A well-known horror film director goes on a fishing expedition at a record store, and while digging through a box of vinyl from the 50′s and 60′s, discovers an outlandish, bizarre song recorded by what can only be described as a choir of ghoulish, zombie children. He cuts the tune into his film and eventually submits the cut to the film studio, where the music executives look over the list of cues and begin to panic. The song was released in the 1954 by a label that was not only obscure, but no longer in business and run by local music impresarios that are most likely deceased.
The film studio is one of the majors, and having an unlicensed title in the film is a liability that the company cannot afford. The director likes the song enough to demand that it stay in the picture and wields enough clout to make it worth the studio’s while to chase down the copyright.
A series of phone calls are made by the music department at the studio. I am one of the recipients of a call from the studio.
I look through death records and business filing to find out more about the label and the people who ran the label. It doesn’t look good; the label released only vinyl and folded not too long after it was founded. Its owner, likely deceased, was also nowhere to be found. (Interesting side note: the office building where the label was headquartered is still standing, but it now houses a chiropractor’s practice.)
The search then turns to the songwriters and artists on the recording. On the recording, there is a woman, a man and some children. The man, who is credited first on the record, has a unique surname. This leads me to search public records for home phone numbers in the state where the label was based, as well as surrounding states.
A phone call yields a conversation with the man who co-wrote the song and sang on the record. He is elderly and infirm, and he is surprised that we have heard his song, let alone that we want to license the song. He tells us that he had a falling out with the label owner early on, but says that the label eventually has folded and that the rights reverted to him. In a situation like this, I would ordinarily tread with great caution. But in this case, we’re pressed for time and presented with an artist who is willing to sign the licensing paperwork, indemnifications and all. So we get him to sign off and license the song, composition and master, from him.
When the time comes to send the man a check, we call the man for his address only to discover that he has passed away. We end up on the phone with his daughter, who is also the executor of the estate and is as surprised as her father was about the fact that we had heard the song. In a kind voice, she tells us that it was nice that we liked her father’s song but that we didn’t have to send her anything.
Of course, the studio mails her a check anyway. I don’t know if she ever cashed it.
At the end of it all, the director was pleased that he could include the song in his film, and the studio execs were pleased to have a paper trail to cover the usage. I was pleased to have been part of the process and to have this story to tell. But I was a little sad to know that the man died before he could see his song in the final cut of the film when it his theaters and before we could cut him a check for the use.
I thought of the man as I was listening to this album today:
Great post.
I’ve always wondered why a director wouldn’t just have somebody re-record a song when its owner is difficult to track down. That seems like a cheaper and safer alternative.