Ta-Ra-Ra-Boom-De-Ay: The Dodgy Business of Popular Music

Summary of Ta-Ra-Ra-Boom-De-Ay

1. 1

   When a Shoeshine Revealed an Empire

   

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   Picture a cramped office where power plays out through humiliation. Mike Stewart, president of United Artists Music, forces his sidekick Murray Deutch to get an unnecessary shoeshine-not because his shoes need it, but because he can. This wasn't cruelty; it was Tuesday in the music business. The year was 1966, and this jelly-like executive wanted young manager Simon Napier-Bell to join his stable of songwriters trapped in the Brill Building's tiny rooms, churning out hits like factory workers. Napier-Bell walked away, but the scene haunted him. Managing The Yardbirds meant navigating an industry he didn't understand-an industry built on a foundation most people never question: someone can own a song. Not the recording, not the performance, but the song itself. This simple legal principle, established in 1710 when Britain's Statute of Anne declared that written works could be owned as property, created an entire ecosystem of hustlers, visionaries, and artists. What began as a fourteen-year monopoly on sheet music evolved into a global business that would shape culture, exploit talent, and occasionally produce magic.

2. 2

   The Alchemy of Turning Melodies Into Money

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   Before copyright, music was ephemeral - you paid musicians to perform, and that was it. But once music could be written down, it became property that could be bought, sold, and inherited like land. In Britain, Tom Chappell revolutionized publishing by signing Gilbert and Sullivan, whose operettas contained catchy, piano-friendly tunes perfect for middle-class parlors. In America, Charles K. Harris received just 85 cents in royalties and decided to become his own publisher. His tearjerker "After the Ball" sold over two million copies after he paid performers to feature it and convinced John Philip Sousa to play it hourly at the Chicago World Fair. Immigrant music publishers invented "plugging" - hiring people to sing in public, planting performers in audiences, distributing cheap copies in stores. Louis Bernstein had pianists perform songs 30-40 times nightly at Madison Square Garden. With pianos in nearly every home, publishers developed a formula: simple chords, obvious rhythms, limited vocal ranges, and a standard 32-bar AABA structure. This predictable format became addictive - listeners enjoyed anticipating the changes.

3. 3

   The Machine That Captured Sound

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   Edison's 1877 phonograph revolutionized sound recording, earning up to $1,800 weekly at fairs. While Edison pursued other ventures, Charles Tainter and Chichester Bell developed the superior wax-coated "graphophone." Edison adopted their technology, sparking legal battles that merged both companies. Congressional stenographers formed Columbia Graphophone Company, initially for dictation but pivoting to entertainment. German-born Emile Berliner revolutionized the industry with his flat-disc "gramophone," perfecting a "mother" disc for mass production. William Owen's Gramophone Company sold 3,000 players and 150,000 records across Europe. In India, "The Laughing Record" sold over half a million copies. Owen purchased Francis Barraud's painting of fox terrier Nipper listening to a talking machine for 100, having him repaint Edison's cylinder as a Berliner disc-creating the iconic "His Master's Voice" image. When Columbia targeted Berliner's patents, a depressed Berliner surrendered his company to engineer Eldridge Johnson, who successfully countersued and renamed it Victor. Johnson and Owen split the world between Victor and HMV, creating the industry's foundation.

4. Chapter 4

   The Brothers Who Built an Empire on Other People's Talent

   Fourteen-year-old Max Dreyfus fled Germany for New York in 1888. His concert pianist dreams dissolved quickly - he sold fabrics, then accompanied singers at Howley & Haviland, transcribing hummed melodies into structured songs. Despite helping create Paul Dresser's hit "On The Banks of the Wabash," Max received only language coaching. At T.B. Harms, Max composed ragtime freely. His piano instrumental "Cupid's Garden" became a hit, but hearing it played across town depressed him - it sounded ordinary. Max realized he lacked greatness and pivoted to publishing. He convinced his brother Louis to purchase 25% of Harms, recognizing they needed better writers. When eighteen-year-old Jerome Kern approached Dreyfus at T.B. Harms, Dreyfus hired him at twelve dollars weekly. Kern later proposed buying into the struggling business, providing both their perfect writer and operating capital. This pattern - identifying talent early, offering fair terms, treating writers like family - made the Dreyfus brothers the most powerful figures in music publishing for decades.

   Chapter 5

   When Personality Became the Product

   Eva Tanguay couldn't sing well, yet became the highest-paid performer of her era at $3,500 weekly through pure outrageousness. The Quebec-born doctor's daughter wore manic costumes (including one with 4,000 Lincoln pennies), simulated sexual satisfaction onstage, and managed her own nationwide tours. Her philosophy: "personality, personality, that's the thing that always makes a hit" - essentially becoming a rock star before the concept existed. Enrico Caruso's classically trained tenor had exactly the frequency range suited to acoustic horn recording. His 260+ recordings made records permanent fixtures in American life, convincing even non-opera lovers to buy through sheer voice quality. Irving Berlin discovered the power of repetition with "Alexander's Ragtime Band." Though it initially flopped, persistent plugging and vaudeville performances sparked a worldwide explosion - selling a million copies and launching a global dance craze. The song revolutionized popular music by emphasizing the "off-beat," introducing subtle black musical influences to mainstream audiences. Berlin proved that with the right formula and relentless promotion, a singing waiter could become an industry titan.

   Chapter 6

   The Great Shakedown Begins

   Publishers discovered songs lost value after initial popularity. Their solution: collect fees whenever music played publicly - in restaurants, cafes, theaters, parks, and hotels. Puccini was shocked his melodies in American restaurants earned nothing, noting Italy's SIAE already required such payments. Composer Victor Herbert led the American effort. Despite only nine of thirty-six invitees attending the first meeting at Luchow's restaurant - Irving Berlin and Jerome Kern notably absent - they formed ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers). Britain followed with the Performing Rights Society. These societies became exclusive clubs where top writers and major publishers controlled access, collecting flat fees from venues. Payment structures favored the influential, with publishers and composers ranked AA to D. World War I opened new profit channels. Jack Judge wrote "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" on a five-shilling bet, sold it for 5, then watched publisher Bert Feldman sell over a million copies without paying royalties. George Cohan's "Over There," written in thirty minutes after Wilson declared war, earned an unprecedented $25,000 advance. The industry had learned to monetize everything - even patriotism.

   Chapter 7

   The Empire Strikes Back

   Radio transformed everything. After President Hoover loosened controls, stations proliferated with live musicians, since top bands refused to play on air. Unable to carry advertisements, stations claimed exposure was sufficient compensation. Radio shortened a hit's lifespan from a year to months-sheet music sales plummeting from 200,000 to 20,000 per hit. Yet it created instant successes: Irving Berlin's "All Alone" sold 250,000 copies after one performance. Publishers demanded payment through ASCAP. The 1922 Bamberger Department Store case established that playing radio music commercially constituted "performance for profit," allowing ASCAP to collect blanket licensing fees nationwide. By 1925, the Dreyfus brothers controlled the most important music publishing companies on both sides of the Atlantic, wielding extraordinary power. Hollywood revolutionized the business with "talkies." After Al Jolson's success in "The Jazz Singer," studios realized they needed to control music rights. Warner Brothers purchased Witmark for $900,000, then Max Dreyfus's empire for $4 million, becoming the world's largest music publisher. The boom proved short-lived. As the Depression deepened, record sales collapsed from 104 million to 6 million. The music business had learned its essential truth: control the rights, control the money. That shoeshine in Mike Stewart's office wasn't petty cruelty-it was the industry showing its true face. Power flows to those who control the contracts, not those who write the songs.

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