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Andrew Lloyd Weber: CATS, Memory (arr. Richard Clayderman) sheet music, Noten, partitura, spartiti, 楽譜, 乐谱, piano solo.
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The Jellicle Choice: An Ode to Cats, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and the Eternal Power of “Memory”
To speak of modern musical theatre is to speak of Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber. And to speak of Andrew Lloyd Webber is, inevitably, to speak of Cats—a cultural behemoth that, for decades, held the title of the longest-running musical in both West End and Broadway history. More than just a show, Cats became a global phenomenon, a spectacle of dance, music, and imaginative design. And at the heart of its enduring, paradoxical appeal lies one of the most successful and beloved songs ever written for the stage: “Memory.” This is the story of that musical, that composer, and that singular song.
The Composer: Andrew Lloyd Webber and the Megamusical
Before there were felines dancing in a junkyard, there was a prodigiously talented composer from London. Born in 1948 into a musical family (his father was the Director of the London College of Music), Andrew Lloyd Webber’s destiny seemed preordained. His partnership with lyricist Tim Rice in the late 1960s and 70s yielded a string of groundbreaking hits: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Jesus Christ Superstar, and Evita. These works redefined the musical, blending rock and pop with classical themes and structures, moving away from the traditional Broadway model.
Lloyd Webber’s signature style emerged: a gift for soaring, memorable melodies, a mastery of leitmotif (assigning specific musical themes to characters or ideas), and a flair for the dramatic and spectacular. He wasn’t just writing songs; he was creating sonic landscapes for epic storytelling. This talent would find its ultimate expression in what became known as the “megamusical”—large-scale, often sung-through productions with massive sets and universal themes. Cats was the purest, and most unlikely, incarnation of this form.
The Musical: “Now and Forever” in a Jellicle Moonlight
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The source material was as bizarre a choice for a musical as one could imagine: Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats (1939), a collection of light verse by T.S. Eliot, the Nobel Prize-winning poet of The Waste Land. The poems are whimsical, quirky character sketches of cats with peculiar names and habits. There was no narrative, no plot, no romance—just felines.
Lloyd Webber, who had adored the poems since childhood, began setting them to music as a side project. The breakthrough came when he discovered a letter Eliot had written to his publisher mentioning a possible larger mythos for these cats, including a belief that a chosen cat could be reborn into a new life. This fragment of an idea provided the necessary dramatic arc: the Jellicle Ball, where the tribe of Jellicle Cats gathers each year to make the “Jellicle Choice,” and one cat is selected to ascend to the Heaviside Layer to be reborn.
Directed by Trevor Nunn, with revolutionary choreography by Gillian Lynne and now-iconic set and costume design by John Napier, Cats was a risk that paid off beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. It opened in London’s West End in 1981 to baffled but enthralled critics. It wasn’t a traditional book musical; it was a song-cycle, a pageant, a ballet set to music. The audience was transported into a towering junkyard set, and the fourth wall was obliterated as cats crawled through the aisles and interacted with the crowd. It was pure, immersive theatre.
The Song: “Memory” – The Heart of the Night
While the show was a feast for the senses, it lacked a central emotional core. The producers knew it. Lloyd Webber knew it. The musical needed a show-stopping ballad, a moment of profound vulnerability to contrast with the high-energy, athletic numbers like “The Rum Tum Tugger” or “Skimbleshanks.”
Lloyd Webber found the seed of the song in a different poem. While going through Eliot’s archives, he found a fragment of a poem called “Rhapsody on a Windy Night” that had been cut from the original publication. It contained the lines:
“The memory throws up high and dry / A crowd of twisted things… / A broken spring in a factory yard, / Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left / Hard and curled and ready to snap.”
This evocative imagery of decay, nostalgia, and longing became the lyrical foundation. The music itself was partially repurposed from a previous Lloyd Webber project, a requiem mass that was never completed. The melody for the climactic chorus (“Touch me, it’s so easy to leave me”) was originally intended as a setting of the “Pie Jesu” text. This divine origin perhaps explains the song’s almost spiritual, transcendent power.
The task of crafting the full lyrics fell to director Trevor Nunn. Under immense time pressure, he expanded Eliot’s fragments into a heartbreaking soliloquy for the faded glamour cat, Grizabella. The song is structured in three acts:
- Nostalgia and Loss (“Midnight…”): The opening verses are quiet, weary, and full of pain. Grizabella remembers her youth and beauty, contrasting it with her current state of isolation and decay. The imagery is of a cold, lonely night.
- Desperate Plea (“Memory, all alone in the moonlight…”): The chorus builds from a reflective state to a powerful cry of anguish. She isn’t just remembering; she is begging her memories to bring back the happiness she once knew.
- Rebirth and Hope (“Touch me…”): The final, explosive iteration of the chorus changes key and becomes a plea not to the past, but to the present. It’s a demand for connection, for forgiveness, for a chance to start anew. This cathartic release is what ultimately convinces the Jellicle cats to choose her for rebirth.
“Memory” gave Grizabella a soul, and in doing so, gave the entire musical its heart. It transformed her from a creepy outcast into a symbol of regret, hope, and redemption that every audience member could understand.
The Performers and The Legacy
The song’s power is inseparable from its interpreters. Elaine Paige, the original West End Grizabella, cemented her status as a First Lady of musical theatre with her definitive, emotionally raw performance. Betty Buckley, who took on the role for the Broadway premiere, brought a different, hauntingly vulnerable quality that became iconic in its own right. Barbra Streisand, Barry Manilow, and Johnny Mathis were among the countless artists who rushed to record cover versions, catapulting “Memory” to the top of pop charts worldwide—a rare feat for a show tune.
The legacy of Cats is complex. While its initial run was historic, later revivals and the infamous 2019 film adaptation have led to reassessment. Critics often dismiss its perceived lack of substance. Yet, its impact is undeniable. It proved that musical theatre could be a global export, a blockbuster event. It brought a new generation into theatres and demonstrated the power of pure spectacle.
But beyond the dancing cats and the junkyard set, its true, enduring legacy is “Memory.” The song transcends its source material. It has been performed at funerals, graduations, and memorials. It is a standard in the repertoires of singers across genres, from opera (Lesley Garrett, Il Divo) to pop (Celine Dion, Nicole Scherzinger). Its universal themes of longing, regret, and the aching desire for a second chance resonate regardless of context.
The Everlasting Song
Andrew Lloyd Webber created a universe from a book of poems. Cats became a theatrical landmark that changed the economics and scope of the industry. But it is “Memory” that ensures its immortality. In this one song, Lloyd Webber, Nunn, and the ghost of T.S. Eliot captured a fundamental human emotion—the bittersweet pain of the past and the fervent hope for the future. It is the moment a spectacle about cats becomes a mirror for our own lives, our own regrets, and our own dreams of renewal. Long after the last Jellicle Ball has ended, the echo of that powerful plea—”Touch me, it’s so easy to leave me”—continues to linger, a timeless memory in the heart of popular culture.