Obsessed with Bette Midler

“Diva” is the Latin word for a goddess. In modern times, it is used to refer to a celebrated woman of outstanding talent in the world of opera, theatre, cinema, fashion, and popular music. So yes, putting Bette Midler at the top of my diva list is well deserved. Her career, spanning over five decades, has earned her four Golden Globe Awards, three Grammy Awards, three Primetime Emmy Awards, two Tony Awards, and a Kennedy Center Honor, including nominations for two Academy Awards and a British Academy Film Award. Her presence on stage? Mesmerizing. Her presence on screen? Magical. Like Judy Garland, Cher, and Celine Dion, they are singular, no one sounds like them, no one looks like them, and no one can match that star quality. Her vocal ability has mastered rock, pop, musical theatre, and everything in between. But she doesn’t sing just to sing, she is a storyteller. Since 1970, this multi-Grammy Award winner has released 14 studio albums as a solo artist, selling over 30 million records worldwide, and has received four Gold, three Platinum, and three Multiplatinum albums. All these facts qualify the Divine Miss M as a bona fide diva. But that’s not why I’m obsessed with her.

Looking back at my… um… many years, I realize Bette has been my constant companion through my many tentpole moments. As a child, my first warm memories of music and my mom were set to the soundtrack of Bette’s starring film debut in The Rose. Who was this voice that my mom was singing along to, who all at once was tearing the roof down, straining her voice in rock ballads, making your heart skip a beat in plaintive vibrato, shouting at the audience, demanding their attention, presenting not a glossy performance, but a gritty, no holds barred execution that left you in a tornado of emotions? Yes, that record got so much play, I could anticipate the scratches in giddy anticipation. Images play through my mind of my mom singing next to the record player, with the album lyrics in hand, singing her heart out. I would sing along, not understanding the words I was singing, and not getting the notes quite right in my prepubescent vocal journey. I didn’t care, I was sharing music with my mom not realizing that I was equating the strength of Bette’s personality and performance as a mirror to the strength of my mom’s determination, humor, and energy. That same energy and humor would get us through many of life’s obstacles.

As I grew up, I would snag every Bette album I could find. As if listening to her early albums wasn’t enough, on the morning of every new album release, I was at the front door of Tower Records, cash in hand, thankfully having moved on to cassettes and then to CDs. I remember in grade school getting very sick, days upon days were spent at home with a cold that just would not leave. On day two of being home sick, my mom snuck in during her lunch hour with Bette of Roses, Bette’s new release at that time. For days it played on repeat, louder and louder. Always the little drama queen, I became Bette with every note. Emotions from hiding my sexuality, my bullying by the other kids, and feeling on the outs all poured out as Bette gave me the courage to go on and sing out, who cares what anyone else had to say? Do I even need to mention how many breakups and rainy days Beaches has gotten me through? That soundtrack is engrained in my mind more than words on stone. (If you want to watch her in something sadder than Beaches, watch her in Stella…especially if you are the product of a single parent home…gurl!) As my gay self-emerged, so too did her performances in For the Boys, Hocus Pocus, and gasp! Gypsy. My little musical theatre nerd almost stopped beating when I pressed record on our VCR when that hit our TV screen. I’m pretty sure I stayed home from school the next day to watch it over and over again, not being able to fast forward through the commercials fast enough. Her bigger-than-life personality, her stealing the spotlight from any costar, her brash way of tearing through the scenery without apology, this is who I wanted to be in real life. Whatever role she played; she was essentially Bette. My obsession was solidified.

In high school came the magical moment when I was finally able to see her perform live. I had scrounged up enough money to buy nosebleed seats, the stage was a tiny dot on the horizon, but I didn’t care. The sound of the crowd faded away as the lights dimmed and she hit that stage. No, not just hit the stage, but pulverized it. Her hits were there, her comedy bits were there, her racy jokes were there, her backup group The Harlettes were there. Was this real? Was I breathing? She spoiled me for any future concerts where the star of the show doesn’t quite sound like the recording. She was the real deal, only better. I returned the next night, having to sit in even worse seats. With that performance, she went from being an obsession to being an inspiration. She was there to do her job, not giving a rat’s ass what anyone else had to say about her. She was a star, didn’t matter where she came from, didn’t matter what she looked like, didn’t matter. At that moment, I realized that nothing was holding me back from taking the spotlight but myself. Growing up in ultra-conservative Orange County, not only was my ethnicity considered a limitation but so was my mom’s single parent working three jobs income, not to mention the absence of gay role models – I didn’t even dare think the word much less live it. Bette made me realize all these limitations were all my own, I didn’t have to abide by them. As dramatic and gay as it may seem, she is responsible for my emerging from the shadows and taking the mic. Though I had done school shows and sang at church, a role in entertainment was never really a reality for me. Well, by the power of the Divine Miss M, screw that. I pivoted and from that moment on, have strived to make a strong voice for myself in the industry. Podcasting, writing, acting, and cabareting (is cabareting a word?) were there for the taking powered by the albums of Midler. Don’t care for my jazz hands? My high-pitched voice? My sense of humor? In the words of Bette, “shut your hole, honey, mine’s making money.”

It was only later in life that I would learn to what extent Bette was a diva of our community. After enjoying a modest career on Broadway, she started singing in the Continental Baths, a gay bathhouse in the Ansonia Hotel, in 1970. There she would build the foundation for her true fandom, earning her the name Bathhouse Betty. Her accompanist? Barry Manilow, who went on to produce her first album. Even through the AIDS crisis, she was at the forefront of the gay liberation movement, proud of her fanbase. Her voice has never waivered when it has come to our community, whether it’s by raising money for our causes, using her platform to protest injustices, or even attacking Trump on Twitter, she is our gal. If that wasn’t gay enough, how about the fact she said yes to Hocus Pocus 2? Yep, pretty gay.

Wondering where the time went, I realized that I haven’t taken the stage with a cabaret in four years. Thank you COVID, thank you busy life, thank you procrastination. Now, with no excuses, I am excited to announce that I am returning to the stage in song. So, of course, who would be better to celebrate my return with (also gaining that extra boost of confidence) than with the music of Bette Midler? To spare the audience yet another rendition of “Wind Beneath My Wings” or “The Rose,” I have chosen to perform her lesser-known or lesser-performed hits from her varied career. I’ve even uncovered some jewels, like her ode to men in black leather. Join me and GED Magazine on Friday, February 3^rd, as I take the stage of Oscar’s Downtown Palm Springs at 7 pm to share some (almost) too-hard-to-believe stories from my life set to the music of The Divine Miss M. You Bette your bottom dollar it will be irreverent, it will be tipsy. www.OscarsPalmSprings.com