Bennett Lester Carter (August 8, 1907 – July 12, 2003) was an American jazz… Read Full Bio ↴Bennett Lester Carter (August 8, 1907 – July 12, 2003) was an American jazz alto saxophonist, trumpeter, composer, arranger, and bandleader. He was a major figure in jazz from the 1930s to the 1990s, and was recognised as such by other jazz musicians who called him King.

As a youth, Carter lived in Harlem around the corner from Bubber Miley who was Duke Ellington's star trumpeter. Carter was inspired by Miley and bought a trumpet, but when he found he couldn't play like Miley he traded the trumpet in for a saxophone.

Carter began playing professionally at 15. He first recorded in 1928 and formed his first big band the following year. He played with Fletcher Henderson in 1930 and 1931, then briefly led McKinney's Cotton Pickers before returning to lead his own band in 1932. The few recordings his band made between 1933 and 1934 are considered by most jazz scholars to be milestones in early swing arranging. They were sophisticated and very complex arrangements, and a number of them became swing standards which were performed by other bands ("Blue Lou" is a great example of this.) He also arranged for Henderson and Duke Ellington during these years and wrote two hits, "Blues in My Heart" and "When Lights are Low." By the early 1930s he and Johnny Hodges were considered the leading alto players of the day. Carter also quickly became a leading trumpet soloist, having rediscovered the instrument. He recorded extensively on trumpet in the 1930s. Also, in 1933, Carter took part in an amazing series of sessions that featured the British band leader Spike Hughes, who came to New York specifically to organize a series of recordings featuring the best Black musicians available. These 14 sides were only issued in England at that time, though they are available on CD and worthwhile looking for. (The musicians were mainly made up from member of Carter's band and from Luis Russell's.)

In 1935 he moved to Europe, where he became staff arranger for the British Broadcasting Corporation dance orchestra and made several records. He returned to the United States in 1938 and led a big band and sextet before moving to Los Angeles in 1943 to write for movie studios. Carter continued writing and performing into his 90s. He arranged for Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles, Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee, and Sarah Vaughan, among many others.

His biggest hit was "Cow Cow Boogie", a song he co-wrote with Don Raye and Gene DePaul, which was a hit for Ella Mae Morse in 1942.

In the 1940s and 1950s, Carter was one of the first black men to compose music for films. He was an inspiration and a mentor for Quincy Jones when Jones began writing for television and films in the 1960s. Also in the 1940s, Carter's successful legal battles in order to obtain housing in then-exclusive neighborhoods in the Los Angeles area made him a pioneer in an entirely different area.

He also appears uncredited in the 1952 film, The Snows of Kilimanjaro, as a sax player.

Carter was admired for his ability to write saxophone solis, which are sections of music that the entire section plays as one unit in the manner of a solo.

Carter was a member of the music advisory panel of the National Endowment for the Arts. He was also a member of the Black Film Makers' Hall of Fame and in 1980 received the Golden Score award of the American Society of Music Arrangers. Carter was also a Kennedy Center Honoree in 1996 and received honorary doctorates from Princeton, Harvard, Rutgers, and the New England Conservatory.

He died, aged 95, at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles of what is thought to have been bronchitis.

You're the Top
Benny Carter Lyrics

Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best,
Instead of getting 'em off my chest,
To let 'em rest unexpressed.
I hate parading my serenading
As I'll probably miss a bar,
But if this ditty is not so pretty,
At least it'll tell you how great you are.

You're the top! You're the Colosseum,
You're the top! You're the Louvre Museum,
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss,
You're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeart sonnet,
You're Mickey Mouse.
You're the Nile, You're the Tow'r of Pisa,
You're the smile on the Mona Lisa.
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

Your words poetic are not pathetic
On the other hand, boy, you shine
And I can feel after every line
A thrill divine down my spine.
Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans
Might think that your song is bad,
But for a person who's just rehearsin'
Well I gotta say this my lad:

You're the top! You're Mahatma Ghandi.
You're the top! You're Napolean brandy.
You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain,
You're the National Gall'ry, You're Garbo's sal'ry,
You're cellophane.
You're sublime, You're a turkey dinner.
You're the time of the Derby winner.
I'm a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop.
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

You're the top! You're a Ritz hot toddy.
You're the top! You're a Brewster body.
You're the boats that glide on the sleepy Zuider Zee,
You're a Nathan Panning, You're Bishop Manning,
You're broccoli.
You're a prize, You're a night at Coney,
You're the eyes of Irene Bordoni,
I'm a broken doll, a fol-de-rol, a blop,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top.

You're the top! You're an Arrow collar.
You're the top! You're a Coolidge dollar.
You're the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire,
You're an O'Neill drama, You're Whistler's mama,
You're Camembert.
You're a rose, You're Inferno's Dante,
You're the nost of the great Durante.
I'm just in the way, as the French would say
"De trop,"
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top.

You're the top! You're a Waldorf salad.
You're the top! You're a Berlin ballad.
You're a baby grand of a lady and a gent.
You're an old dutch master, You're Mrs. Aster,
You're Pepsodent.
You're romance, You're the steppes of Russia,
You're the pants on a Roxy usher.
I'm a lazy lout that's just about to stop,
But if Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

You're the top! You're a dance in Bali.
You're the top! You're a hot tamale.
You're an angel, you simply too, too, too divine,
You're a Botticelli, You're Keats, You're Shelley,
You're Ovaltine.
You're a boon, You're the dam at Boulder,
You're the moon over Mae West's shoulder.
I'm a nominee of the G.O.P. or GOP,
But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

You're the top! You're the Tower of Babel.
You're the top! You're the Whitney Stable.
By the River Rhine, You're a sturdy stein of beer,
You're a dress from Saks's, You're next year's taxes,'
You're stratosphere.
You're my thoist, You're a Drumstick Lipstick,
You're the foist in the Irish svipstick,
I'm a frightened frog that can find no log to hop,

But if, Baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top!

Overall Meaning

In Benny Carter's song You're the Top, the singer expresses their admiration for the person they are addressing by listing all the things that are considered to be the best or most excellent in their respective categories and comparing them to that person. The singer admits that they themselves are not worthy of the person's attention, describing themselves as a "worthless check, a total wreck, a flop." However, they are determined to express their admiration in the best way they can and compare the person to many amazing things like the Colosseum, the Mona Lisa, Mahatma Ghandi, and even Ovaltine.

Through this song, Benny Carter beautifully captures the emotions of deep admiration and love for someone. He compares his love interest to everything that is considered to be the best and most excellent, thus showing that their love is beyond ordinary measures. The lyrics not only express the admiration of the singer but also exalt the person they sing to the highest imaginable level. It is a beautiful and emotional tribute to one's beloved.

Line by Line Meaning

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
My poetic abilities are inadequate

That I always have found it best, Instead of getting 'em off my chest, To let 'em rest unexpressed.
So rather than expressing my own poetic abilities, I prefer to not express myself.

I hate parading my serenading As I'll probably miss a bar, But if this ditty is not so pretty, At least it'll tell you how great you are.
I don't typically like to sing for others, as I don't want to have any missteps, but in this case I'll make an exception so that I can tell you how great you truly are.

Your words poetic are not pathetic On the other hand, boy, you shine And I can feel after every line A thrill divine down my spine. Now gifted humans like Vincent Youmans Might think that your song is bad, But for a person who's just rehearsin' Well I gotta say this my lad:
Your poetic words are anything but pathetic; rather, they are dazzling and radiate an inner light that excites my every fiber. Even so, some of the most gifted artists of our time might consider your song poor. However, for me, and my current state of rehearsals, I must declare that it is excellent, my dear friend.

You're the top! You're Mahatma Ghandi. You're the top! You're Napolean brandy. You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain, You're the National Gall'ry, You're Garbo's sal'ry, You're cellophane. You're sublime, You're a turkey dinner. You're the time of the Derby winner. I'm a toy balloon that is fated soon to pop. But if, Baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!
You surpass even the greatest of men, such as Mahatma Gandhi and the finest Napolean Brandies. You resemble the beautiful summer nights in Spain, and hold the same glory as the National Gallery or Garbo's salary. You are as both unique and transparent as cellophane. You transcend our world and offer a divine experience comparable to a perfectly roasted turkey dinner. You resemble the thrill of the winning horse in the Derby. I am nothing more than a balloon fated to burst, but if I had to be nothing, then you're the top of the tops!

You're the top! You're an Arrow collar. You're the top! You're a Coolidge dollar. You're the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire, You're an O'Neill drama, You're Whistler's mama, You're Camembert. You're a rose, You're Inferno's Dante, You're the nost of the great Durante. I'm just in the way, as the French would say 'De trop', But if, Baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top.
You are more prestigious than an Arrow collar or even a Coolidge dollar. Your talents could give Fred Astaire a run for his money, and you even have the importance of an O'Neill drama, the class of Whistler's mother, and the deliciousness of Camembert cheese. You are both soft like a rose and just as illustrious as Dante's Inferno. You are the greatest example of greatness possible, even compared to the great Jimmy Durante. I am more akin to being in the way, as the French would say, but if I had to be nothing, then you'd be the top of it all.

You're the top! You're a Waldorf salad. You're the top! You're a Berlin ballad. You're a baby grand of a lady and a gent. You're an old dutch master, You're Mrs. Aster, You're Pepsodent. You're romance, You're the steppes of Russia, You're the pants on a Roxy usher. I'm a lazy lout that's just about to stop, But if Baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!
You are the height of elegance and taste, even more so than a Waldorf salad and even the most beautiful Berlin ballad. You have both the grace and grandeur of a baby grand piano, fit for a lady or gentleman. You are as classic and priceless as an old Dutch Master, Mrs. Aster, or even Pepsodent. You are the embodiment of romance, and the grandeur of the Russian steppes, and even the pants of the Roxy usher cannot compare to your excellence. I am a mere lazybones, and on my worst day only near the bottom. Even then, I know that you are truly the top!

You're the top! You're a dance in Bali. You're the top! You're a hot tamale. You're an angel, you simply too, too, too divine, You're a Botticelli, You're Keats, You're Shelley, You're Ovaltine. You're a boon, You're the dam at Boulder, You're the moon over Mae West's shoulder. I'm a nominee of the G.O.P. or GOP, But if, Baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!
You are as exotic as a Balinese dance and even hotter than any tamale. You are truly an angelic presence and evoke divine qualities beyond description, reminiscent of a Botticelli or the likes of Keats and Shelley. You bring out the best in others, much like a stele dam or the beautiful moon over Mae West's shoulder. I am merely a nominee of the G.O.P., or GOP, but even as I sit at my lowest point, I know that you are truly the top of the top!

You're the top! You're the Tower of Babel. You're the top! You're the Whitney Stable. By the River Rhine, You're a sturdy stein of beer, You're a dress from Saks's, You're next year's taxes,' You're stratosphere. You're my thoist, You're a Drumstick Lipstick, You're the foist in the Irish svipstick, I'm a frightened frog that can find no log to hop, But if, Baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!
You are as commanding and awe-inspiring as the Tower of Babel, the Whitney Stable, and the beautiful Rhine River. You are as strong and lasting as a stein of beer enjoyed by the river's edge. You have the grace and style of a dress from Saks, and the dominance of next year's taxes. You are as limitless as the stratosphere and more precious than my own voice. I am merely a scared frog that has no place to land, but if by chance I must be the lowest, then it's only because you are the definitive top!

Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Written by: Cole Porter

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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