The Turkish referendum last Sunday, and the ongoing changes in Turkey, might bring to mind a catchy tune that bridges the old world with the new. For many, news from that part of the world triggers a familiar melody – a novelty song that playfully dances with geography and history. This song, which almost made it into America Alone: The End Of The World As We Know It, and notably featured in a complaint to Canadian “Human Rights” Commissions, first hit the charts in October 1953. You might know it:
Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, ol’ Constantinople
Now it’s Turkish delight on a moonlit night…
This whimsical ditty, “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)”, holds a curious place in pop culture. For many English speakers, especially those from the Commonwealth, the mention of “Turkish delight” conjures up immediate and comforting images. Imagine the producer of The Mark Steyn Show, a Turk himself, being regaled with nostalgic tales of Turkish delight as a quintessential British Christmas treat. Not the mass-produced, chocolate-covered variety, but the authentic kind: a beautifully crafted wooden box filled with cubes of rosewater or lemon gel, studded with pistachios or dates, dusted with powdered sugar. Such was the evocative power of “Turkish delight” that a box of the real thing appeared as a delightful Christmas gift, sparked by a moment of reminiscing about the song’s cultural touchstones.
The song’s relevance stretches beyond mere confectionery nostalgia. It resurfaced in a Maclean’s piece, prompting strong reactions and highlighting a sharp observation from Oriana Fallaci about the 1453 fall of Constantinople. This historical event, marked by significant cultural and political shifts, mirrors the sentiment captured in the song’s lighthearted couplet:
Why did Constantinople get the works?
That’s nobody’s business but the Turks.
This lyric encapsulates a sense of Western ambivalence or perhaps a deliberate ignorance towards pivotal moments in history, particularly those involving the complex relationship between Islam and the West. Why indeed did Constantinople change? The song playfully suggests it’s simply a matter of preference, sidestepping the deeper historical and political currents at play.
The Story Behind “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)”
The man behind these witty lyrics was Jimmy Kennedy, a prolific songwriter whose reach extended far beyond this novelty hit. While “Istanbul” didn’t make it into America Alone, another Kennedy song title, “Red Sails In The Sunset”, subtly influenced a chapter subheading in the book’s Russia section. Kennedy penned “Red Sails In The Sunset” while in Portstewart, County Derry, inspired by a yacht named the Kitty of Coleraine sailing into the sunset. Today, Portstewart commemorates this song with a plaque, statue, and the beautifully restored yacht itself in a local museum.
Born in Omagh in 1902, Kennedy, the son of a Royal Irish Constabulary policeman, found his songwriting success in London’s Tin Pan Alley, the vibrant heart of the British music industry. Though he often wrote about far-flung locales, his Irish roots occasionally surfaced in songs like “Red Sails In The Sunset,” the Bing Crosby hit “Did Your Mother Come From Ireland?”, and the atmospheric “Harbour Lights.” Even “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic,” with its whimsical charm, carries a hint of British sensibility.
Kennedy’s songwriting prowess wasn’t confined to his homeland. His catalogue boasts titles like “Isle Of Capri,” “April In Portugal,” and “South Of The Border.” The latter, “South Of The Border,” wasn’t inspired by Irish partition but by a postcard from his sister in California. Kennedy possessed a knack for catchy titles and memorable melodies:
South Of The Border, down Mexico way
That’s where I fell in love, when stars above
Came out to play…
“South Of The Border” became a signature song for a young Frank Sinatra and was later revived with a playful twist by Keely Smith. Kennedy’s songs were performed by music legends like Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Ella Fitzgerald, Elvis Presley, and The Platters (“My Prayer”). Despite not being a household name himself, Jimmy Kennedy reigned as Britain’s most successful songwriter before the seismic arrival of Lennon & McCartney. Prior to The Beatles, the British pop scene was relatively small and heavily reliant on American imports. The Performing Right Society even advocated for protectionist measures to limit American song airplay, a situation that drastically changed with the British Invasion spearheaded by the Beatles and other UK artists. For three decades, however, Kennedy stood out as a rare British songwriting success story in an era dominated by American standards.
The Novelty Exotica of “Istanbul”
“Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” fits into the “novelty exotica” category of Kennedy’s work, alongside “South Of The Border” and “Isle Of Capri.” He co-wrote it in 1953 with New York composer Nat Simon, known for hits like “Poinciana,” “The Old Lamplighter,” and the more whimsical “Her Bathing Suit Never Got Wet” and “No Can Do.” Interestingly, the melody of “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” shares a striking resemblance to Irving Berlin’s “Puttin’ On The Ritz,” particularly in the opening bars.
If you’re blue, and you don’t know where to go to…
This melodic and rhythmic similarity is undeniable, and in other contexts, might have led to plagiarism claims. However, the unique lyrics of “Istanbul” give it its distinct character. Kennedy had a gift for creating songs with such strong, singular ideas that they occupied their own niche. After all, how many English-language songs are there about seeking romance in Turkey with a playful geographical twist?
Ev’ry gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you’ve a date in Constantinople
She’ll be waiting in Istanbul…
Nat Simon attempted to infuse a Turkish flavor into the music, perhaps inadvertently channeling Irving Berlin in the process. The Four Lads’ famous rendition of the song even included pseudo-Islamic ululations, a feature that might raise eyebrows in today’s more sensitive cultural climate. Despite this, “Istanbul” quickly spawned numerous covers in late 1953, with British artists like Frankie Vaughan, the Malcolm Mitchell Trio, and Edmundo Ros all recording versions within weeks of its release.
The song’s middle section offers a broader perspective on name changes, using New York’s transformation from New Amsterdam as a parallel:
Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it, I can’t say
People just liked it better that way…
This lighthearted explanation glosses over the complexities of history. Both name changes, in reality, signify shifts in power and sovereignty, albeit with vastly different historical contexts.
The Enduring Appeal of the Constantinople Song
Jimmy Kennedy’s perspective on contemporary global issues remains open to interpretation. As someone from Ulster, he understood the complexities of terrorism and religious identity. Unlike many contemporary artists, Kennedy seemed to have a clear sense of where he stood on major issues. In 1939, he penned the optimistic wartime song “We’re Gonna Hang Out The Washing On The Siegfried Line.” While overly optimistic, it reflected a clear sense of patriotic sentiment. Kennedy served in the British Army and also gave the world the universally recognized singalong “The Hokey Cokey” (or “Hokey Pokey” in America).
However, “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” stands apart. Its enduring appeal is evident in revivals by artists like They Might Be Giants and Ska Cubano. They Might Be Giants’ version offers a more rhythmically subdued interpretation, yet it has found its own audience. However, many still consider The Four Lads’ original 1953 recording to be definitive – a clean-cut quartet delivering a performance that evokes images of courtly deference to a somewhat eccentric sultan. It’s a fascinating clash of cultures encapsulated in a mid-century pop song. And the final couplet still resonates, acknowledging transformation while playfully avoiding deeper inquiry:
Why did Constantinople get the works?
That’s nobody’s business but the Turks.
Perhaps not anymore. While “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” didn’t make it into America Alone, the song subtly foreshadows a key theme: the ongoing transformations and shifts in global power, prompting us to consider when and where such changes might occur next. Will old Amsterdam be next? The playful tune leaves us pondering the ever-evolving map of cultural and political identity.
