Long before she was a household name or Winifred Sanderson, Bette Midler was a girl from Honolulu with a dream and a voice that could crack a glass at fifty paces. But the superstar we know today wasn't born on a Hollywood backlot. She was forged in the steamy, towel-clad chaos of the Continental Baths.
Bette Midler: The Divine Miss M isn't just an album title. It is a persona, a shield, and a middle finger to the polished, plastic expectations of 1970s pop.
Honestly, the story starts in 1970. Midler had finished a stint in Fiddler on the Roof on Broadway, but the theater world wasn't quite sure what to do with her. She was too loud. Too "much." So she took a gig in the basement of the Ansonia Hotel.
The Continental Baths was a gay bathhouse. It was a place for men to meet, but on Saturday nights, it became the hottest nightclub in New York. While guys wandered around in white towels, Midler stood by a piano and belted out 1940s standards. She wore thrift store clothes. She had wild, frizzy red hair. She cracked jokes that would make a sailor blush.
And the nickname? It wasn't some marketing genius's idea. Her friend Bill Hennessy had been calling her "Divine" for years. When the bathhouse owner, Steve Ostrow, asked how to introduce her, she basically said, "Just tell them I'm divine!"
The rest is history.
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The 1972 Debut That Changed Everything
When Atlantic Records finally released The Divine Miss M in November 1972, the industry was confused. Was she a cabaret act? A rock star? A nostalgia trip?
The album was a strange, beautiful mess of genres. You had "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," a high-energy cover of an Andrews Sisters classic. Then you had "Hello In There," a John Prine cover about the loneliness of aging that could make a grown man weep.
Barry Manilow was her accompanist and co-producer. Yeah, that Barry Manilow. Back then, he was just a "whiz-kid" pianist trying to keep the piano in tune despite the humidity of the bathhouse steam. Together, they captured a vibe that was both vintage and cutting-edge.
Why the album still hits:
- Vulnerability: In songs like "Do You Want to Dance?", she slows the tempo down to a crawl. It’s not a club hit; it’s a plea.
- The Harlettes: You can't talk about Bette without her backup singers. The original lineup even included Cissy Houston—Whitney’s mom—and Melissa Manchester.
- The Humor: Even on a studio recording, you can hear the "Bathhouse Betty" wit. She wasn't just singing songs; she was performing a character.
The album went Platinum. It won her a Grammy for Best New Artist in 1973. More importantly, it proved that a woman didn't have to be a "square" pop princess to succeed. She could be "bent." She could be weird.
From the Continental Baths to Hollywood Royalty
People often forget how radical Midler was for her time. She was at the forefront of the gay liberation movement, whether she meant to be or not. By performing in a bathhouse, she gave a marginalized community a voice and a soundtrack.
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She eventually moved away from the "Bathhouse Betty" moniker as she got bigger. She didn't want to be known only as "the girl from the Turkish baths." She wanted the world.
And she got it.
The transition from Bette Midler: The Divine Miss M to film star happened with The Rose in 1979. Playing a fictionalized version of Janis Joplin, she showed the world she had serious acting chops. But if you look closely at her performances in Beaches or even Hocus Pocus, the "Divine" DNA is still there. It’s in the way she uses her hands. It’s in the campy timing of her jokes.
It’s all connected.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Legend
A common misconception is that Bette Midler was "just" a comedy act. That’s a mistake. If you listen to "Superstar" or "Am I Blue" on that debut record, the vocal control is insane. She could move from a whisper to a belt without breaking a sweat.
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Another myth? That she was an overnight success. Bette spent years grinding in off-off-Broadway plays and children’s theater. She paid her dues in the trenches before the towels ever dropped at the Continental.
Actionable Steps for New Fans
If you're just discovering the magic of the Divine Miss M, don't just jump into the greatest hits. You've gotta do it right to feel the evolution.
- Listen to the 1972 debut album from start to finish. Don't skip. Pay attention to the transition between "Leader of the Pack" and "Delta Dawn."
- Find the 2016 Deluxe Edition. It has demos of songs like "Old Cape Cod" that didn't make the original cut. It gives you a peek behind the curtain of how she and Manilow built the sound.
- Watch "The Rose." It’s the bridge between her stage persona and her movie career. It's raw, it's loud, and it's heartbreaking.
- Check out the 1980 memoir A View From A Broad. It’s out of print but easy to find used. It’s Bette at her most uncensored, talking about her first world tour.
The "Divine" legacy isn't about being perfect. It’s about being authentic, even when the ceiling is leaking and the room is full of cockroaches—which, let's be real, describes most of the bathhouses she started in.
She paved the way for Lady Gaga, Cyndi Lauper, and every other artist who refuses to fit into a neat little box. You've gotta respect the hustle. She took a nickname from a bathhouse and turned it into an empire.
That’s not just talent. That’s divine.