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From the mid-1980s until the end of the decade, the comedy songwriting duo of Horowitz & Spector occupied a very special and extremely-visible place in the cabaret sphere. Known as much for their catchy melodies and snappy lyrics as their penchant for flashy garmenting (matching metallic pantsuits and headbands in gold and silver, huge rhinestone brooches proudly announcing “Horowitz & Spector” and the glitter the two would liberally sprinkle into their hair), it was a very short matter of time before they were headlining at such clubs as The Duplex and Panache Encore.
Their compositions would also very soon be employed into the repertoire of cabaret artists as diverse as Sidney Myer and Diana Templeton besides a large host of others. What may be even more fascinating, however, is the fact that they embarked on their miraculous journey nearly three decades after they’d written their first songs together, and following a lengthy and unintentional absence from one another’s lives.
Proud daughters of Brooklyn, Barbara “Bobbie” Horowitz and Sharon Spector Schapow each began their own foray into writing and entertainment at young ages, and before they even knew each other. Horowitz tells me, “I was writing when I was in camp. I’d help the counselors with the themes and marches and alma maters for our Camp Reena Sing. At least the counselors let me think I was helping. I guess I was around ten when they actually let me get into the act a little. I can never remember not performing as a kid. I’d been in talent shows at school (PS 128) before we met, and in the Sons of Israel Hebrew School plays and of course the Camp Reena plays.” Schapow has a similar story, if perhaps more involved. “I was living in Flatbush, and when I was three-and-a-half, I was taking tap dance and singing and had my first recital. I sang “Gimme a Little Kiss, Willya, Huh?” and I was a sensation, especially to my parents and grandparents.” She continues, “I was billed on the program as “A Little Lump of Sugar.” I was chubby, very chubby and no costume would fit, so my mom made one. While I was taking a bow, my grandfather ran up to the stage with a basket of flowers that was much bigger than I, and put it next to me. I giggled, and the audience laughed and I was totally hooked on their laughter. Not the applause; the laughter; it made me feel incredible. Plus, the radio was always on in my house (WNEW), and I knew all the current hits. My mom and I would sing while we did chores, and I started doing impersonations of the current singers for my family and their friends. And they laughed. When I was eleven, for my birthday, I got my “dream come true,” a Jerry Mahoney doll! I worked at it and became a pretty good ventriloquist. I didn’t do patter; I sang duets with my dummy. And within a year, I became the “featured act” at our school’s monthly assembly program. The kids loved it, and reacted with tons of laughter. When I was twelve, we got a new dog who ate my dummy, and times were tough, so my parents couldn’t afford another one. We also moved as an economy measure, and I started school in Bensonhurst at JHS 128, where I made friends quickly. That’s where I met Bobbie. She was not only musical, she could harmonize by instinct and our voices blended. And,” she concludes, “she had a piano!!!!!!”
Their musical genesis began at that moment, when they formed an all-girl club of students called the Hi-Jinx, and together they wrote the club song. Schapow says, “In those days, all the clubs had jackets in specific colors (we were black and pink) with the club name on the back and our names on the front. We walked in packs; we were tough and wore tight sweaters, black skirts and sling back shoes with seamed black stockings, and used the “F” word. Like, a lot,” she laughs. “And many of us, unbeknownst to our parents, smoked in the streets and went to school or the movies, or wherever, singing. It was like Grease. Bobbie and I wrote our “club song” at her house after school, to the tune of ‘Sh’boom, Sh’boom.’” But separately and together, the two explored every opportunity to grab the stage and the spotlight. “Bobbie and I had so much fun singing together,” Schapow says. We entered the school talent contest, and did a Mid-Eastern medley of ‘Henaymatov,’ ‘Caravan’ and ‘Ishka Dara,’ and we lost big-time. I also remember doing a solo at another show presented by the French club; I sang 'C’est Si Bon' in French and English, and I wore a strapless dress with a boa. There was an early performance and a late performance, and I was notified, after the early performance, that after all the hooting and hollering by the boys, I was totally inappropriate to go on again for the second show.” But they never stopped writing songs together through this period, and built up a sizable catalog for two such young persons.
Though their club act tells of a close-knit friendship at the historic New Utrecht High School, they actually attended separate schools as first, with Horowitz attending a private academy. This led to a typical adolescent drifting of friendship. But Horowitz did soon transfer to New Utrecht, although the two had discovered separate sets of interests. “I was ‘socially oriented,’” Schapow tells me, “and all I cared about was boyfriends and cutting classes. When Bobbie transferred to New Utrecht, she was embedded in the scholastic and administrative environment. She was very involved in school government.” They would separate further after graduation. Horowitz says, “First, I went to Cornell University, which was out of town, and then during my freshman year there, my folks moved from Bensonhurst to Westchester. Then, Sharon married when she was young and moved to New Jersey.” Schapow adds, “Well, I got a summer job, and went to Brooklyn College at night, which led to a full-time job. I was an accounts-receivable clerk for a large company, and computers were coming out, so they gave everyone in the company from the president to the janitors aptitude tests. I came out on top. I quit school, went to Binghamton, NY, and began training as a computer programmer on one of the very first computers, the IBM 650 Ramac. It was so big that it filled a huge room. I loved it. I was making tons of money, and after a failed engagement , I met my soon-to-be husband Ronnie in a bowling alley. We got married when I was nineteen, and we lived in Brooklyn. I kept working until my son Steve was born, then Janice was born and we moved to the suburbs of New Jersey. I had lost contact with everyone I knew in high school except my friend Dee, who I am still very close to and was also friends with Bobbie.” By sheer coincidence, Horowitz herself married at age twenty-eight after eking out a living for herself, and she and her new husband moved back to New York City. Fate almost brought the two back together at this stage, when Horowitz invited Schapow to her housewarming party, but Schapow, who was feeling a heavy case of the blues, opted not to attend. Following this, they lost touch again. It was also during this time that Horowitz was managing the cabaret/supper club The Silver Lining, and through her work there became friendly with Erv Raible who, along with late partner Rob Hoskins, had begun launching what would become the new cabaret renaissance in New York.
However, Horowitz and Schapow couldn’t fight fate altogether. A revelation during an EST seminar in 1976, prompted Schapow to re-explore a career as an actress and entertainer, and she enrolled in an Actor’s Institute workshop being led by Dan Fauci, an old New Utrecht schoolmate of the two, with whom she continued to study. Horowitz, who always kept her own active interest in studying dramatics, enrolled in his Mastery of Acting workshop in 1980. She tells me, “This is a fairly amazing story. I didn’t quite link Dan and New Utrecht in my mind, although I always told him he seemed familiar. At the end of the weekend, he was talking about how his mom in Brooklyn would say, ‘Danny! It’s time to stop kicking footballs on that track across the street!’ And I jumped up and screamed ‘Danny Fauci! You went to New Utrecht! It’s me, Bobbie Horowitz! I went out with your friend Carmine Gerace!’ He said ‘OMG. Don’t leave after the session. I have someone I want you to talk to. Someone else from New Utrecht studies with me and I think she may have been in your class.’ Well, of course the person was Sharon. My married name was Slone then. He put me on the phone with her, and I sounded like a frog because we’d been screaming all weekend in the Mastery, but Sharon knew who I was. She wrote down my number and called me two days later, and we’ve been pals again ever since.” She finishes, “For the first couple of years we used to wonder if it was God that brought us back together.”
After allowing their renewed friendship to blossom and grow for a few years, they opted to give songwriting another try. “We decided to write a song and see what would happen,” Schapow says. “’The Flatbush Serenade’ flew out of mouths onto our lined pads, and it had a very generic melody. Neither of us could write music on paper.” “But,” Horowitz adds, “I showed it to someone, and they suggested that we meet with Ben Martini to see if he could help.” Martini, a local singer-pianist and composer with quite a large following, happened to be playing at a restaurant not far from where Horowitz lived, and he generously helped shape a lead sheet and refine the melody. The duo performed it a short time later for his audience, and they were an instant hit, which led to more and more constant collaboration, both as songwriters and performing together in restaurants around Manhattan. “When we wrote ‘Boiled Chicken’” Schapow says, “we knew we were good. We sang it at Mimi’s Restaurant one night, and it blew the roof off the place.” Their foray into cabaret came a short time later, after a visit to the now-defunct and dearly-departed Broadway Baby, on Amsterdam and 79th. “We attended an open-mic on a Sunday night, played by Steve Potfora,” Horowitz says, “and the owner approached us to do a show. We didn’t have nearly enough material for an entire evening, but somehow we put it together and they loved it.”
Having begun their initial ascent on the first rung of the ladder of cabaret greatness, Horowitz and Schapow soon found themselves asked to audition for Sidney Myer, the now-legendary booking manager. That began a professional relationship and close personal friendship with the gentleman that continues unbroken to this day, and suddenly Horowitz & Spector were placed firmly on the proverbial map, making many popular appearances not only in clubs but the piano bars of the time, notably The Five Oaks. “It was magical,” Horowitz says. “We were very committed and kept a tight schedule. We’d write at Sharon’s place in Jersey a couple of days a week, and then stay in the city the rest of the time, singing wherever we could.” And a variety of honors came their way, not simply for winning the 1988 MAC Award for Outstanding Comedy Duo (which amazed them both), but when pianist Ricky Ritzel and lighting designer Matt Berman dressed as the two for Halloween, which will never be forgotten by anyone who saw them that night.
All good things must end, if temporarily, and by the early 1990s, the two were receding into the background as a duo. Schapow says, “Bobbie and I knew that if we expected to pursue our career in cabaret any further, we’d need to come up with a totally new act. We had been special guests in many other shows, for Mark-Alan and others, but for me it was getting majorly sad. So many of our extended family were being diagnosed with HIV, and we were losing them. We performed at the Gay Men’s Health Crisis, and many other benefits for AIDS. But I couldn’t come up with anything refreshing and new and funny to say in a song, since comedy at a time like this, for me, was completely inappropriate." Horowitz adds, “Also, our schedule had been very hectic. We’d written a lot; I mean, a lot! And I was married and wanted to be able to spend more time with my husband.” Thus began the latest separation of Horowitz and Schapow as a creative team, although their friendship remained as strong as ever if not stronger, always celebrating birthdays and anniversaries together. Individually, they both stayed active in the arts; Schapow became very active with the Villagers Theatre along with her husband Ronnie (who passed away some years ago), while Horowitz began a career in both Image Consulting and as a theatrical producer, most notably for the musical The Betrayal Of Nora Blake. She also continues to flex her muscles as a lyricist, and recently collaborated with the famed David Friedman on a composition.
But for their scores of followers, there may be some new news on the horizon. “Throughout the years,” Schapow says, “we have been writing songs for performers. Most of them are parodies. And we were hired to write a song that didn’t work.” But,” Horowitz adds, “the topic was still a good topic. And we kept feeling that the song could work for someone. I tried it in a class run by David Friedman, and it became apparent that the song needed a stronger ending. I called Sharon and the ‘brain clicking’ started. We’re collecting words and thoughts on the topic, and working together again is irresistible!!” “In the past few days, weeks, whatever, “Schapow says, “Bobbie and I have finally figured out why it doesn’t work, and in doing so just on the phone, have come up with so many new notions for new songs to cover the past twenty years and we got really excited about it! So,” she finishes, “we’re going to play with the notions, and see what happens!”
It’s safe to say that many can’t wait to see what happens next on the incredibly lifelong journey of Horowitz & Spector, and the cabaret community at large wish them all the very best.
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