[Dixielandjazz] Re:The Tune Detective (was What a Wonderful Worldwas Twinkle Twinkle)

[Fred Spencer]

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Bill Haesler" <bhaesler at bigpond.net.au>
To: "Hal Vickery" <hvickery at svs.com>; "dixieland jazz mail list" 
<dixielandjazz at ml.islandnet.com>
Sent: Monday, November 28, 2005 10:06 PM
Subject: [Dixielandjazz] Re:The Tune Detective (was What a Wonderful 
Worldwas Twinkle Twinkle)


Hal Vickery said [in part]: > I'm not old enough to remember this, but I
seem to remember reading about some guy who.........had a show on
radio......... "The Tune Detective"..............a lot of pointing out of
classical origins of popular songs.
I have no idea why I'm writing this to the list except that this message
stirred up my memory of that stuff.<

Dear Hal,
I have no idea why I'm writing this to the list either except, perhaps,
because I can't resist a research challenge.
The following is from The New York Daily News. September 29, 2005.
Kind regards,
Bill.

'Note by note'
The Tune Detective
By ELLIOT ROSENBERG
© 2005 Daily News, L.P.

   Standing there smack in Central Park's Mall, singing "The Bowery" and
"Sweet Adeline" before 10,000 witnesses, plus WNYC microphones. Was this any
way for a respectable 54-year-old Ivy League-educated musicologist to
behave? One whose Princeton PhD dissertation was "Milton's Knowledge of
Music: Its Sources and Significance in His Works"?
   You bet, if the scholar was Sigmund Gottfried Spaeth, aka "The Tune
Detective."
   Earlier that evening in September 1939, Spaeth had helped pick winners of
the American Ballad Contest for Barbershop Quartets and Gibson Girl Trios.
Judicial chores done, why not join his fellow judges, ex-Gov. Al Smith and
Broadway's Jack Norworth, in an ad hoc "Parks Tonsorial Parlor Trio" to
close this outdoors Parks Department event?
   Not for Spaeth life in a stuffy conservatory, solemnly teaching young
artists to run up and down scales.
   The gregarious Spaeth had begun his working life teaching music, English
and football at a North Carolina boys' school. New York's lure, 1912,
brought him a hodgepodge of jobs: translating French, Italian, German and
Russian songs into English for music publisher G. Schirmer, covering sports
for a New York daily, handling PR for a piano firm, editing a magazine.
   Then he began writing books. Lots of books. "The Common Sense of Music."
"The Art of Enjoying Music." "Music for Everybody." "A Guide to Great
Orchestral Music." And on and on.
   But what set him apart from comparably prolific peers was a craft he
developed in the 1920s, honed in the '30s and just about patented
thereafter. Its label followed him, aged 79, straight into his 1965
obituaries: "The Tune Detective."
  Note by note, Spaeth took delight in proving something old was new again.
"I'm Always Chasing Rainbows" owed all to Chopin's "Fantasie Impromptu." The
immensely popular "Yes, We Have No Bananas" was really a cocktail of
Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus," assorted Wagner operas, "My Bonnie," "I Dreamt
I Dwelt in Marble Halls" and "Aunt Dinah's Quilting Party."
  Louisiana Kingfish Huey Long, a proud composer, was likely not pleased to
learn folks could hear from Spaeth that his "Miss Vandy" was directly
traceable to "The Merry Wives of Windsor" and "Sheik of Araby."
   And hear it folks did. When radio came along in the '20s, Spaeth eagerly
hopped aboard, covering sports and hosting a weekly music show that drew
bundles of fan letters.
   On his Tuesday night WJZ "Tune Detective" program, Spaeth nudged
listeners disinclined to like classical music to rethink: Behind many a
current tune lay the hand of old masters. He hit the vaudeville circuit, as
well, playing his role to the hilt, donning a Sherlock Holmes cape and
smoking a pipe.
   His talent at time attracted lawyers handling plagiarism suits. Spaeth
helped defend Sigmund Romberg, who had been accused of swiping "The Desert
Song." And Walt Disney, when someone pointed to similarities between "Some
Day My Prince Will Come" and the Yale marching song "Old Eli."
   After the outbreak of World War II, the celebrity musicologist helped
gather millions of old recordings for sale as scrap, proceeds going to
purchase new ones for servicemen's clubs here and abroad. Here in New York,
he helped found the Louis Braille Music Institute and the local chapter of
the Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barber Shop Quartet
Singing in America.
   There was a new WQXR radio show. Later, as TV arrived, "Tune Detective"
showed up on WPIX. And all the while he kept churning out books: "Barber
Shop Harmony," "At Home With Music," "Favorite Art Songs," "Music: A
Priceless Heritage."
    A full life. A good life. With one catch.
    Though Sigmund Spaeth could peerlessly dissect a Gershwin, a Berlin or a
Romberg, he could never be one himself. His own oeuvre is unmemorable.
   Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia personally designated Spaeth's "Our New York"
the city's official anthem in 1940. It was almost never played anywhere,
though.

Our New York, to thee we sing!
Proudly tell thy story.
Every voice in praise shall ring,
Sound thy fame and glory.

Maybe it was those lyrics, Dr. Spaeth.
Originally published on


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