Long live the Glitter King

By John Katsilometes

Tuesday, Nov. 10, 1998 | 9:39 a.m.

A decade after his death, the gowns still dazzle. The pianos still glitter. The rings -- dozens of them, encrusted with baubles the size of jawbreakers -- still illuminate a room.

The legacy, too, shines as brilliantly as ever. Self-effacing, self-indulgent and hopelessly ostentatious to the end, Wladziu Valentino Liberace is still an undeniably popular and money-making Las Vegas entertainer.

"Liberace, as an artist, is timeless," Arny Schorr, vice-president of Rhino Home Video, said. "He was truly Mr. Showmanship."

Schorr, however, is not a devout fan of Liberace, at least in a musical sense. Rather, he touts Liberace's proven selling power, which Rhino tapped into with its October release of three of the entertainment icon's more famous television specials.

Taped in the late '70s and early '80s, the set features a concert-savvy Liberace in full stage bravado:

There's "Leapin' Lizards It's Liberace," featuring guests Debbie Reynolds and (gulp) Phyllis Diller; "Liberace's Valentine's Day Special," in which the bejeweled pianist hams it up with equally glittery guests Sandy Duncan and Lola Falana; and "Liberace With The London Philharmonic," easily the most musically credible offering, recorded at London's Wendley Centre in 1983.

And as they say in the retail business, the product is moving.

"We don't have specific numbers yet, but it's selling well, exceptionally well," Schorr said. "It's selling well in the short term and it will sell in the long term. Quality is quality, entertainment is entertainment, and this is a guaranteed seller."

That Rhino linked itself with a garish entertainer who arrived on the Las Vegas scene more than a half-century ago speaks volumes about Liberace's undying power to draw an audience.

"We're an eclectic company," Schorr said. "Rhino, basically, is an archivist for the recording of the past for the future. But we know what sells. There's nothing arcane about our decisions."

The company's video and CD releases -- typically targeting a younger demographic -- have included a collection of offbeat artists ranging from Soupy Sales to the Dead Kennedys. Embracing a tongue-in-cheek approach to merchandising, Rhino packaged the Liberace set in a sparkled box topped by a pop-up card with Liberace high-stepping across piano keys.

"We thought it would be appropriate, coming up with grandiose packaging," Schorr said. "We thought it was befitting of him."

A question for the ages

But why has Liberace's legend refused to subside?

"I think there are many reasons to look at, but the big one I think is the museum," said Jamie James, Liberace's publicist from 1967 until the entertainer's death in February 1987. "Everything that made Lee what he was is on display at the museum for everyone to see, how he lived, and it's a very popular attraction."

The Liberace Museum at 1775 E. Tropicana Ave., which celebrates its 20th birthday in April 1999, is more popular than ever. More than a quarter-million wide-eyed visitors strolled through the museum's three buildings in 1997, and attendance has been climbing at about 5 percent annually for the past five years.

"When people see the collection, it sparks their interest and their curiosity," said James, who is based in Los Angeles and is the museum's director of public relations. "They begin to realize how popular he was, that he was the highest-paid pianist in the world, and that will impress anybody."

As will the items. Among Liberace's personal belongings on display are the world's largest rhinestone (a 115,000-carat bauble as large as a volleyball, priced at $50,000), a mirror-plated Rolls Royce and matching grand piano, and rings bearing seemingly every jewel known to man.

And the costumes, most of which look like Sgt. Pepper uniforms dipped in a rhinestone batter, are themselves an assault on the senses.

There's a mink stage costume decorated with 100,000 rhinestones and three giant diamond buttons priced at $750,000; a pearl-covered gown worn at the 1984 World's Fair in New Orleans that weighs more than 200 pounds; a sequined Uncle Sam outfit (with striped hot pants in place of slacks) unveiled at a Bicentennial performance; and a gold lame jacket he donned at his opening night performance at the Riviera in 1955, which first sparked his interest in dazzling attire.

"The costumes were part of his popularity, his charm, and he wanted to be noticed for that," said Will Collins, who has performed as Liberace since the early '80s and owns four authentic Liberace costumes. "People say he was tacky, and he was, but that's what Vegas is all about. He knew that and was way ahead of his time."

At the museum, Liberace's flamboyance is timeless and spans generations. More and more, younger people who might consider the stage gear worn by Elvis Presley, Freddie Mercury or Elton John outlandish are venturing into the museum to witness the wardrobe and personal property of the man who first made "gauche" a trademark.

"I don't know anything about him. He's not my era," said Barry Sallie, 33, who recently traveled from Dover, N.J. to Las Vegas and visited the museum. "But my uncle is a fan and he told me this is a must-see experience."

Sallie and his 29-year-old wife, Pam, said they knew little about Liberace's life or career before deciding to tour the museum.

"I know he was a great entertainer, and he had a lot of gold," Pam Sallie said. "I want to see the mirrored piano."

Twenty-five-year-old visitors John Kofron and Faye Anderson of Flagstaff, Ariz., paid an impromptu visit to the Liberace shrine en route to a Phish concert at the Thomas & Mack Center.

"This is a lark for us," Kofron said. "We were just driving up the street and thought we'd do something crazy. This guy, he was crazy."

Anderson said her interest in the museum was piqued by a warts-and-all biography of Liberace that aired on the E! cable network in September.

"He's a guy who was an original, that's for sure," she said. "He helped inspire a lot of younger entertainers. A lot of this stuff looks like Elton John."

Making himself noticed

As the Rhino set reveals, Liberace's wardrobe, Rolls Royces and flashy pianos were as much part of his stage performance as his musical virtuosity. The absence of actual piano playing in Liberace's performances is palpable.

In "Leapin' Lizards It's Liberace," the show strays far from classical musicianship and includes diversions such as lengthy discussion about the host's spectacular outfit.

"Do you like the outfit?" is one time-tested line. "I hope so. You paid for it."

There's also a classic dance number featuring Debbie Reynolds cutting loose with a half-dozen polyester-clad Denny Terrio lookalikes (a piece of entertainment history that should never be repeated), a performance by Taiwanese acrobats (you remember the kids spinning dinner plates with long poles), and a few obligatory "I'm-so-ugly" jokes from lounge veteran Diller.

In "Liberace's Valentine's Day Special," the host ignores the piano almost totally. Instead, he takes us on a videotaped tour of his museum and home and goofs off with Falana and Duncan before striding aboard the Queen Mary for a brief performance.

"He wanted to create a total entertainment experience," James said. "That's why there was so much variety, and why he dressed like he did. He didn't want to bore people."

However, there is a nod to Liberace's artistry in, "Liberace with the Philharmonic Orchestra." At the start, a bemused Liberace recites his famous line, "People always ask me how I can play with all these rings. I say, 'Very well, thank you.' "

He then explains how he'd always wanted to perform live with the London Philharmonic. What follows is an hour of mostly uninterrupted music, ranging from Strauss to Sondheim and even including a rousing rendition of "Chopsticks."

Seated in the background, the usually stodgy orchestra musicians can be seen wearing wide smiles. If they thought this guy was a hack, they masked it very well.

"It really ticks me off that people deride his musical skills," James said. "It makes me mad when somebody goes into that. When he really wanted to play, he could."

James recalls a Liberace appearance on "The Mike Douglas Show," in which he was scheduled to appear with an 11-year-old protege and perform a complicated Mendelssohn piece.

"He practiced for eight hours for that one show," James said. "He didn't want to miss a note, because he knew he'd be remembered for that, and he played flawlessly."

But Collins says Liberace chose to be known as an entertainer first, then a pianist.

"He knew just performing as a classical pianist wasn't going to work here, and a lot of musical purists were critical of him," Collins said. "But he had to do more than just play, and that's why he's still a part of pop culture."

Collins meets all varieties of Liberace fans -- and many detractors. During a recent performance for conventioneers at the spacious Las Vegas Villa (Liberace's former home), a few men in the audience wore horror-stricken expressions, looking like they'd rather be riding in a carriage to hell than participating in a faux-Liberace concert.

But Collins usually brings them around. After two numbers, the crowd of around 200 seemed ready to conga out to the parking log.

"It becomes fun," Collins said. "He was a very fun, and funny, entertainer. No matter how you felt about him when the show started, you couldn't help but smile at him at the end."

James recalls sitting in a Hollywood Bowl audience soon after being hired by Liberace in the late '60s.

"I was behind two couples, and the men were being really viscous, calling him a queer and this and that," James said. "I was feeling really awkward, but by the end of the show they were the first to give him a standing ovation."

The real "Lee"

Conscious of his lasting legacy and always eager to involve the public in his success, Liberace instituted the Liberace Foundation for the Performing and Creative Arts in 1976. A benefactor of scholarship-funded musical tutelage, Liberace formed the foundation to assist musically gifted young people.

With money raised at the nonprofit Liberace Museum, the Liberace estate has awarded more than $3.5 million in scholarship grants to nearly 100 universities, schools and organizations.

"He always said that he had a lot of ideas, but the museum and foundation were the only things that worked out perfectly as planned," James said. "He always considered himself just a caretaker of the wealth he earned during his life."

Collins said fans rarely got a glimpse of the "real" Liberace, a tough-minded but kindhearted businessman who shed his flashy stage image when the curtain dropped.

"I only saw him really angry a few times, and it was always about his career, if he was working harder than a particular performer and wasn't earning as much," James said. "He saw that as unfair, and he was a very fair person."

And a different person when not on stage.

"He created an image, but he was very shy and even sloppy off stage," James said. "He'd wear the same jump suit for two weeks and was totally unglamorous off stage.

"I'd compare him to Mae West in the sense that he was opposite his image. Mae West was a real health food nut in person who was very polite, but on stage was a total slut who drank and smoked and used profanity."

James also said Liberace was deceptively strong-willed.

"He had this image, but he was no sissy," James said. "You have to be a pretty strong, brave person to wear what he wore and act like he did during those days. You had to have guts, believe me."

Collins, considered the "official" Liberace tribute act by the Las Vegas Villa, is mindful of Liberace's efforts to protect and maintain his image.

"I met him one time, and he was quite taken aback," Collins said. "I think he realized he'd become a caricature of himself. The only thing he asked me was to please be kind."

Indeed, in observing the continued allure of Liberace's career, it is obvious that making fun of him is pointless. Why make fun of a man whose entire career was based on self-mockery?

"People who are critical of him don't understand that he knew exactly what they were thinking, and he played to that," James said. "He was always in on the joke."

Still is, in fact.