from the near-capacity audience. Then, Barry Manilow, Bette's pianist, arranger, conductor and, it has been said, the author of her adlibs. Shouts, palsied movements. Then the Harlettes, Bette's back-up vocal trio and associate poseurs. Screeches, screams.

And then, yes, the Divine Miss M. herself in voluminous black slacks, a zebra-striped blouse, hot orange curly hair, incidental jewelry, red and white carnations on her head and a large orchid at the juncture of her décolletage, which, in Bette's case, is in the vicinity of her knees.

Well, my dear, you hadda been there. People bounded bout as if on pogo-sticks, terrifying shrieks, yowls and bellows rent the auditorium, mascara ran unashamedly and mothers swept up small children and ran from the auditorium, in horror. The blind saw, the halt leapt from wheelchairs and 300 closet drag queens stripped off their false moustaches and began a mass mince to the tune of "La Cucaracha."

FANS
It was amazing. The Divine swept from one end of the stage to the other, waving giant fans of pink feathers and hurtling along like a rag doll on speed, her various appendages sprawling in four directions simultaneously, her eyes rolling like marbles in a vacuum, her bountiful breasts, which resemble ostrich eggs dropped into a pair of pantyhose, springing up and down like yo-yos. .

"Oh," she cried in mock melodrama, throwing her hand to her forehead, "'Gross us out, Miss M., gross us OUT!'"

And so my children, gross us out she did for the ensuing two hours, not counting intermission. Bedlam, chaos, costumes, vamping, torching, joking, mugging, gagging, bumping, grinding, singing, dancing, sweeping and swishing, the living embodiment of every gay blade's fantasy, Bette Midler turned the Berkeley Community Theater into such a giant campground the National Parks Service should go green with envy.

"Oh, I LOVE working for Bill Graham," she gushed, "he's such a BIG man." She held up the microphone, a tubular one resembling a large, black banana. She smiled slyly. The audience guffawed knowingly. "Oh," she cooed breathlessly, "we're going to let ALL the stops out tonight?"

SONGS
Her songs ranged from one which seemed to be titled "I Swear I've Never Had Such Bad Sex Before," to what she termed a "hubba-hubba" version of Glenn Miller's "In the Mood," Hoagy Carmichael's "Skylark" and the dear ones from her first Atlantic album "Do You Want to Dance," Hello In There," "Am I Blue,"' "Friends," "Leader of the Pack," "Delta Dawn" and "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy."

There were only a few things wrong. For one, Bette seems to me in danger of becoming a self-caricature. For another, although she is gong to be a big star for at least the next 30 years, I would guess that her audience is going to wind up near-exclusively homosexual. Which is fine, except that I think it's an unnecessary limitation of her potential appeal.

And lastly, Barry Manilow has got to go, at least as a featured part of her performance. He is a fine musician, but somewhere along the line someone made the mistake of telling him he could sing. Toward this end, he has a new album out on Bell and treated us to four solo numbers to open the second half.

HALLUCINATION
Manilow, who has his hair done at the Clip and Snip Poodle Salon, apparently thinks he is a potential star. To underscore this hallucination, he has a piano stand-in, like a movie star has a lighting and blocking stand-in. This fellow comes out first and hits several notes on the piano to make sure it's working. It was.

To open the second half, Manilow swept out on the stage in an all-white Nehru jump-suit. "My name is Barry Manilow," he gurgled, "and I am the captain of your flight tonight."

Tell that to the Graf Zeppelin.

His opening number guaranteed instant obscurity and he went downhill from there. The second tune was, incredibly, "Cloudburst," accompanied by the Harlettes. "Cloudburst" is, of course, the Pointer Sisters' hit. For a third-rate singer to come into the Berkeley Community Theater and render "Cloudburst" is approximately equivalent to peddling near-beer in Munich. The third tune was pathetic. The fourth was titled, apparently. "Mama, Can You Hear Me?" Which needs no comment, save mama's, which is, "Yes, son, and you should wash out your mouth with Black Flag."

Bette Comes Back
September 29, 1973 - Oakland Tribune
By Peter Cowan

With due respect to Carol, Little Darlin' and Runaround Sue, all heart-throbbers in their own time, Bette Midler is now queen of the hop and getting most of the action. "The Divine Miss M." is back in town and singing up a storm at the Berkeley Community Theater through Sunday.

Bette Midler is part of the '70s cabaret parade, a campy return to the glamour and tinsel of the entertainment world 30 years ago - extravagant production numbers, old show tunes, hubba-hubba costumes and even choreography. Miss Midler incorporates all of these things, on a small scale, into her act.

"We do this 'garbaage'," she said. Translated, that means Miss Midler and her Harlettes back-up-trio, flutter about, strike sexy poses, make costume changes and sing their sweet heads off.

But that's only part of her act. Bette Midler is also a very funny lady. Her humor is sharp, quick and double-edged, which goes hand in hand with her "tacky is chic" image. It's something she's got down and it can be hilarious.

Bette Midler sings songs for all ages. There are old songs, new songs, teenage romance songs and torch songs. Her arrangements are captivating and her delivery is nothing short of remarkable. Listening to her sing a sad song is something I can't forget. But she never leaves you in one place too long.

The opener, "Friends," had her smiling. On "Delta Dawn," she was almost in tears. Then she did a Philadelphia medley ("We call it that because it reeks") of "Uptown," "Da Doo Ron Ron" and "Don't Say Nothing Bad About My Baby." Bette and the girls were accompanied by a large band.

There wasn't a moment when the curly-haired redhead wasn't ON. On up-tempo numbers, it was action, action; on the smoky, sad songs, it was expression, expression. In between tunes, Miss Midler carried on a mile a minute in her loveable nasal monotone, about the joys of show biz, audience reaction to her and attacks on other personalities in the news. The audience couldn't get enough of her. 

She is as much actress as she is singer. On "Am I Blue" and a bitter ballad about a man named Johnny, her voice became a whisper, cracked a little and let out long, low sighs, while her face showed much feeling.

But no sooner had your throat gone dry, than the song ended and Bette was back to being Bette, a harlequin with a sharp tongue and wit to match. "Oh, mediocre!" she chided the audience for a weak attempt at singing part of "Do You Wanna Dance" along with her. "Honey, you better get it on, or go home," she said.

The second half of the show began with Bette Midler's arranger, composer and conductor, Barry Manilow, doing songs from his new album. His is the voice on the current McDonald's hamburger ad.

Then, as the Harlettes came back in pink maid uniforms and the backstage was lit with a night time cityscape, Bette reappeared for "Lullaby of Broadway." Doing the old Andrews Sisters' "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B" once, wasn't enough, so they picked it up three times in all. They finished in cute salutes.

Then, another bar song, followed by Karen Carpenter's "Superstar." which was completely transformed by Miss Midler's grieving rendition. John Prine's "Hello In There" and a couple of back to back production numbers followed, Jackie Wilson's "Higher and Higher" and the Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack." The last was too rambunctious to get everything you wanted out of it, but the intro dialogue, with the girls' backs to the audience and hands on their hips, was worth waiting for.

She closed with "Going to the Chapel" and "Friends" again. At the end she was radiant, glowing, bubbling over with her big beautiful smile and skittering across the stage like a happy child. She gave so much. I want to go see her again.

Divine Miss M Wails, Warbles, Bounces Her Way To A Million
September 30, 1973 - The Sunday Constitution 
By Murray Olderman

BERKELEY, Calif. - She flounces and minces, coos and shrieks. She is ludicrous and appealingly pathetic. She is a performer, is Bette Midler. That's Bette as in "bet" - just one syllable.

She's on the verge of making it big, where Barbra Streisand was almost a decade ago. And just as brassy and talented, but with a raucous brand of humor.

(Editor's Note: The belt-'em-out singer who refers to herself as "the last of the truly tacky women" returns to Oklahoma City for an 8 p.m. concert Saturday at the Civic Center Music Hall, where she performed for an SRO crowd last spring.)

She's on a swing of American cities, in concert as they say, on her second extended tour with symptoms of big money - she carries a four-piece band led by her arranger, Barry Manilow, plus a backup vocal trio called the Harlettes.

When the Divine Miss M - self-billed - sashays from the wings, it's camporama, a put-on leavened with quality. 

This night it's a high school auditorium, yet, in which she does her stuff. But it's called the Berkeley Community Theater and looks and is as big as Radio City Music Hall.

"This is the divine one," she sassily announces, "en personne." French with a "Joisey" accent. She had just come up from Los Angeles, where she slew them in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, all the Beverly Hillsites with their "sucked-in cheeks."

"The auditorium," rasps Bette, "reeked of Gucci." Shrieks in the front row. The freaks dig.

''You will all know," she announces, "why they call me Miss Divine. All you people who've come out of your musty little garrets where you're all doing macrame."

Then she sings and she bounces and she wails and warbles and whispers - "this is my 'air de pizza' medley" - and it's all wild and frenetic.

First, she's strutting around the stage with her red-tressed ringlets flying, a reincarnated Clara Bow, the "It" girl.

Then she's in a smoky spotlight doing a torchy "Am I Blue" straight out of Bessie Smith and '20s. Then a rocked-up version of the Carpenters - she lumps Trish Nixon and Karen Carpenter in one schmaltzy bag. 

By the end of an hour she's got them, all 3000, up on their feet and bellowing, hands over their heads and waving. It's a phenomenon.

This is little Bette Midler out of Hawaii via Hoboken (her parents 'migrated) with pure Brooklynese intonations and solid theatrics.

This is little Bette Midler who was Tzeitel, one of Tevya's daughters, in "Fiddler on the Roof" for three years but wanted to be out there on stage all by herself.

A hard-driving bundle of chutzpah with flying blouse and big mouth. A little girl really, who jiggles and shakes and intermittently belts a song in pure tones just to keep it honest.

"She's a difficult lady," says one who has known her since she was a nobody who listened to Aretha Franklin records. "Neurotic, temperamental."

The Divine Miss M does not sit for interviews now. She's closing in on 30 but she's one of those Lotte Lenya types who'll look the same when she's 50, with a face built for character lines and a pushed down nose.

"Do You Want to Dance," a slowed down and magically effective wail of an old number, is the key to an album about to hit the gold medal (million-sales) mark for Atlantic Records.

She'll make a million for herself one of these days soon, too.