For two decades from the late 1940s, Mitch Miller, who has died aged 99, was the eminence grise of American popular music: a conductor, arranger and record producer, and in each field one of the most influential men in the industry. As a bandleader, he seemed for a short time to have totally revolutionised the kind of records bought by young people. His sound was like no other: the blast of his French horns on numbers such as Tzena, Tzena, Tzena or My Truly, Truly Fair made his work instantly recognisable. In a way, his style was a precursor for rock'n'roll.
His output was very different from the sort of smoochy ballads that had been topping the charts until then. Indeed, it was because Frank Sinatra did not want to change his style that, in 1952, Miller did not renew the contract that the singer had had for more than a decade. As the head of Mercury and then Columbia Records, Miller could make or break careers, and was responsible for introducing names such as Tony Bennett, Frankie Laine, Ray Conniff, Percy Faith, Johnnie Ray and Guy Mitchell.
Then, as rock'n'roll took hold, Miller began to identify with the tastes of older listeners. With Miller conducting a male chorus and lyrics printed on covers, the Sing Along With Mitch albums took off in 1958. When the idea was adapted for television three years later Miller became a household name. The NBC show Sing Along With Mitch ran until 1968, and viewers were encouraged to join in by following the ball that bounced above the words on the screen.
Mitchell William Miller was born in Rochester, New York state, and learned to play the piano at the age of six. At 12, he began to study the oboe and within two years was at the city's famous Eastman School of Music. By 20, he was already working in New York city with the CBS Symphony Orchestra, the Saidenberg Little Symphony, and the Budapest String Quartet, and filled in with other outfits, such as those of the top dance band leader of the time, Leo Reisman. He also played for the André Kostelanetz Orchestra, for an orchestra that toured with George Gershwin as pianist – and was in the pit when Gershwin's Porgy and Bess opened on Broadway in 1935. It was in the late 1940s that the musician became businessman, as director of the popular division of Mercury Records. He built on the early successes of Laine and introduced his big hits such as That Lucky Old Sun, The Cry of the Wild Goose, Jezebel and – the biggest of them all – Mule Train.
Being at the sharp end of the music business also gave Miller a chance to get work for himself, conducting orchestras, and to develop that individual style. He produced Jezebel and Laine's Rose, Rose, I Love You, a number he had discovered via the BBC, whose Light Programme had featured the number, sung in Chinese by a young woman from Hong Kong, Hue Lee.
In 1950, Miller moved to Columbia and built on the successes he had already achieved with "crossovers" from country music to pop. It was thanks to him that Hank Williams's hit Hey Good Lookin' became a huge success as a duet for Laine and Jo Stafford. At Columbia, Bennett had one of his early chart-toppers with Cold, Cold Heart. There were also Half As Much, sung by Rosemary Clooney, Jambalaya by Stafford and Joan Weber's Let Me Go Lover. Clooney had recorded as a vocalist with Tony Pastor's big band before Miller persuaded her to take up Ross Bagdasarian and William Saroyan's Come On-a My House.
But the big development was his discovery of Guy Mitchell, the man who really changed the sound of popular music. It might have been Guy Mitchell's name at the top of the label and his own in lower-case letters beneath it, but the industry knew it was the Mitch Miller sound they were hearing, and it was he who took the lion's share of the royalties. He brilliantly combined the sound of his orchestra – and his French horns – with the young voice to which the public took so willingly. Singin' the Blues, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, She Wears Red Feathers and My Truly, Truly Fair were amazing successes.
Indirectly, Guy Mitchell was the reason for Sinatra's apparent downfall. Miller wanted the man still known as Frankie to follow the Guy Mitchell pattern, and made him record numbers such as Bim Bam Baby and American Beauty Rose. But the worst of the bunch was called Mama Will Bark, in 1951, which Sinatra sang with sighs and comments from a curvaceous blonde called Dagmar. Sinatra would later say that Mama Will Bark was very big with dogs. He protested at the way he was treated and was fired – at about the same time as he also lost his MGM movie contract. When Frank came back with the 1953 movie From Here to Eternity, his record career took off again too, but with no help from Miller. He went instead to Capitol.
However, Sinatra was one of the unforgiving sort. He accused Miller of taking "payola"– bribes from composers to get their work recorded. Later, Sinatra repeated his charges at US Senate hearings, which he conveniently used to demonstrate how the producer had given him inferior songs to sing.
Even Miller, however, did not always conduct with a golden baton. He thought that Buddy Holly was not worth employing and, although he agreed that Elvis Presley had something to offer, it was not enough to justify the sort of money demanded by his infamous manager, Colonel Parker.
It could never be said that Miller refused to recognise the importance of rock'n'roll. "You can't call any music immoral," he would argue. But he did not get involved with rock himself, and in an interview complained about the payola he associated with it – this time from record companies to disc jockeys. Instead, he made 10 Sing Along With Mitch albums, the first of which topped the charts for eight weeks. They kept him busy for the next four years. He was now concentrating on his producing work – and developing talents into new fields. Doris Day's biggest hit, Que Sera Sera (1956), had been a gift from Miller.
But he did not swing with the 1960s, and before long his work was out of favour with Columbia. Indeed, even at the height of its popularity, many found the singalong approach rather cosy – there were reports of the albums being piped into shopping malls to deter teenagers from congregating, and by 1993 the FBI were using Sing Along With Mitch Christmas carols in their efforts to encourage Branch Davidian cult members to leave their compound in Waco, Texas. The ruse failed.
Miller continued as a freelance producer and fronted various orchestras into his later years. He was always a tough man and age did not wither his reputation. A good number of those who had crossed his path would say he was the most difficult person they had known. Writers and broadcasters were not immune – even in late old age, on a whim, he would cancel elaborately set up interviews.
Miller's wife of 65 years, Frances, died in 2000. He is survived by his son Mitchell, two daughters, Margaret and Andrea, two brothers, two grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.
Mitch (Mitchell William) Miller, producer, arranger and conductor, born 4 July 1911; died 31 July 2010