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I need a man eartha kitt

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Take a note from the most iconic stars of yesterday-quite literally. Words to Live By is a compilation of the most memorable quotes from Old Hollywood on love, style, life, and more. From her numerous Tony Award nominations to her iconic portrayal of Catwoman in the Batman franchise, Eartha Kitt dominated the entertainment and film industry for nearly six decades. Her big break came via her hit single "Santa Baby" in , which not only cemented her celebrity status, but landed her a permanent spot on every Christmas playlist. Despite the prejudice of the era, Kitt always remained optimistic and true to both herself and her beliefs.

SEE VIDEO BY TOPIC: Eartha Kitt - Where Is My Man - Joe T. Vanelli Attack mix

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SEE VIDEO BY TOPIC: Eartha Kitt - I Love Men 1984 Long version

Words To Live By: Eartha Kitt

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I wanted to see where Eartha Mae came from, to travel the roads she walked upon. Her hometown is two hours southeast of mine, so I drove, letting the singer play me into the town of North, South Carolina. By then, Eartha Kitt had been dead for a decade, but as I listened to her voice, she was alive, wry and spry, her trilling voice singing about her champagne tastes, which happen to be out of the price range of her potential suitor, who only has beer bottle money.

I wanted to better understand Eartha Mae, who set out from her hometown hoping to find something better than picking cotton on the plantation where she was born. My goal was to see through the innuendos she used as a distraction and focus on the woman behind that controlled vibrato who wrestled with who she was and where she was from. Eartha Kitt was a diva—outspoken, provocative, seductive, and sophisticated.

I believed Eartha Mae was a chameleon—becoming whatever the world needed her to be in order to survive. I n her prime, Eartha Kitt became an icon. She danced with the Katherine Dunham Company before becoming a cabaret singer and actress. She visited one hundred and eight countries, performing songs in more than ten languages. From the start, she defied the archetypes often ascribed to black women of her time: jezebel, maid, cook, slave, or tragic mulatto.

During her five-decade career she won several Emmys and was nominated for a Grammy and two Tonys. I recently polled a handful of friends on their impressions of Eartha Kitt. A couple knew that in she was blacklisted by the CIA for making a critical comment about U. The event was billed as a conversation about how to fix juvenile delinquency, but no one was talking about the topic at hand.

When the moment presented itself, Kitt broached the subject. You send the best of this country off to be shot and maimed. They rebel in the street. They will take pot and they will get high. The move cemented her position as an activist but endangered her career. Kitt was a black woman stating her opinion to a white woman in arguably the most important building in the country.

After the luncheon, government officials started frequenting the places Kitt was set to perform, intent on digging up dirt for a dossier on the performer, making venue owners so nervous they canceled her domestic appearances, which forced her to perform abroad where her anti-war stance was accepted.

Few of my friends knew of her meager beginnings or her triumphant return to the United States, where she was welcomed back to the White House by then president Jimmy Carter. On move-in day, portraits of history-making African-American women lined the hallway from the elevator to our dorm rooms. In the posed portrait from the s she is looking off camera, her torso tilted forward, hair expertly coiffed in a series of loose curls. She wears a strapless black dress with a sweetheart neckline, her left hand propped on her hip showing off the large ring on her middle finger, her right hand just out of the frame.

Lips pursed to be slightly provocative, eyes defiant, the interplay of shadow and light across her collarbones juxtaposed with the arch of her eyebrows. Her curves made me walk a little taller every time I passed by. The same photo is on the cover of her studio album That Bad Eartha, but instead of the depiction being in black and white, it is black and fuchsia, her skin awash in the hot pink hue, an indication of the supernatural force she would soon become.

I wanted to be her, even though I also felt an affinity for Billie Holiday. My RA, Reagan, a proud black woman with shoulder-length dreadlocks from a town not far from North, where Eartha Kitt grew up, told me everything she knew about Eartha, emphasizing that talented girls from small towns can make it, too.

I wanted desperately to be an artist, but having economic ambitions and making art felt mutually exclusive. My ancestral hometown of Silverstreet, South Carolina, was an industrial and agricultural boomtown gone bust, and it needed somebody who could bring back money and skills.

I felt that the women on the walls had more ambition and creativity than I did, and I knew that being an artist might bring me more heartache than I could stand. So, I buried my creativity and left the South for college, only to find that Eartha followed me.

In she found me in the middle of the night in my dorm room, unable to sleep, crouched over my laptop lurking on the earliest iteration of what would become YouTube.

She sings like a classy lady down on her luck, a little shy about her situation but resourceful enough to work with what she has. Listening to Eartha sing, I was unprepared for the scope and depth of the nostalgia that washed over me. The lyrics unlocked my longing to make art that moved people, and I played the song on repeat before going down the rabbit hole of trying to understand someone I wanted to emulate—the seeming effortlessness of her performance and the way she knew how to build intimacy with her listener.

Eartha Kitt shaped the way I thought of the world and what art could do for it. I remembered what Reagan told me: Black girls from small towns could make it after all.

So I committed myself to being an artist. After college I moved to New York City and attended graduate school. In , I moved back to my hometown of Spartanburg, hoping my ambitions might make economic sense there. O ver the years, I read the three autobiographies and one retrospective Eartha Kitt penned during her lifetime. I listened to every single song of hers I could get my hands on.

I scoured the internet for videos of her performances. One conversation with a journalist forever endeared her to me: a snippet from the documentary All By Myself: The Eartha Kitt Story. She lets him ramble for a moment, trying to rephrase the inflammatory and intimate inquiry while she sips something out of a silver tumbler.

Tired of his line of questioning, she finally counters. She gives the interviewer an incredulous stare before changing her demeanor. She glances back and forth from the camera to the reverie she was in a few minutes earlier, as if she is watching the memory trail away. She averts her gaze and looks down. When she looks into the camera again, she is wearing another mood, the one most audiences recognize—the sophisticated, seductive, feline-like lady who sings cabaret. She looks up at the sky and places her left hand in her hair.

She arches her back and tilts her neck, eyes upward before the video ends, awkwardly freezing on the final frame. Why would a woman like Eartha, a woman who had survived so much bad, feel the need to compromise? This summer, when I left my house for North, I was on a mission to unify the Eartha Kitt of my imagination with Eartha Mae, the young girl who walked the strawberry blond roads of her hometown, so forsaken that, according to her autobiographies, she only felt truly at home in the wilderness.

I had also written to relatives who held her precious memories, but those messages, too, went unanswered. I decided to visit the one place I knew I could find parts of her: North, South Carolina, touted as her hometown. She may have actually been born in the jurisdiction of St. I made my way down I, past the neat rows of trimmed oak trees and freshly mown grass. It was late July, but the leaves had already started to brown on the trees, the result of too much water at the wrong time.

I knew that this meant fall would be early this year, and the trees would soon lose their coverings. My playlist flipped through a number of jazz standards Eartha Kitt was known for. The countryside along Highway was a pastiche of rusting fences, houses with junkyards in the front and roadside chapels that on Sundays would be so filled with praise that the service could wash all of your cares away.

Several miles later, the pine trees fell away and the turquoise sky wore its big, round clouds like pearls. These days, soybeans have usurped wheat as the crop of the moment and the fields are pea green, the plants bowing under the weight of their fruit. As I drove down Savannah Highway, the trees closed in again. I moved down the road this way, ever conscious of the expanding and contracting. The area around here is filled with millponds, little lakes, and state roads with numbers but no names.

When I got into town, I noticed the railroad tracks running parallel to Main Street—North, population as of , became an incorporated town in the s, when the South Bound Railway Company built a depot there. The railroad tracks appeared to still be in use, perhaps all that is left of the initially lucrative cotton industry that put the town on the map. Farther down the street the sign for the Williston Telephone Company swung listlessly in the heady midday heat.

Over to my right, across the railroad tracks, a hearse sat in the front yard of the funeral home. North, as she portrayed it in her memoirs, was a brutal, unyielding place where chain gangs working on the roads were the norm, booze and violence were mainstays, and she was often so starved for food and affection that she turned to eating raw sweet potatoes, which left a black ring around her mouth.

I drove away from the main thoroughfare, and the landscape changed from the wide, pristine houses at the center of town to smaller, squat brick houses. Ochre-red rusted roofs popped up less than a mile outside of town.

As the kudzu crept out of the forest and started to cover everything in its path, the houses got older—the planks graying, the structures swaying. The marsh emerged from behind a wall of impermeable pine. I got out of my car at the edge of the marsh, and the dirt path that led back to the highway was the color of a flesh wound that refuses to heal.

I walked to where the water met the sand, feeling my footsteps force the earth underneath my soles to acknowledge my weight and give way. The sound disturbed a great blue heron who took off in search of a quieter space.

A great sense of sadness came over me as I looked out over the dead, bleached, bone-colored oak trees. For years Eartha Mae was abused by the family that kept her, and she believed her prayers went unanswered in the way she needed them to be.

Reprieve came when a relative in New York sent for her. Someone at her church saw the way Eartha Mae was treated and wrote to the only kin they knew she had. A month later Eartha was loaded on a train with a couple of catfish sandwiches, on her way to Manhattan.

It would take years for Eartha Mae to become Eartha Kitt, and it would be more than a decade before she saw North, South Carolina, again. It was as if the locals could smell the Upstate red clay on me, like something immediately indicated I was different.

The young folks I met in restaurants were friendly enough, but they were daydreaming about being somewhere else. They were trying to get out of North. I was trying to break in.

All she had were sketchy memories, stories transmitted in hushed tones, and hints from adults who never had the intention of telling her the whole truth. I try not to think much about miscegenation, but it troubles the edges of my life. There were eleven documented lynchings in Orangeburg County before , an effort to make sure that black people knew their place and stayed in line. With a drop of black blood in her veins, white people had no want for her.

I walked through town carrying some of the unease she must have felt. I could only find record of Eartha returning to North twice.

Where Is My Man?

All libraries are closed until further notice. No late fines will be assessed for overdue items, and you can return materials when libraries reopen. COVID response and resources. Eartha Kitt was born on January 17, Kitt was a singer, dancer, and actress whose unusual voice and striking features kept her in the public eye for more than sixty years.

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I wanted to see where Eartha Mae came from, to travel the roads she walked upon. Her hometown is two hours southeast of mine, so I drove, letting the singer play me into the town of North, South Carolina. By then, Eartha Kitt had been dead for a decade, but as I listened to her voice, she was alive, wry and spry, her trilling voice singing about her champagne tastes, which happen to be out of the price range of her potential suitor, who only has beer bottle money. I wanted to better understand Eartha Mae, who set out from her hometown hoping to find something better than picking cotton on the plantation where she was born. My goal was to see through the innuendos she used as a distraction and focus on the woman behind that controlled vibrato who wrestled with who she was and where she was from.

Eartha Kitt on Love and Compromise

I don't wanna be alon, where is my baby? I don't wanna be alone, where is my man? I spend hours by the phone, where is my baby? I chew my fingers to the bone, where is my man? I need a man who can take me Then taunt me and make me Buy the things that I so richly deserve A man who knows what I require Is the things that I desire Is there anyone out there who has the nerve? Where is my baby? He can't be far Look for an Ascot, a big cigar Tell him to find me, send his car to this address I have to stress, I need him now.

That Time Eartha Kitt Fought Jackée Harry Over a Man

I don't wanna be alon, where is my baby? I don't wanna be alone, where is my man? I spend hours by the phone, where is my baby? I chew my fingers to the bone, where is my man? I need a man who can take me Then taunt me and make me Buy the things that I so richly deserve A man who knows what I require Is the things that I desire Is there anyone out there who has the nerve?

I don't wanna be alone, where is my baby? I don't wanna be alone, where is my man?

When New Faces of , a revue celebrating fresh talent, opened on Broadway, the New York Times critic Brooks Atkinson stated, "Eartha Kitt not only looks incendiary but she can make a song burst into flame. Orson Welles went further, calling her, "the most exciting woman on earth". He had backed up his opinion by featuring her in a play he produced in the French capital, and is alleged to have had a torrid affair with her some years later. It is easy to understand the impact Kitt had, for there had never been a performer quite like her.

Where Is My Man

Eartha Mae Kitt January 17, — December 25, was an American singer, actress, and cabaret star. She was perhaps best known for her highly distinctive singing style and her hit recordings of "C'est Si Bon" and the enduring Christmas novelty smash "Santa Baby". Orson Welles once called her the "most exciting woman in the world. Forgot your password?

Skip to main content. You have exceeded the maximum number of MP3 items in your MP3 cart. Please click here to manage your MP3 cart content. Where Is My Man feat. Eartha Kitt [Simone Vitullo Remix].

Music Memories: Eartha Kitt

The song was co-written by comedy writer Bruce Vilanch [1] along with musicians and producers Fred Zarr and Jacques Morali. The song was first released in France as a single where it was wildly successful. The song features Kitt singing in a low, seductive-sounding voice. Included in the song are some sounds that have come to be associated with Kitt, including a purring sound similar to one she made while portraying Catwoman on the s TV series Batman. The title failed to find release in the United States until the producers' attorneys the firm of Grubman, Indursky, Shindler introduced the title to their client, New York based Streetwise Records.

Jun 12, - Eartha Kitt Couldn't Stop Laughing When Asked If She'd Compromise For A Man. “We must think about that one again,” she told an interviewer.

Yes she is right. I could see myself in Eartha. Love pushed me to be anything and I have never gained it from any one not even a girl friend talkless of man friend, except from God.

Eartha Kitt - Where Is My Man ? Lyrics

Mais acessadas de Eartha Kitt. My Discarded Men Eartha Kitt. I'd like to tell a little story Thats been told time and time again About the foolish men who chased me My discarded men They used to tell me they loved me But i knew better than them I'd find them looking around the corner My discarded men Piercing eyes with a vension Tell them to count to ten They'd bribe me with their diamonds My discarded men Telephone calls in the evening They'd drive me round the bend Cavayar champagne and roses From my discarded men Chased me after a fashion I could never pretend No substitute for passion My discarded men You think you can thrill me Ha ha ha You can think again Watch out or you might become One of my discarded men whisteling I'd like to dress up in sequins And treat myself now and then Perhaps i'll give a little favor To one of my discarded men Ha ha ha You think you can win me And be my special friend Just take a tip from the others Grrrrrrr My discarded men whisteling and laughing My discarded men laughing.

Eartha Kitt's daughter has revealed that the singer died without knowing the identity of her white father, after being denied the truth by officials in the American Deep South. Kitt's extraordinary life and elusive past has come under the spotlight five years after her death, with publication of a biography called America's Mistress: Eartha Kitt, Her Life and Times by British journalist John Williams. The world-famous singer came from a dirt-poor background and only found out her date of birth when she was

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Comments: 5
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