A little while ago I tuned in on part of the Hit Parade, that be-all and end-all of the never-ceasing popular music cavalcade. Of course, simply everyone was there--every one of those cute songs like "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" which were enjoying their brief hour at the time, before their popularity curves began the short but precipitous slide down the hill. That particular number had reached that most devoutly to be wished of all consummations, Number One on the Hit Parade, and after Barry Wood had sung his version of "fire" as a two-syllable word, I contrasted the Ten Terrific Tunes with the old standards of American popular music.

For there are no more Stardusts, no more of the old atmospheric Gershwin songs, no more of those simple, melodic, tunes like "Sugar" and "More Than You Know." Songs like those are not being written today, or at least I hadn't heard them. Then I played Billic Holiday's record of "Sugar" and Mildred Bailey's of "More Than You Know" on the phonograph and realized it even more acutely. Perhaps the radio and talkies had done the job, perhaps the demand for music for films, stage shows, juke-boxes, and all the other media through which the backneyed din reaches the public ear, has been too great. Output had to be stepped up, but the quality of the merchandise didn't matter.

After all, there would always be ten luncs for the Hit Parade, no matter how broadly the composing industry expanded. But when "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fie-yah" reaches the top of the heap, for me it's maybe too much.

Then I caught the Cole Porter show, "Let's Face It," just before it left for the big time after a few trial spins up here in the hinterlands. I admired the acting, settings, legs, and Danny Kaye involved, but it was the music which most gladdened my heart. Only one song, "Everything I Love," incorporated all the cliches of the type which has come to be known generally as the romantic ballad, and it will probably be the hit of the musical. The others are too unorthodox, or too sophisticated or complex in their lyrics, to reach the heights.

But the gay melodies and witty verses are enhanced by an exceptional set of arrangements, some intricate and flowery, some even incorporating hot instrumental solos, all refreshing and colorful. Even the weaker numbers are dressed up by the orchestrations, until I assured myself that if there was little animation left in the Hit Parade, there was plenty of life yet in the orchestra pit of the musical comedy stage.