No, it's not the cornpone country music sung and performed by Gene Kelly, Phil Silvers and a bunch of dogs in SUMMER STOCK. It's advertising crooner Fred Brady being met at the Pearly Gates by a disapproving Eric Blore. He's directed to the Hall of Music. There he must prove himself worthy on an odeon stage covered with cotton wool before a committee of 19th Century Romantic composers headed by Beethoven.
No Haydn, no Mozrt, no Scarlatti. It seems that great art is always the art of two generations ago, isn't it? Especially when you listen to Baroque works like the Surprise Symphony and hear "Pop Goes the Weasel." With only seven notes in the scale, as Mr. Brady points out -- and demonstrates -- everyone steals from everyone else. It ain't where you got it, it's what you do with it.