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Since he believes that musicians develop sharp business brains through constant bargaining with orchestra leaders, managers, recording companies, etc., Lieberson has put musicians in charge of his chief divisions. He hired Mitch Miller to run the popular-record division "despite the whoopdedoo because he was an oboe player and wore a beard." He gets along famously with artists ("I like creative people"), has lured many of them to Columbia, partly because, as Richard Rodgers says, "Goddard and his people make you feel a little more appreciated." Lieberson has a good ear for trends—though he can sometimes prove hard of hearing. He thought rock 'n' roll was an undesirable and fleeting fad, refused to record the tunes till Columbia had lost millions of sales. As a result, RCA led Columbia last year in total sales because of its lead in 45-r.p.m. popular "singles."
Born in Staffordshire, England, the son of the owner of England's first rubber-heel factory, Lieberson started his career by studying classical music after the family moved to the U.S., went to the Eastman School of Music in Rochester. He composed everything from a symphony to pieces for a string quartet before deciding that a composer—at least of his caliber—"could not make a living in the U.S." He took a $50-a-week job with Columbia just a few months after CBS bought it. Later, as Director of Masterworks, Lieberson almost single-handed built up Columbia's skimpy catalogue of classical works to compete with first-place RCA Victor. He was made executive vice president in 1949, president in 1956, now earns a salary of $70,000 a year, plus benefits that bring it to about $100,000.
Married in 1946 to Dancer Vera Zorina (his second), Lieberson likes to be a friend of the famous, is an untiring name-dropper. He was delighted when Rosemary Clooney substituted his name for Franklin Roosevelt's in her recording of How About You?, came up with: "And Goddard Lieberson's looks give me a thrill." Now Lieberson is guiding Columbia into stereophonic sound, this year is planning 200 stereo albums. He is convinced that stereo is a logical refinement of LP rather than another technological revolution, that what is put on records is still more important than how it is put on. Says he: "We are willing to put out the records on spaghetti if that's what the technology calls for."