You know that feeling when a song is so famous you just assume it’s always been there? Like it was carved into the atmosphere along with the oxygen and the clouds? That’s Bart Howard Fly Me to the Moon. Most people hear those opening brass notes and immediately picture Frank Sinatra in a tuxedo, snapping his fingers in a smoky Vegas lounge. But Sinatra didn't write it. He wasn't even the first to sing it.
Honestly, the real history is way weirder and more "hustle-heavy" than the smooth, effortless vibe of the track suggests.
Bart Howard was a cabaret pianist who had been grinding in New York for over twenty years before he caught lightning in a bottle. He’d worked with legends like Mabel Mercer and Eartha Kitt, but he was mostly a "behind-the-scenes" guy. Then, in 1954, his publisher told him to stop writing such complicated, "wordy" songs. They wanted something simple. Something people could actually remember.
Howard sat down and, according to his own legend, dashed off a little ditty in about 20 minutes. He called it "In Other Words."
The Name Change That Changed Everything
It’s kinda funny to think about now, but for the first decade of its life, the song wasn't even called Bart Howard Fly Me to the Moon. It was a waltz. A slow, cabaret-style 3/4 time signature song that felt more like a romantic sigh than a swing anthem.
The first person to record it was Kaye Ballard in 1954. If you listen to that version today, it’s almost unrecognizable. It’s lovely, sure, but it lacks that "let’s go to space" energy. Over the next few years, plenty of people covered it—Nat King Cole, Nancy Wilson, Eydie Gormé—but it remained "In Other Words."
Then Peggy Lee entered the chat.
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In 1960, she performed it on The Ed Sullivan Show. She was the one who pulled Bart Howard aside and basically said, "Look, everyone is calling this 'Fly Me to the Moon' anyway. Just change the title." In 1963, he finally did. It was the smartest business move he ever made. Suddenly, the song had a hook that felt modern. It felt like the future.
Why Sinatra is the Face of the Song
We have to talk about 1964. That’s the year Frank Sinatra teamed up with Count Basie and a young, hungry arranger named Quincy Jones.
Quincy was the one who decided to ditch the waltz. He turned it into a 4/4 swing. He added that driving, insistent bassline and those punchy horns. Sinatra didn’t just sing it; he owned it. He delivered the lines with a sort of "cool uncle" swagger that made it the definitive version. Bart Howard once joked that he "lived off" that song for the rest of his life.
With over 300 recorded versions by the mid-90s, he wasn’t kidding. The royalties from that one 20-minute writing session funded his entire retirement.
Actually Going to the Moon
This is where the story gets literal. Usually, songs about the moon are just metaphors for being in love or whatever. But Bart Howard Fly Me to the Moon actually went there.
During the Apollo 10 mission, the astronauts played the Sinatra version while orbiting the moon. It was one of the first songs ever played in lunar orbit. Then, when Buzz Aldrin stepped onto the lunar surface during Apollo 11, he had a portable cassette player. Guess what was on the tape?
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NASA’s Mickey Kapp worked with the astronauts to make "mixtapes" for their journeys. Sinatra’s version was the anthem of the Space Age. It wasn't just a hit; it was the soundtrack to humanity’s greatest achievement. Quincy Jones later presented platinum copies of the record to Neil Armstrong and John Glenn.
Imagine being Bart Howard. You write a song to satisfy a grumpy publisher in a New York basement, and fifteen years later, it’s being played on a different celestial body.
The Evangelion and Pop Culture Twist
If you’re younger, you might not even know Sinatra's version first. You might know it from the end credits of the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion.
The show used dozens of different versions of the song—bossa nova, instrumental, high-pitched vocals—to end its episodes. It introduced a whole new generation to the genius of the composition. Then you’ve got things like Bayonetta using a "Climax Mix" for battle themes.
It’s a "Towering Song," as the Songwriters Hall of Fame calls it.
What People Get Wrong
People think this was an overnight success. It wasn’t. It took ten years and a complete rhythmic overhaul to become a "standard."
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- Myth: Sinatra wrote the lyrics. (Nope, all Bart Howard.)
- Myth: It was always a swing song. (It started as a slow waltz.)
- Fact: The publisher almost made Howard change the lyric "Fly me to the moon" to "Take me to the moon." Howard refused.
If he had listened to the publisher, would it have been played on Apollo 11? Probably not. "Take Me to the Moon" sounds like a bus ride. "Fly Me to the Moon" sounds like an adventure.
How to Appreciate the Song Today
If you want to really understand the brilliance of Bart Howard Fly Me to the Moon, don't just stick to the Sinatra version.
Go back and listen to Kaye Ballard’s original 1954 recording. It’s haunting. Then flip over to Julie London’s bossa nova version from 1963. It’s amazing how a simple melody can be stretched, pulled, and rearranged without losing its soul.
Next Steps for Music Lovers:
- Check out the "Circle of Fifths": Musicians love this song because it follows a very satisfying harmonic pattern. If you play an instrument, try to map out the chords—it’s a masterclass in songwriting efficiency.
- Watch the 1960 Ed Sullivan Clip: See Peggy Lee basically invent the modern "cool" vocal style that Sinatra later perfected.
- Listen to the Count Basie Instrumental: Sometimes hearing the arrangement without the vocals lets you appreciate the genius of Quincy Jones’s brass writing.
The song is a reminder that sometimes, the simplest ideas are the ones that last for centuries. Or at least, the ones that make it all the way to the moon and back.