Ray Wile’s Research Materials Are Now Available Online

Ray Wile’s Research Materials Are
Now Available Online

 

A Growing Treasure-Trove of Historical Documents Is Now Easily Accessible to Researchers and the Phono-Curious

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Thomas Edison at his New Jersey mining operation

 

For vintage-record and phonograph collectors of a certain age, Raymond R. Wile is a legendary name that needs no introduction. For younger folks, or those who are newer to the field: Ray was among the foremost experts on the early U.S. phonograph and recording industries in general, and Edison in particular. His long-running series of articles in the ARSC Journal set new standards for research in the field.

Ray’s work was based on his astonishing archive of primary-source documents, painstakingly sought-out and copied long before the Internet made such quests considerably easier. At the time of his death several years ago, there was the inevitable question of where this invaluable (and massive) collection should reside.

Realizing that donating the collection to a large institution would probably be condemning it to a black hole — as happened to the late Jim Walsh’s materials at the Library of Congress, which left them uncatalogued for years, and has yet to make them available online — the family made the wise decision to hand  custodianship to a private individual with expertise in the field, who would contractually agree to curate, index, and make the materials easily available to the public, online and free of charge, within a reasonable time.

The individual selected was Ryan Barna, who many of you know from his Phonostalgia website, Archeophone program notes, and other writings — and it’s proven to be an excellent choice. Ryan has been doing a remarkable job of sorting, scanning, and posting these invaluable documents, beginning with selected court cases (oh, how those early companies loved to sue each other!), internal Edison documents, and other materials that are not readily obtainable elsewhere.

To date, Ryan has posted 200 documents on the Internet Archive site, and that’s just the beginning. CLICK HERE to access the currently available documents, or Google “Raymond R. Wile Research Library.” Be sure to check out the site and show your support for the important work Ryan is doing.

 

Columbia Race Record Shipments (1921 – 1923)

Columbia Race Record Shipments (1921 – 1923)

Compiled from the Original Columbia Documentation
by Allan Sutton

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Columbia did a healthy business with its jazz and “blues” records by Black artists in the early 1920s, as this representative sampling from Columbia’s files confirms. On average, shipments were on a par with many records by Columbia’s White pop performers of the period, and they far exceeded those of some prestigious Symphony Series artists. Columbia at the time was marketing these records across racial lines, but that would soon change, with its introduction of the segregated 13000-D / 14000-D series.

Not surprisingly, Bessie Smith was Columbia’s sales champ in this category, although none of her records came close to the million-seller mark, as some pop-culture writers have claimed (nor did any Columbia record during the early 1920s). Columbia underestimated the sale potential of her first release, with an initial pressing run of only 20,000 copies, which turned out to be insufficient to even fill the advance orders. During 1923, she handily outsold such White headliners as Eddie Cantor and Al Jolson, as will be seen in a future installment.

Most of these records had a relatively short life in the catalog, averaging a little over two years. As with ephemeral material in general, the largest sales occurred within the first few months of release, then dropped steadily. Most of the records listed here, if not already deleted, were cut from the catalog during the summer of 1925, when Columbia began purging its acoustically recorded material. The most notable exception was Bessie Smith’s A3844, which managed to avoid the axe until November 1929.

The following is a representative sampling from the Columbia files. It is important to note that these are the number of records shipped, not the actual number sold (actual sales statistics for this period have not survived).

Not reflected in these figures are unsold copies that were returned for credit, although those numbers likely would not have been large, since Columbia placed strict limits on such transactions. And it is not known if these figures include sample, review, and other complimentary copies, which would not count as sales. Nevertheless, they provide a good gauge of relative sales and, by projection, the degree of relative scarcity today. None are true rarities, of course (and a few, like A3844, are still downright common), but some can be surprisingly elusive, especially in decent condition.

 

A3365 • Stafford: Crazy Blues / Royal Garden Blues
Shipped: 116,188

A3511 • Stafford: Down Home Blues / Monday Morning Blues
Shipped: 18,482

A3537 • E. Wilson w/ Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: West Texas Blues / I Don’t Want Nobody
Shipped: 25,800

A3541 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Bugle Blues / Birmingham Blues
Shipped: 16,870

A3579 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Put and Take / Moanful Blues *
Shipped: 23,582

A3653 • E. Wilson w/ Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: He May Be Your Man / Rules and Regulations
Shipped: 56,819

A3696 • L. Williams: Sugar Blues / The Meanest Man in the World
Shipped: 40,553

A3736 • L. Williams: Uncle Bud / Mexican Blues
Shipped: 18,568

A3739 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Four O’Clock Blues / Hawaiian Blues
Shipped: 100,872

A3746 • E. Wilson w/ Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Evil Blues / Pensacola Blues
Shipped: 62,979

A3787 • E. Wilson w/ Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Dixie Blues / He Used to Be Your Man
Shipped: 50,661

A3815 • L. Williams: I’m Going Away / Bring It with You When You Come
Shipped: 26,885

A3835 • L. Williams: If Your Man Is Like My Man / That Teasin’ Squeezin’ Man
Shipped: 18,004

A3839 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Hallelujah Blues / Spanish Dreams
Shipped: 26,080

A3844 • B. Smith: Down Hearted Blues / Gulf Coast Blues
Shipped: 276,990

A3888 • B. Smith: Baby Won’t You Please Come Home / Oh Papa Blues
Shipped: 152,7679

A3893 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Vampin’ Sal / Sweet Lovin’ Mama
Shipped: 16,899

A3897 • L. Miles: Sweet Smelling’ Mama / Haitian Blues
Shipped: 14,765

A3910 • B. Smith: Mama’s Got the Blues / Outside of That
Shipped: 96,413

A3915 • Gulf Coast Seven: Daybreak Blues / Fade Away Blues
Shipped: 28,425

A3915 • L. Wilson w/ Jazz Hounds: Deceitful Blues / Memphis Tennessee
Shipped: 15,701

A3920 • L. Miles: Family Trouble Blues / Triflin’ Man
Shipped: 9,629

A3921 • A. Brown: Michigan Water Blues / Tired o’ Waitin’ Blues
Shipped: 17,098

A3922 • Baxter: You Got Ev’rything / Taylor: My Pillow and Me
Shipped: 13,624

A3936 • B. Smith: Bleeding Hearted Blues / Midnight Blues **
Shipped: 133,626+

A3939 • B. Smith: Yodling Blues / Lady Luck Blues
Shipped: 45,664

A3942 • B. Smith: Nobody in Town / If You Don’t I Know Who Will
Shipped: 65,887

A3950 • J. P. Johnson: Worried and Lonesome Blues / Weeping Blues
Shipped: 13,447

A3951 • Henderson’s Hot Six: Gulf Coast Blues / Midnight Blues
Shipped: 14,536

A3958 • R. Henderson: Afternoon Blues / I Need You
Shipped: 10,716

A3959 • Fowler: Blues Mixture / Satisfied Blues
Shipped: 7,388

A3965 • Ridley: I Don’t Let No One Man Worry Me / Alabama Bound Blues
Shipped: 18,504

A3966 • C. Smith: Play It / All Night Blues
Shipped: 25,778

A3978 • Gulf Coast Seven: Papa Better Watch Your Step / Memphis Tennessee
Shipped: 20,084

A3992 • C. Smith: I Want My Sweet Daddy Now / Irresistible Blues
Shipped: 20,734

A3995 • Henderson’s Orch: Dicty Blues / Doo Doodle Oom
Shipped: 21,155

A4000 • C. Smith: I Never Miss the Sunshine / Awful Moanin’ Blues
Shipped: 62,435

A4001 • B. Smith: Graveyard Dream Blues / Jail House Blues
Shipped: 206,293

 

* Although some discographies question whether this was a Dunn recording, it is credited to Johnny Dunn’s Original Jazz Hounds on the Columbia accounting sheet.

** Total sales at time of first deletion in Aug 1925. The record was reinstated in the catalog from Jan 1926 to Mar 1928; sales figures for that period are not noted.

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In upcoming installments, we’ll be looking at Columbia shipping figures for pop, ethnic, and classical releases.

 

© 2021 by Allan R. Sutton. All rights are reserved.

 

First Batch of Additions and Revisions to “The International Record Company Discography” (2nd Edition)

First Batch of Additions and Revisions to
The International Record Company Discography
(2nd Edition)

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The first additions and revisions to the newly posted International Record Company Discography have already arrived, from Scott Vaughan, thanks to whom we can remove Excelsior [X] 2060 from the “untraced” list. The selection is “If Mister Boston Lawson Has His Way” (from George H. Cohan’s “Little Johnny Jones”), shortened on the label to simply “Boston Lawson.” There is no artist credit, but Billy Murray is readily recognizable:

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Excelsior [X] 2060
BILLY MURRAY: If Mr. Boston Lawson Has His Way

Image and MP3s courtesy of Scott Vaughan

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Other additions and an important revision from Scott, all confirmed from his submitted scans and/or MP3 files:

 

340 — The correct selection is actually “My Maryland,” a march composed by W. S. Mygrant, despite labels that read “Maryland, My Maryland.” (The latter is the state song of Maryland, which uses the melody to “O Tannenbaum,” a.k.a. “Oh Christmas Tree,” and which is interpolated midway through Mygrant’s piece):
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1576 — A copy of Central 1576 labeled for this title  actually uses Excelsior 340 (see comments above).

 

3148 — Also on Excelsior 3148, credited to Wm. Fredericks on the label. (Other inspected labels by this artist spell the name Frederichs. Does anyone know who this was, and which is the correct spelling?)

 

3175 — Also on Excelsior 3175

 

3207 — Also on Excelsior 3207

 

These revisions will be added to the permanent discography the next time we update the file, probably within the next month or two. Verifiable additions and corrections to all of our online discographies are always welcome and can be e-mailed to:

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The International Record Company Discography (1905 – 1907) • Free Download

The International Record Company Discography — Second Edition

Free to Download for Personal Use*

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By Allan Sutton
Data Compiled by William R. Bryant and
The Record Research Associates

 

The latest addition to Mainspring’s free Online Reference Library, The International Record Company Discography is a revised and updated version of the 2015 Mainspring Press book (now out of print), with new data from Mark McDaniel, Ryan Barna, David Giovannoni, and other reliable collector-researchers with whom we’re honored to work.

IRC — the recording subsidiary of the Auburn Button Works, which pressed the records — was one of several large operations that infringed the basic Berliner and Jones patents on lateral-cut recording. Like its counterparts, Leeds & Catlin and the American Record Corporation (Hawthorne, Sheble & Prescott), IRC eventually was driven out of business under relentless legal pressure from Victor and Columbia. You can find a detailed history of the company in American Record Companies and Producers, 1888–1950, available from Mainspring Press.

*As with all titles in the Online Reference Library, this one may be downloaded free of charge for your personal use only. It is protected under federal copyright law and subject to the following conditions: Sale or other commercial use is prohibited, as is any unauthorized duplication, e-book or other digital conversion, or distribution via the Internet or by any means (print, digital, or otherwise). Please abide by these conditions to so that we can continue to make these valuable works freely available.

 

Download for Personal Use
(PDF, ~1.5 mb)

 

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A sampling of IRC-produced labels, from the
collection
of Kurt Nauck

Audio Oddities: William S. Hart Seeks a Friend Lost in Alaska (1932)

Audio Oddities: William S. Hart Seeks a Friend
Lost in Alaska (1932)

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In September 1932, old-time cowboy-movie star William S. Hart commissioned Columbia to produce a personal recording. Hart was trying to locate a friend who had gone missing in the wilds of Alaska, and Columbia apparently promised to distribute 100,000 copies of his appeal around the world (or so Hart claimed; if so, most of them have long-since vanished). The results were issued on a little 5½” picture disc that is not easy to find today.

The reverse side was standard Wild West fare, an old tale about Wild Bill Hickok emptying eight shots into eight bad men. But the “A” side, Hart’s appeal for help in locating his lost friend, reveals far more about the man himself. His popularity had waned as younger and more flamboyant movie cowboys like Tom Mix came on the scene, and Hart sounds wistful as he explains that he can no longer make the movies his audiences once craved.

There’s another interesting aspect to this record, for those with a discographical bent. The masters bears the highest numbers found so far in what began as Columbia’s 5½” Little Wonder series in 1914, then later morphed into other uses. The masters were originally recorded sequentially, as P-W 1809 (side 1) and P-W 1810 (side 2).

But for some reason, 1809 was subsequently re-recorded as 1813 — one number higher than the highest reported in Brooks & Sprinzen’s Little Wonder discography. If you’re lucky enough to own a copy of that book (which actually covers the whole 5½” series, not just Little Wonder), you’ll need to pencil-in 1813 at the end; and by all means, let us know if you find any higher numbers.

Equally interesting is the fact that the copies we’ve used here are unauthorized vinyl pressings made surreptitiously at the Columbia plant in 1960, after it was discovered that CBS was planning to scrap most of the acoustic masters. Private collector Bill Moran tapped a factory insider to coordinate pressing of important engendered masters, without the company’s knowledge or authorization, from his wish-list of artists. The records were smuggled out by sympathetic managers in their briefcases. You can read the full story in the next post.

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WILLIAM S. HART: Greetings from Bill Hart

New York: September 8, 1932
Columbia un-numbered custom vinyl pressing
(mx. P-W 1813 – 1)

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WILLIAM S. HART: Untitled

New York: September 8, 1932
Columbia un-numbered custom vinyl pressing
(mx. P-W 1810 – 3)

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Hart’s scarce 1932 5½” picture disc, and one of the unauthorized 1960 vinyl pressings from those masters (see next post), made on a 10″ blank. Engineer’s notes around the outer margin of P-W 1813 read “110 lines – 78 R.P.M – 72 point – recorder # L52 – rerecorded.” (Mainspring Press collection).

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Our thanks to Steve the Record Maven for parting with the vinyls.

 

Article © 2020 by Mainspring Press. All rights are reserved.

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Columbia Marconi-Type Pressings in Chile (Fonografía Artística Records)

Columbia Marconi-Type Pressings in Chile
 By Renato D. Menare Rowe
(Santiago, Chile)

 

 

Related Article: The Marconi Velvet Tone Story

 

In Chile, the pioneer of sound recording, on cylinders and later on discs, was Efraín Band, creator and owner of the label Fonografía Artística. Some of Efraín Band’s Chilean recordings were pressed by Columbia on flexible discs (Marconi Velvet-Tone type), with the label Fonografía Artística. Some were coupled with original Columbia recordings of Mexican music.

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One of Band’s own standard shellac pressings (top), and a flexible version of the same record, pressed by Columbia.

 

Ephraim Band’s normal shellac pressings were announced at first, giving the title, and the phrase “propiedad de la casa Efraín Band” (“ownership of the Ephraim Band house”). Band’s recordings pressed by Columbia were also announced, but indicating only the title, for which a different matrix was recorded by Band. The numbering of shellac recordings was four figures, and the flexible recordings were the same, but with a zero in front.

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The following flexible Marconi-type discs were pressed by Columbia, from masters in their Mexican series, for sale in Chile on the Fonografía Artística label. The reverse sides are Band’s own recordings. We would be interested in hearing from anyone who has other confirmed examples.

 

010033-1-3    (Mx 5516)

La trigueñita – Canción popular
Maximiano Rosales
FA 010033
            (Original  Columbia C177 –  c. 1903–1908)
            Rev.: 02197 (02197-1-1)   El cazador – Cueca

 

10035-3-1   (Mx 5521)

Levántate vieja modorra – Canción popular
Maximiano Rosales y Rafael Herrera Robinson
FA 010035
            (Original  Columbia C195 –  c. 1903–1908)
            Rev.: 02014 (02014.1.1)   El paseo en carreta

 

010041-4-2    (Mx 5576)

El amor y el desafío – Jota mexicana
Maximiano Rosales y Rafael Herrera Robinson
FA 010041
            (Original  Columbia C194 –  c. 1903–1908)
            Rev: 02011 (02011-1-1)   Por amor cantan las aves – Tenor

 

010053-4-2    (Mx 5482)

Aires Nacionales Nº 1 (Miguel Ríos Toledano)
Maximiano Rosales y Rafael Herrare Robinson
FA 010053
            (Original Columbia C146 – c. 1903-1908)
            Rev.: 02155 (02155.1.1)   El torito guapo – Cueca

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The South American Connection: Efraín Band’s Early Record Piracy Operation

The South American Connection: Efraín Band’s
Early Record Piracy Operation

 

The following translated excerpt from Efraín Band y los Inicios de la Fonografía en Chile, by Francisco Garrido Escobar and Renato D. Menare Rowe, exposes an early record-pirating operation in Santiago, Chile.

Band, who was also a legitimate record producer, obtained his pirated masters by electroplating other companies’ commercial pressings. Although the records he pressed from these masters are not known to have been marketed in the United States (where similar operations had been shut down earlier, by court order), they sometimes turn up here, usually to the bafflement of American collectors.

Our thanks to Renato D. Menare Rowe for permission to quote from this fascinating work. Read the complete article.

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Efraín Band employed a very simple method of illegally copying other companies’ records. It consisted of electroplating a regular commercial pressing to obtain a negative metal stamper from the disc, which could be used to press numerous shellac copies. While the resulting copies lacked the same quality as the originals, the advantage for Band was that he didn’t need to hire artists, and could sell these records at a much lower price than the imported records from which they were copied. In addition, Bain placed popular selections on each side, rather than coupling a popular selection with another that was not so well known, as the major companies used to do.

Among other examples of discs pirated by Efraín Band, it is worth highlighting Fonotipia Nos. 39046 and 39056, which coupled Charles Gounod’s “Ave Maria” Charles Gounod and “The Holy Book,” respectively, both by Giannina Rus. These appeared on a record which on one side has a World Records label 2805, and on the other corresponds to an Eagle Disc No. 2804, without indication of composers or artists. The fact that this record has both labels allows us to directly connect both labels with the same manufacturer.

Because this activity bordered on the illegal, the artists and composers usually were not shown on the labels, which were limited to indicating the rhythm or nature of the musical piece. It was not unusual that a “Tenor” turned out to be a great baritone, or that a “Tiple” was actually an internationally renowned mezzo-soprano. As can be seen, Band’s phonographic production was not limited to Chilean  repertoire, but covered all type of music.

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Band left tell-tale original markings clearly visible in his early pirated copies. These examples are from electroplated copies of Victor (top and center) and Gramophone Company (bottom) commercial pressings. In later years, however, he effaced the original markings.

 

In those years the main commercial house of Efraín Band was located in Calle Estado No. 359. However, the pirated discs were mostly marketed through traveling salespeople, who worked on commission. They toured provincial towns with a briefcase with “the latest news.” As one of those salespeople recalls, “I I sold him a lot of records and he paid me a good commission. I went out for a walk with a special briefcase. Once my briefcase was opened I sold all the records.”

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The Águila discs co-existed with another label created by Efraín Band, called Mundial Record. He then created the Mignon label, which was very short-lived. Later, these records were replaced by a new label called Royal Record, which bore a red label with gold lettering and a cat figure.

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The Royal Record labels boasted of international awards. The last to appear were Radio-Tone records, whose labels and envelopes claimed they were electrically recorded. Radio-Tone records remained in production for a long period, finally concluding in 1936 with the death of Efraín Band.

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On the oldest specimens of these discs, today called “pirates,” it is possible to distinguish in the wax the catalog numbers (and in some cases, even the matrix numbers) of the original recordings, which has allowed us to identify them fully. However, in later productions, like Radio-Tone, these numbers were carefully erased, along with any other evidence that would allow their later identification.

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Early Records Pirated by Efraín Band:
A Representative Listing
Compiled by Renato D. Menare Rowe
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Editor’s Note: Titles and descriptions are shown verbatim and unedited. All pressings are double-sided, with reverse-side numbers indicated, “Rev.” The records were issued in Chile on the following labels:

AG = Disco Águila
FA = Fonografía Artística
MI = Mignon Record
MU = Mundial Record

Discographical information (catalog and matrix numbers, and recording dates) has been supplemented in some instances with data from Alan Kelly and John R. Bolig.

 

 

2802   (FA)    Rev.: 2803

Tosca – E lucean le stelle – Tenor con acompañamiento de orquesta.

Enrico Caruso, con orquesta

   Victor 87044 (Mx. B-8346) — Nov 6, 1909

 

2803   (FA)    Rev.: 2803

Manon – Il sogno – Tenor con acompañamiento de orquesta.

Enrico Caruso, con piano

   Victor 81031 (Mx. B-1001) — Feb 1, 1904

 

2834   (AG)   Rev.: 2835

Rigoletto – Questa o quella – Tenor

Enrico Caruso, ac. Piano

   Victor 81025 (Mx. B-994) — Feb 1, 1904

 

2835   (AG)   Rev.: 2834

Rigoletto – La donna è mobile – Tenor

Enrico Caruso, ac. Orquesta

   Victor 87017 (Mx. B-6033) — Mar 16, 1908

 

2839   (MU)    Rev.: 2840

Mignon (Thomas) Ah, non credevi tu

Fernando de Lucia 

   Gramophone 2-52518 (Mx. 8054b) — May 1906

 

2840   (MU)   Rev.: 2839

Mignon (Thomas) La tua bell’alma

Fernando de Lucia

   Gramophone 2-52475 (Mx. 7342b) — 1905

 

2842   (AG)   Rev.: 2872

El Guaraní (Gomes) Sento una forza indomita

Giannina Russ – Gino Martínez-Patti.

   Fonotipia 39797

 

2844   (AG)   Rev.: 2845

Madama Butterfly [Tu, tu piccolo iddio]

Geraldine Farrar

   Victor 87030 (Mx. B-8270) — Oct 2, 1909

 

2845   (AG)   Rev.: 2844

Cavallería rusticana – Siciliana

Enrico Caruso

   Gramophone 53418-XIV (2876b) — Nov 30, 1902

 

2846   (AG)   Rev.: 2848

Cavallería rusticana – Brindis

Enrico Caruso

   Gramophone 52193-VII (Victor Mx. B-2344, as A2344) —
Feb 27, 1905

 

2848   (AG)– Rev.: 2846

Mefistofele – Giunto sul passo

Enrico Caruso

   Gramophone 52347-X (Mx. 1787) — Apr 11, 1902

 

2855   (AG)   Rev.: 2870

Aida – Celeste Aida – Tenor

Alessandro Bonci

   Fonotipia 39695 (Mx. Xph-1985) – 1905

 

2870   (AG)   Rev.: 2855

Fausto – Serenata – Bajo

Tu che fai l’adormentata

Adamo Didur

   Fonotipia 39486 – Feb 23, 1906

 

2872   (AG)   Rev.: 2842

Mefistofele (Boito) – Ave Signor

Nazareno De Angelis.

   Fonotipia 62176

 

2920   (MI)   Rev.: 2923

Il trovatore – Miserere

Enrico Caruso

   Victor 89030

 

2923   (MI)   Rev.: 2920

I pescatori di perle – Del tempio al limitar

Caruso y Ancona

   Victor 89007 (Mx. C-4327) — Mar 24, 1907

 

3425   (AG)   Rev.: 3424

La Casta Susana – Vals

Banda Rodríguez, Cond Walter B. Rogers

   Victor 65326-B — 1913

 

3439   (AG)   Rev.: 3823

Mariette

Victor Military Band

   Victor 17281-A (Mx. B-12854) — Jan 27, 1913

 

3620   (MU)    Rev.: 3622

Vieni sul mar – Tenor – Rep. Italiano – Orquesta.

Enrico Caruso, con orquesta

   Victor Mx. B-23139 – Sep 8, 1919

 

3622   (MU)    Rev.: 3620

Manon – Il sogno – Rep. Italiano – Orquesta.

Tito Schipa, con orquesta

   Victor Mx. B-26140 – May 2, 1922

 

3624   (MU)   Rev.: 3625

Granadinas – Canción

Tito Schipa

   Victor 66039 (Mx. B-26108) — Feb 3, 1922

 

3625   (MU)    Rev.: 3624

A la Orilla de un Palmar – Canción

Tito Schipa

   Victor 992 (Mx. B-27599) — Mar 12, 1923

 

3627   (MU)    Rev.: 3630

Rimpianto (Toselli)

Beniamino Gigli

   Victor 66102 (Mx. B-26167) — Sep 25, 1922

 

3630   (MU)    Rev.: 3627

Padre nuestro – Tango

Carlos Gardel

   Odeon 18078-A (Mx. 1485) 

 

3823   (AG)   Rev.: 3439

Whispering

Paul Whiteman Ambasador [sic] Orch

   Victor 18690-A (Mx. B-24393) – Aug 23, 1920

 

3836   (AG)   Rev.: 3837

Apple Blossoms – One step

Joseph C. Smith’s Orchestra

   Victor 18646-A (Mx. B-23396) – Dec 26, 1919

 

3837   (AG)   Rev.: 3836

Arrah Goon [sic: Go On] – One step

Victor Military Band

   Victor 18082-B (Mx. B-17818) – Jun 8, 1916

 

3849   (AG)   Rev.: 3855
3849   (MU)   Rev.: 3855

My Man – Fox trot

Orquesta (Paul Whiteman & his Orchestra)

   Victor 18758 (Mx. B-25028) – Apr 4, 1921

 

3855   (MU)   Rev.: 3849

Cuentos de Hoffmann

Orquesta Rep. Dancing. Solo de violín

   Victor — 1916

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Renato D. Menare Rowe is a genealogist and a researcher and collector of historical recordings living in Santiago, Chile.

Francisco J. Garrido Escobar is an archaeologist and graduate in social anthropology (Universidad de Chile) and curatorial advisor of the Museum of Science and Science and Technology of Santiago.

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The Victor Pict-Ur-Music Story & John Bolig’s Victor Film and Theater Records Discography (Free Download)

Latest Addition to the Mainspring Press Free
Online Reference Library:

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Download Free Personal-Use Edition (pdf, ~1.5 mb)

 

Buy Direct from Mainspring Press:

Winner of the 2019 ARSC Award for Excellence in Historical Recorded-Sound Research, this unique volume contains more than 1,100 entries covering the record companies, independent studios, and individual producers — and the thousands of disc and cylinder brands they produced for the commercial market (including consumer, jukebox, and subscription labels) — from the birth of commercial recording to the start of the LP era.

“A mighty fortress is this book – and it guards an accumulation of knowledge of unparalleled proportions.”
– Tim Fabrizio, ARSC Journal

American Record Companies and Producers will forever be the ultimate resource.”
– John R. Bolig, author of The Victor Discographies

“I am in awe of the scope, breadth, detail
and documentation.”

– James A. Drake, author of Ponselle: A Singer’s Life and Richard Tucker: A Biography


DETAILS AND SECURE ONLINE ORDERING

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New Discography: Sonora Vertical-Cut Records (Free Download for Personal Use)

Free to Download for Personal Use

SONORA VERTICAL-CUT RECORDS
A Preliminary Discography

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The newest addition to Mainspring Press’ free Online Reference Library explores the Sonora Phonograph Company’s rare and obscure 1910 vertical-cut discs.

Sonora’s attempts to enter the phonograph and record market were stymied from the start by attorneys for the Victor Talking Machine Company. Having been legally enjoined from making standard lateral-cut recordings (although they went so far as to advertise a lateral disc under the Crown label), Sonora took a bold but ill-advised step, becoming the first American producer to reach the market with vertical-cut discs.

Unfortunately, no significant market yet existed for such records in the United States, nor was Sonora able to create one. The company failed in 1911, and its masters were taken over by the producers of the newly launched Princess label, which was equally unsuccessful in winning over converts to the vertical cut. The Sonora name and “Clear as a Bell” trademark subsequently passed through a long succession of other owners.

Sonora Vertical-Cut Records is the only in-depth study of these records, compiled from first-hand inspection of the original discs and ancillary materials. It is a preliminary discography, and we will be updating it online as needed; information on submitting data will be found in the file. Also included is a timeline summarizing the Sonora Phonograph Company’s history, adapted from American Record Companies and Producers, 1888–1950 (the very few remaining copies are available from Mainspring Press).

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Download Acrobat / Reader file (pdf) (< 1 mb)

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Sonora Vetical-Cut Records is a part of the free
Record Collectors’ Online Reference Library,
courtesy of Mainspring Press, the leader in forensic discography.

This copyrighted publication is intended for personal, non-commercial use only. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution by any means, including but not limited to e-book or online database conversion, is prohibited. Please read, and be sure to observe, our terms of use as outlined in the file, so that we can continue to offer these free publications.

 

 

Buy Direct from Mainspring Press:

Winner of the 2019 ARSC Award for Excellence in Historical Recorded-Sound Research, this unique volume contains more than 1,100 entries covering the record companies, independent studios, and individual producers — and the thousands of disc and cylinder brands they produced for the commercial market (including consumer, jukebox, and subscription labels) — from the birth of commercial recording to the start of the LP era.

“A mighty fortress is this book – and it guards an accumulation of knowledge of unparalleled proportions.”
– Tim Fabrizio, ARSC Journal

American Record Companies and Producers will forever be the ultimate resource.”
– John R. Bolig, author of The Victor Discographies

“I am in awe of the scope, breadth, detail
and documentation.”

– James A. Drake, author of Ponselle: A Singer’s Life and Richard Tucker: A Biography


DETAILS AND SECURE ONLINE ORDERING

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Phono-Cut Discography Updated (Version 2.0)

Phono-Cut Discography Update (Version 2.0)
Free Download

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The latest version of the Phono-Cut discography is now available to download free for your personal use. Our thanks to Robert Coon, Glenn Longwell, and Steven Nordhougen, who contributed significant new data to Version 2.

Phono-Cut is an ongoing project, and we welcome additions and corrections (preferably with label photos or scans for verification) for future updates. Information on submitting data will be found in the file.

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Download Free for Personal Use (pdf) (~2 mb)


Phono-Cut Records is a part of the free
Record Collectors’ Online Reference Library,
courtesy of Mainspring Press, the leader in forensic discography.

This copyrighted publication is intended for personal, non-commercial use only. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution by any means, including but not limited to e-book or online database conversion, is prohibited. Please read, and be sure to observe, our terms of use as outlined in the file, so that we can continue to offer these free publications.

 

Free Download • Ajax Records: The Complete Discography

Free Download
Ajax Records: The Complete Discography
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.William R. Bryant & The Record Research Associates
Edited and Annotated by Allan Sutton

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Download Free for Personal Use (pdf, ~0.5mb)

 

Ajax has been called “the forgotten race record label.” It was an odd creature, the product of Emile Berliner’s rebellious son Herbert, and his Canadian-based Compo Company; but the masters were recorded in New York (for the most part), and the records, although pressed in Canada, were intended for the African-American market in the U.S.

Although the “Ajax Record Company” was officially headquartered in Chicago, it was little more than a sales and distribution office, managed by Compo Company personnel. Unfortunately, Ajax never recorded there (the sides listed as Chicago recordings in some discographies were actually made in Montreal, as the surviving Compo ledgers confirm). Berliner instead brought locally available artists to his New York branch studio. Most of them were contracted by promoter and publisher Joe Davis (who oversaw the recording sessions along with Berliner), and few measured up to the Chicago-based artists that Paramount was promoting so successfully at the time. Nevertheless, there are some gems to be found in the Ajax catalog.

Although Compo’s files have survived, those of its Ajax subsidiary (which used a separate series of master numbers) have not. Therefore, this is a reconstruction, based in part on first-hand inspection of the now-rare original discs, and in part on what can be inferred from surviving documentation, including relevant portions of the Compo ledgers, and listing and release dates from The Chicago Defender, The Talking Machine World, and other period publications. Recording-date ranges have been extrapolated based upon  Berliner’s monthly week-or-so absences from Montreal (as noted in the ledgers), which are believed to correspond with his visits to the New York studio, and which correlate very nicely with the confirmed release dates. Personnel listings are based upon the recollections of Louis Hooper, Joe Davis, and others who were present at the recording sessions.

A detailed history of the Ajax Record Company, and of Herbert Berliner and the Compo Company’s American recording activities, can be found in American Record Companies and Producers: An Encyclopedic History, 1888–1950, available from Mainspring Press.

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See all titles in the Mainspring Press
Free Online Reference Library

Like all of our free downloadable titles, this publication is offered for your personal use only. Sale or other commercial use is prohibited, as is any unauthorized duplication, distribution, or alteration, including conversion to e-books or online databases.

Please honor our terms of use, so that we can continue to offer these free publications.

 

Buy Direct from Mainspring Press:

Winner of the 2019 ARSC Award for Excellence in Historical Recorded-Sound Research, this unique volume contains more than 1,100 entries covering the record companies, independent studios, and individual producers — and the thousands of disc and cylinder brands they produced for the commercial market (including consumer, jukebox, and subscription labels) — from the birth of commercial recording to the start of the LP era.

“A mighty fortress is this book – and it guards an accumulation of knowledge of unparalleled proportions.”
– Tim Fabrizio, ARSC Journal

American Record Companies and Producers will forever be the ultimate resource.”
– John R. Bolig, author of The Victor Discographies

“I am in awe of the scope, breadth, detail
and documentation.”

– James A. Drake, author of Ponselle: A Singer’s Life and Richard Tucker: A Biography


DETAILS AND SECURE ONLINE ORDERING

Worth Reading and Hearing: “The Blue Sky Boys” and “Black Swans”

Looking for a gift for that hard-to-shop-for vintage-record fan? Here are a couple of recent releases we’ve enjoyed:

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THE BLUE SKY BOYS

Dick Spottswood
ISBN 978-1-4968-1641-2
University Press of Mississippi

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Legendary musicologist, historian, and producer Dick Spottswood turns his attention to Bill and Earl Bollick, two brothers from Hickory, North Carolina, who as the Blue Sky Boys captivated record buyers and radio audiences in the 1930s.

The Bolicks bucked the latest trends in country music during the years leading up to World War II, preferring close-harmony renditions of southern folk tunes, old-time songs, hymns, and new compositions in a similar mold. Self-accompanied on guitar and mandolin, they developed a low-key, distinctive and readily recognizable sound that was sometimes imitated but never quite duplicated.

Their story is told in part by Bill Bolick himself, whose recollections are skillfully interwoven with Dick Spottswood’s perceptive commentary. Even if the Blue Sky Boys are not your cup of tea, you’ll find much of interest here, such as the role that radio played in disseminating country music, and how sponsors and station owners of the period treated or mistreated their artists. There are numerous illustrations (many of them rarely seen or previously unpublished), a detailed discography, and other useful backmatter.

Dick Spottswood is the author of numerous important works, the most monumental being his five-volume Ethnic Music on Records. He now lives in Naples, Florida, where he produces and hosts Bluegrass Country’s online version of “The Dick Spottswood Show” (aka “The Obsolete Music Hour”). The Blue Sky Boys has won a well-deserved 2019 Award for Excellence from the Association for Recorded Sound Collections.

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BLACK SWANS

Leslie Gerber, Tim Brooks, and Steve Smolian, producers
Parnassus PACD-96067 (CD)
Parnassus Records

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This ground-breaking CD focuses on black classical and operatic performers of the early twentieth century, a group largely overlooked by modern writers (a notable exception being co-producer Tim Brooks, whose Lost Sounds explored many of them in depth for the first time).

The recordings fall into three basic groups: Roland Hayes’ privately made Columbias; the 1919 Broome Specials (Broome having been the first black-owned record label); and the Black Swan operatic series of 1921–1922. As experienced collectors know, these records range from scarce to extraordinarily rare, and assembling them all is a notable achievement. Twenty of the twenty-five selections are reissued here for the first time.

Understand that this is not an “easy listening” compilation, from either a musical or a technological standpoint. Steve Smolian has been diligent in his sound-restoration work, but clean copies do not always exist of records this rare (some of which were poorly recorded to begin with), and the sound quality varies accordingly. Musically, there are some gems here, as well as some failures that nevertheless are worth hearing, for historical perspective if nothing else.

Black Swan’s Harry Pace misjudged his audience, stubbornly clinging to the belief that they would flock to what he called “numbers of a higher standard,” even as meager sales proved him wrong. Although it might be true that some of these artists failed to gain wider recognition because of their color, voices and technique that fell short of the demands of their material certainly are also to blame. The Harlem Renaissance, like any cultural movement, had its share of the mediocre and the pretentious, some of whom are on display here.

As expected, Roland Hayes emerges as the most promising performer of the lot. The fact that he had to pay Columbia to record him — only to move to England, where he was welcomed by the Vocalion label and went on to achieve international acclaim — speaks volumes about the times. Perhaps the most musically interesting items are the two piano solos by R. Nathaniel Dett, playing his own compositions. Co-producer Leslie Gerber has provided excellent program notes, including biographical sketches based in part on Lost Sounds.

While not for the casual listener, Black Swans can be a rewarding experience if approached with an open mind and some knowledge and appreciation of black history.

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Correcting “Country Music” (PBS) • Jimmie Rodgers’ Record Royalties: The Actual Story

Correcting Country Music (PBS)
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Jimmie Rodgers’ Record Royalties: The Actual Story
By Allan Sutton

 

Ken Burns’ Country Music (PBS) offers up its share of errors and hoary, now-debunked anecdotes, some of which are sufficiently egregious that they’re worth addressing here. For starters, there’s the matter of the royalties paid on Jimmie Rodgers’ Victor record sales.

As the Burns team would have, Rodgers enjoyed sudden wealth from the royalties on sale of his records — but that was not the case. In fact, during his first two years with Victor, Rodgers not only received no royalties on his record sales, but was one of Victor’s lowest-paid artists.

Any sudden wealth that might have come Rodgers’ way from 1927 into early 1929 would have come from live-performance fees and sales of his sheet music (which Ralph Peer published, and on which he held the copyrights), not from record-sale royalties — because none were paid during that time.

Fortunately, there is reliable, primary-source documentation concerning this matter, in the official minutes of the Victor Talking Machine Company’s Managers’ Committee — a source with which the Burns team was obviously unfamiliar and in which, had they looked, they would have found some fascinating glimpses into the workings of Ralph Peer and the nascent market for country music records.

As the minutes make clear, in three separate entries at various times, Rodgers was paid no royalties on sales of his records from 1927 until mid-February 1929. During that period, he received only a flat payment of $75 per approved title, with an agreement to  raise that figure to $100 in July 1929 and to $150 in July 1930, but still without a royalties provision. By comparison, Victor at the time was paying pseudo-hillbilly Vernon Dalhart a $400 advance per title, against an artist royalty of 1¢ per side (½¢ for duets) on his record sales.

In early 1929, Rodgers finally “expressed dissatisfaction” with the existing pay agreement, and Victor executives approved a revised package, superseding the original agreement. Beginning on February 15, 1929, Rodgers was to receive a $100 advance per approved selection, against an artist royalty of ½¢ per side. The change was reported in the Managers’ Committee’s minutes for March 6, 1929:

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That still fell far short of what Victor had been paying Dalhart. However, Dalhart had priced himself out Victor’s good graces some months earlier, insisting on a $25,000 annual guarantee and the right to record for any other companies he chose. (Managers’ Committee minutes, June 6, 1928). Estimating that Victor would have to sell 2.5 million records a year just to meet that guarantee, management decided not to renew Dalhart, who soon began a long downward spiral.

Dalhart’s loss of his Victor contract almost certainly worked to Rodgers’ advantage, with Victor officials noting, “While [Dalhart] is practically the leading artist of his type, we have other artists which we can build up to take his place… .”  And build they certainly did, in Rodgers’ case.

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For the stories behind the many country music labels and producers you won’t hear mentioned on Ken Burns’ Country Music, be sure to check out American Record Companies and Producers, 1888–1950, a special limited edition available exclusively from Mainspring Press and Nauck’s Vintage Records.

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The James A. Drake Interviews • Walter Gustave (Gus) Haenschen: The Brunswick Years — Part 3

The James A. Drake Interviews
Gus Haenschen: The Brunswick Years — Part 3

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> Part 1  | > Part 2

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It was in Los Angeles that you recorded Charlie Chaplin with Abe Lyman’s orchestra, am I right?

Yes, Abe Lyman’s band with Charlie listed on the records—we did two sides, as I recall—as “guest conductor.”

 

Although it’s known today that Chaplin wrote the scores for all of his films, I doubt that it was known then. How did you come to record him as a “guest conductor”? Did you know him at that time?

Not personally, no, but of course I was a fan of his movies. Charlie contacted me through Abe Lyman. That’s how those records came about. Charlie wrote songs all the time, and he wanted to have about a dozen of them recorded. When Abe [Lyman] told me that Charlie was interested in having his songs recorded, I told Percy Deutsch about it and he said to pay Charlie whatever he wanted because having the name Charlie Chaplin on Brunswick records would be one of our “exclusives” and would sell a lot of records for us.

 

Did you negotiate a contract with Chaplin?

He didn’t want a contract. Money wasn’t a factor because he was already one of the wealthiest movie stars and was also one of the “big four” [Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, David Wark Griffith, and Chaplin] who founded United Artists. What he wanted to do was to have his songs recorded, and he also wanted to conduct them and then play a violin solo in some of the recordings. So basically, he agreed to try out some recordings with us, and if there was a demand for more, he would talk to us about royalties and such.

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Publicity shots from the May 1923 session (the exact date has not survived in the Brunswick files). In the top photo, Gus Kahn is seated at the piano, with (left to right) Haenschen, Chaplin, and Abe Lyman.

 

What do you remember about making the recordings?

Charlie was so excited that he wanted me to show him everything about the recording process. I took Frank Hofbauer to Los Angeles with me because he was our “expert,” and he would design the permanent studios we intended to build there and would also do the recordings we made in the temporary studio we used. So I spent almost a full day with Charlie, showing him how the recording process worked.

Then Abe [Lyman] and Gus Kahn and I spent part of an afternoon with Charlie. Gus worked directly with Charlie to write the arrangements for the first two songs we were going to record. Everything was going well until Charlie played the violin for us. He was self-taught, and he played left-handed so he had his violin strung the opposite of a standard violin. His playing was so amateurish that there was no way we were going to allow him to play any solo passages on a Brunswick recording.

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Although Chaplin’s record was widely advertised, it was not a big seller for Brunswick. Some dealer ads, like the lower example, claimed that Chaplin played violin on the record, which Haenschen recalled was not the case.

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Because Abe [Lyman] knew him well, I left it to Abe to have to tell Charlie that he couldn’t play on an actual recording. But we agreed that Charlie should really conduct the recording session, which he did—not with a baton or with his hands, but with his violin bow. The day we made the first two recordings, he brought a camera crew with him. They set up all sorts of lights around the studio, and the crew filmed him and us during the whole session. It was a fun experience, and afterward Charlie treated all of us to a dinner at his studios.

Unfortunately, the “try out” that all of us had envisioned didn’t sell any records. Looking back, I can see why. At that time [1923], movies were silent and Charlie was seen but never heard. And as you said, very few people knew—or cared—that he wrote the scores for his films. Movie audiences weren’t listening to his music, they were watching him on the screen. In the silent-movie days, no one associated Charlie Chaplin with sound recordings, so the fact that he was listed on two Brunswick sides as the “guest conductor” of the Abe Lyman band didn’t mean anything from a promotion standpoint.

But that wasn’t the end of it—in fact, in some ways it was just the beginning. Charlie wanted to record all of the songs he had mentioned, about a dozen of them, and he was relentless about it. He sent me telegrams day and night, he nearly drove Abe Lyman crazy, and then he sent me scores that he had had someone make of all the songs. I had to find more ways of saying no than I had ever known until then. Finally, he stopped “campaigning” and went back to working day and night on his movies.

But about the time [Chaplin] had given up on us, Rudolph Valentino contacted us and wanted to make records too. [1] Everyone knew that Valentino was a splendid dancer, and of course he was the biggest name in movies in the mid-1920s. He told Bill Brophy and me that he had studied voice in Italy, and would sing on our recordings. We had no reason to dispute what he said, so we agreed to record him in New York. We did—and the two songs he sang on those recordings were the worst ever made by Brunswick or any other company.

 

What did he sing? Was it an opera aria or a song?

I can only remember one of them, the “Kashmiri Song,” which he sang in English. He spoke English fluently, by the way. [John] McCormack and so many other real singers had recorded it, and it’s a good song so we figured Valentino could sing it credibly. Of course, we also figured that having his name on a Brunswick label, and introducing him to the public as not just the great lover, the movie star, but also as a singer would be another exclusive for us.

Well, the recording was an absolute disaster! If he had ever had a voice lesson, it didn’t “take” because his timbre was awful, and his intonation was even worse. He was either under-pitch or above-pitch throughout most of the recording. The other one we made with him was a popular Spanish song [”El Relicario”] that he sang in Spanish—and it was even worse than the “Kashmiri Song.” Both of the test pressings were so bad that we would never have released them. If we did, we would have been the laughingstock of the industry.

 

Was Valentino as relentless as Chaplin was about pressuring you to release them?

Percy Deutsch and two other executives, Ed Bensinger and Bill Brophy, kept putting off Valentino by telling him that Brunswick would prefer to wait to release his record in connection with his next biggest film. They kept putting him off for almost two years, and then—and this sounds awful—he solved Brunswick’s problem by dying in 1926.

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Brunswick did not release the Valentino recordings, although a catalog number to them was assigned following his death. In 1930 it dubbed the recordings, with spoken introductions, for a special release by the obscure Celebrities Recording Company.

 

Those recordings were released after his death. Did Brunswick release them after all?

No, no. Some record company—it wasn’t Brunswick—put out a sort of “memorial record” with a pompous introduction explaining that these two songs were the only time that the voice of Valentino was ever recorded. I don’t know how those test recordings got released. Maybe somebody got the test pressings from his estate, I don’t know. I had left Brunswick by then, so I don’t know if the company got an injunction or sued whoever it was that released them. [2]

 

In your files there are letters between you and Oliver Hardy about making records for Brunswick. Do you recall your dealings with Hardy?

Yes, and they were very pleasant. I met him when I went to Los Angeles to set up the temporary studio, the one where we recorded Chaplin. You may know this, but everybody who knew Hardy called him “Babe,” not “Ollie” or “Oliver.” He had been a singer before he got into [motion] pictures, and he had a very pleasant tenor voice. The problem was that he and Stan Laurel were making silent pictures, so no one knew that Hardy could sing. But he could really sing—and he did when he and Laurel made sound pictures. He was also a hell of a golfer, by the way. Like Bing [Crosby], he was almost a par golfer.

 

Your files also contain some correspondence with two other film stars, Ramon Navarro and John Boles, who wanted to make records with Brunswick. Do you recall dealing with them?

With Navarro, yes, in Los Angeles. He was a competent “salon pianist,” but as with Hardy, no one knew that he had any musical ability. The same with John Boles. Although I did meet with him and he was a very nice guy, [Boles] was another case of a silent movie star who could sing credibly but no one knew it, so there was no point in having him make records for us. As a movie star, he was nowhere near Valentino, but [Boles] could sing—his voice was a light baritone, or maybe a tenor with a limited top [range] and a fast vibrato—but he made several successful sound films later on. [3]

 

Among the vocalists you recorded at Brunswick, there are two tenors I’d like to ask you about. The first is Frank Munn, whom you discovered. How did that come about?

Being a machinist myself, I had a lot of friends who were master machinists. I kept hearing about this rotund machinist who had this beautiful tenor voice, but had lost part of his index finger in an accident and was now driving trucks. After a while I found out his name, so I looked him up in the phone book and found that he was living in a little apartment in the Bronx.

Frank was a very shy man, and when I introduced myself to him and told him that I heard he was a singer, he seemed kind of lost for words. I could see how reticent he was, so I asked him where he liked to eat, and then told him I want to treat him to lunch on a Sunday. He was still very reticent when we got together, and I think it was because he had found out that I was with a major record company. I actually had to convince him to audition for us—that’s how shy he was.

Frank was what used to be called a “Mister Five-by-Five.” He was about 5’ 5” and he weighed close to 300 pounds, so he was almost as round as he was tall. He had two suits and two dress shirts that had to be custom-tailored for him due to his size. He was single back then, but later he married a wonderful woman, Ruth, who was the dream of his life. She took wonderful care of him, and they were such a great couple. Being so overweight, he was extremely sensitive about it, but in her eyes he was as handsome as a movie star—and she loved to hear him sing.

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Frank Munn, from Radio Revue for February 1930

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We [Brunswick] were already doing the “Brunswick Hour” when I met Frank, and we had ironed out the problems with electrical recording by then. His voice recorded so well that it amazed all of us. I didn’t know it at the time, but he had made some personal recordings and had even done a trial recording for Edison. [4] But those were acoustic recordings, and like Nick Lucas, Frank didn’t have the kind of voice that recorded well acoustically. [5] But on electrical recordings and on radio, Frank’s voice was just beautiful.

Because of his obesity, his boyish face, very light skin, and the timbre of his speaking voice—which was exactly like his singing voice—and his shyness, you wouldn’t take Frank for being a strong man. Well, one day in the studio we found out just how strong he was. It was a hot summer day, and we were re-doing the studios—we had three of them, and one studio was still equipped with one of the very heavy acoustic recorders that Frank Hofbauer had designed. We needed to get it out of there, and four workmen were hired to remove it.

Well, only two showed up—and we waited and waited for the other two, but they never showed. We were on a tight schedule and weren’t doing any recording while the studios were all being redone, so I was infuriated about these two workmen not showing up. It was very hot—this was in July, I think—and tempers were getting short. Frank was there to rehearse in another room with several men from our Brunswick Male Chorus. He was always punctual, and had arrived early for this rehearsal.

When he saw what was going on, he said to me, “I can help with this,” and he picked up one side of this very heavy machine as if it didn’t weigh ten pounds! The other two workmen were struggling to keep it off the ground, but Frank was not only lifting and moving what it would have taken two men to do, he was also telling the other two to move this way and that way until that machine was out of the room.

Word got around that Frank was super-strong, and when some of the guys would tell him they had heard about it, Frank reacted very modestly but you could tell it meant something to him. From then on, we made bets about what he could lift. One bet that I especially remember was whether he could lift the rear end of a Ford sedan high enough that the rear tires would not be touching the pavement. One of our [Brunswick] fellows had a four-door Model T with a back bumper on it, and I watched Frank Munn put on a pair of leather gloves and lift the entire rear end of that Ford until the tires were almost two inches above the pavement!

 

Frank Munn’s voice has a very sweet quality, for want of a better word, on his recordings. Had he studied voice formally?

Frank never had any lessons as far as I know. His voice was just “natural.” It wasn’t large, nor did it have much of a range. When I wrote arrangements for Frank’s recordings, I tried not to have him sing above an A-flat because he didn’t have much of a top. But the timbre of his voice gave the impression that he was singing higher. To me, the best things about his singing were his intonation, his phrasing, which was always on the beat, and his natural diction—no rolling of the Rs and that sort of thing.

Frank was ideal for recording and for radio because he was never seen by an audience, so he didn’t have to worry about his obesity. He didn’t like having photos taken, but we used the best professionals and they lighted him in ways that emphasized his dark hair and his eyes and his smile, not his body. When he had to pose for longer shots, he would stand behind a piano so that the photo would be of his upper body.

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A hand-colored photo of Virginia Rea and Frank Munn, with Haenschen at the piano (1928)

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I remember a photo session with Frank, Virginia Rea and me—I was seated at the piano, and they were in formal dress standing in front of microphones—which became the cover picture for one of the monthly radio magazines that were popular back then. The photo was hand-colored, and the background was quite dark. Frank positioned himself slightly behind Virginia [Rea], and his black tuxedo blended into the dark background. He was very fond of that magazine-cover photo.

 

Another tenor you had under contract at Brunswick was Theo Karle. What do you recall of him?

We made a lot of recordings with Theo Karle. If I had to liken him to another tenor, at least on recordings, I’d say that he was Brunswick’s Giovanni Martinelli. He had an unusual timbre that on [acoustical] recordings sounded somewhat like Martinelli’s. He recorded tenor arias from Italian and French operas but did them in English, and also sang oratorio selections for us. We recorded him singing operetta selections—he was the main tenor in our Brunswick Light Opera Company—and he also recorded several Irish ballads. His wasn’t a great voice, but it recorded well and he was very easy to work with.

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Allen McQuhae (left) and Theo Karle

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Another tenor I want to ask you about it your Irish tenor, Allen McQuhae. Was he Brunswick’s John McCormack?

If he thought he was, someone should have disabused him of it. He was an “Irish tenor” only in the sense that he was born there, and sang some of McCormack’s repertoire. Most of his earlier [career] was spent in the Midwest—Cleveland, Detroit, Cincinnati—singing with their symphonies. At that time, he was singing French and Italian arias, and some oratorio pieces. I think he had also done some singing in Canada, which is where he emigrated after leaving Ireland.

Personally, I never thought much of his voice or of his singing. His timbre wasn’t that distinctive or attractive, and the dynamic he preferred the most was forte. There was very little subtlety in his singing, and nothing memorable about it either. We used him more as a pop singer than an “Irish tenor” at Brunswick. He had made some recordings for Edison, and they weren’t very good, so to be honest about it, I wasn’t in favor of giving him a contract. I wanted Joe White, but he was already under contract to Victor so I couldn’t get him.

 

You’re referring to Joseph White, the “Silver-Masked Tenor”?

That’s right, Joe White of the [B. F.] Goodrich Silvertown Cord Orchestra. To me, Joe sounded the most like McCormack of any of the tenors I had heard. He and I became very good friends, and I would love to have had him under contract at Brunswick. But he was already with Victor and was doing very well as Goodrich’s star tenor. He had sung on radio before Victor put him under contract, and he had also sung in Europe if my memory is right. But it was as the Silver-Masked Tenor at Victor that he was best known on radio and recordings.

Joe has a son who sang under the name “Bobby White” on several radio shows, particularly “Coast to Coast on a Bus” with my friend Milton Cross [as announcer]. Bobby had an unusually beautiful voice as a boy, and Joe oversaw his training and taught him all of his [the father’s] songs. Joe was still singing, but then he had an accident and broke one of his legs. As I recall, the break wouldn’t heal, and that leg had to be amputated. Through all of that, Joe made certain that Bobby would make the transition into adulthood as a tenor, and he surely did a wonderful job. Today, Bobby—or Robert—White is a nationally known concert tenor and gives recitals all over the world.

 

Am I correct that you also had Ted Fiorito under contract at Brunswick?

Well, at that time Ted was the pianist of the Oriole Orchestra, which he led with a violinist, Dan Russo. They made a good number of recordings for us as the Orioles [sic; Oriole Orchestra or Oriole Terrace Orchestra]. Several of their recordings were done in Chicago because their orchestra had a long engagement at the Edgewater Beach Hotel there.

 

One of the most unusual groups you recorded at Brunswick was the Mound City Blue Blowers, a group which became nationally known in its own right. How did they come to your attention?

Through Al Jolson. The credit for the Mound City Blue Blowers goes to Jolson. We were recording him at the Statler [Hotel] in Chicago, and these three young guys had been bugging Jolson to give them a hearing. Finally he got tired of it, so he passed the buck to me and got me to give them an audition. I think we made a couple of test pressings, unwillingly, and we sort of tossed off the whole thing by telling them that we’d have to issue their records on a trial basis, and if they sold anything we might talk to them later.

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(Top) The Mound City Blue Blowers c. early 1925, comprising (left to right) Dick Slevin, Jack Bland, Eddie Lang, and Red McKenzie. The group originally was a trio, minus Lang, although Brunswick’s ad for their first record pictured a quartet.

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The one who put together the group—it [initially] was a trio—was Red McKenzie, who was from St. Louis. Red went on to have a very fine career, but when we auditioned the Blue Blowers I wouldn’t have given him or the other two a snowball’s chance in hell. All Red did was play a comb with tissue paper wrapped around it.

Yet here was something different about the sound of the group, so it gave me something to work with. One of the three played banjo—Bland, Jack Bland, was his name—but he was no Harry Reser, so I backed him with Eddie Lang on guitar and I also put Frank Trumbauer in the next set of Blue Blowers recordings we made. Well those records sold, and sold, and then sold some more. We couldn’t believe it because these young guys were nothing more than a “kitchen band,” what with jugs and all of that. [6] But here they were, selling a lot of records for us.

 

Returning to classical Brunswick artists, and in particular violinists, you spoke about Elias Breeskin and Max Rosen earlier. Let me ask you about other violinists you recorded at Brunswick: Fredric Fradkin, William Kroll, Bronislaw Huberman and Mishel Piastro.

Kroll wasn’t a soloist—not for Brunswick, I mean. He was the violinist in a trio, the Elschuco Trio, with a pianist [Aurelio Giorni] and Willem Willeke, who was a superb cellist. Max Rosen, as I said, was [Brunswick’s] Fritz Kreisler. The others were not in his class, although Huberman was a close second to Rosen. Huberman had studied with Joachim, and had been a sort of prodigy when he came to this country. He had played all over Europe by then. We recorded him in the standard repertoire that Victor had in its catalogs.

Piastro and Fradkin were competent violinists, but they didn’t sell a lot of records and didn’t have the following, the careers, that Rosen and Huberman had. Breeskin was a fine violinist, and we got a lot of mileage out of having him at Brunswick because he was the violinist Caruso chose as an assisting artist for his U.S. concert tours in World War One. By the way, another [violinist] Caruso had as an assisting artist in some of his concerts was Xavier Cugat. Back then, he was “Francis X. Cugat.”

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Haenschen recalled getting “a lot of mileage out of having [Breeskin] at Brunswick” because of his association with Caruso.

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Among the legendary pianists Brunswick had under contract were Josef Hofmann, Leopold Godowsky and Elly Ney. First, let me ask you about Josef Hofmann. It was rumored that because his reach [i.e., the span of his hands] was somewhat short compared to, say, Rachmaninoff, that he used a special piano that had slightly narrower keys than a standard concert grand.

That was much later, not when he was with us. It would have been quite a trick to have one of those special Steinways hauled from his studio onto the top floor of the Brunswick building. No, when he recorded for us, he used the same grand pianos that the others you mentioned used. We had four grands, all of them seven-feet models. Two were Steinways and the other two were Knabe grands.

Hofmann always played one of the Steinways, but it had a standard keyboard. It’s true that his reach was short compared to Godowsky’s, but even Godowsky said that Hofmann had the finest technique of all the concert pianists of that time. Hofmann had very strong hands, incidentally, and he could get more volume out of any of our pianos than even Godowsky could. That’s saying something because Leopold Godowsky was one of the greatest pianists ever. One thing about Josef Hofmann just came to my mind: he had a special chair built for him—he had a number of them, actually—and he would only record in that special chair.

 

Do you mean a “chair” rather than a piano stool or bench—that is, a seat with a back on it?

Yes, an actual chair with a back on it. The height of the back was maybe twelve inches, not much more than that, and it was angled slightly forward. There was something about the height and the angle of the back that kept him in a position that was ideal for his playing. That’s what he used in his concerts, and he always used it in our recording sessions. He was a wonderful guy, always a lot of fun to work with.

Another point about his style that always struck me when I watched him recording for us: his fingers were never more an inch above the keys, and his wrists were always on the same plane as the tops of the keys. He didn’t go in for showy stuff—no bringing his arms up to his shoulders and then down to the keys, or any of that Liberace fluff.

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Elly Ney (left), and Josef Hofmann (right, in the Columbia studio)
(G. G. Bain Collection, Library of Congress)

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And Elly Ney?

Elly was a great pianist, and one of the few women pianists who had very successful careers at that time. She was German but spoke English well. She was a bit on the flamboyant side and had a really captivating personality. There was a very famous pianist in Vienna, [Theodor] Leschetizky, who taught a lot of famous concert pianists. Elly’s concert promoters always highlighted that she was a pupil of Leschetizky. One day I remember Walter [Rogers] asking her what he was like as a teacher. She said, “I don’t really know. I only had two lessons with him!”

 

One of the most interesting of Brunswick artists was Marion Harris, who seems to have influenced not only Rudy Vallée but many other performers. How did you get her to record for Brunswick?

Marion was our biggest-selling female artist in our popular-music division, and she was ahead of ones like Ruth Etting, Belle Baker, and Kate Smith when they were starting out. Marion had been a headliner in vaudeville so she was very much in demand, and she had made some recordings for Columbia [7] before we got her to come to Brunswick.

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Marion Harris and Isham Jones’ Orchestra (Jones second from left)
(G. G. Bain Collection, Library of Congress)

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The first recordings I remember making with Marion was when we put her with Isham Jones’s band. Her voice came through spectacularly—I was going to say “loud and clear”—on all of the acoustic records she made with us. Hers was one of those voices like [Mario] Chamlee’s, which the old [acoustical] process captured wonderfully. She was always available whenever we wanted her, and we recorded more songs with her than probably any other female pop singer in our catalog.

 

Brunswick also had Margaret Young, who sang some of the same blues songs as Marion Harris. What do you recall of her?

There was nothing original about Margaret Young. She had been in vaudeville, and then she patterned herself after Marion Harris. But [Young] wasn’t in the same league as Marion—not by a long shot. For every Margaret Young record, we probably sold twenty times as many Marion Harris records during the acoustical days. When we went into radio with our “Brunswick Hour” broadcasts, we made sure Marion was on as many of those [broadcasts] as possible. Really, Marion was the first white woman to sing jazz and blues the way the great Negro singers sang them.

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Margaret Young (G. G. Bain Collection, Library of Congress)

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That brings me to the topic of what were called “race records” in the 1920s. Did Brunswick have a separate catalog of these “race records”?

Yes, although we limited it mostly to the Vocalion label. Vocalion was a low-priced label that we thought would be attractive to Negro buyers. [8]  Now, we did have a very fine black singer, Edna Hicks, and some other blues singers whose names I’m sorry that I don’t remember. We had several different catalogs, just like Victor did. One of them was a “Jewish catalog” that featured singers like Isa Kremer, who sang Yiddish folk songs, and several great cantors as well. Like Victor and Columbia, we also had catalogs in other languages, which were distributed in Europe, South America and Asia.

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Although Brunswick had a race-record program, its Vocalion label served as the company’s primary outlet for race material. Originally managed by Jack Kapp, the race department was taken over by Mayo Williams in 1928, after Kapp was promoted to general manager.

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The Vocalion label also included what today would be called “country and western,” correct?

Yes, although it was called “hillbilly music” back then. Jack Kapp was the manager of Vocalion after we acquired the label.

 

Jack Kapp, who founded the American Decca label?

Yes, that Jack Kapp—and I apologized to him so many times for the way I dealt with him at Brunswick that he finally told me to stop it! I couldn’t stand anything “hillbilly,” but Jack would scour the hills of Kentucky and West Virginia for these backwoods yodelers and fiddlers, and he would record them wherever he could come up with a makeshift recording studio.

I had to meet with Jack quarterly, sometimes more frequently, so he could play these field recordings to get my approval for them. He knew that I hated that kind of music, but he was always trying to “convert” me. He’d be playing a test pressing and he’d say to me, “Now, isn’t that a good guitar lick? And how about that harmonica!” I’d roll my eyes and tell him, “What you call a ‘good guitar lick’ is what I call bad guitar playing!”

We’d go ’round and ’round arguing about these hillbilly players, and I always ended up approving whatever he brought. The reason I did was because, first, they sold a lot of records in rural areas that never bought Brunswick records until then, and second because Jack kept finding better and better talent. Plus, Jack was so enthusiastic about discovering new talent that his enthusiasm rubbed off on me and everyone else he worked with.

 

Were you surprised at how successful he made Decca?

Honestly, when he pitched the Decca idea to me and invited me to invest in it, I said no because I didn’t think there was a market for phonograph records anymore. There had been all kinds of improvements in the technology, of course, but I was so involved in radio that I didn’t pay any attention to phonograph records. I had put all of that in the rear-view mirror when I left Brunswick, and when I heard that Jack had been named manager of Brunswick after the 1929 stock-market crash, I felt sorry for him. But what I should have considered was how determined, how driven, Jack was.

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Jack Kapp (right) during his Decca years, with former Brunswick  stars Al Jolson and Bing Crosby

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These days, we hear a lot about “visionaries.” Jack Kapp was a real visionary. His success with Decca kept the recording industry going, and his investors—especially Bing Crosby—believed in him and put a lot of money into Decca. A lot of the artists Jack had worked with at Brunswick followed him to Decca. Just when Decca was doing very well, there was a shortage of shellac that Jack had to contend with. That happened when we [the U.S.] entered World War Two. But he weathered the shellac shortage, and Decca grew during the war.

Then came the revolution in the industry when Columbia brought out the long-playing record, RCA came out with the 45 r.p.m. format, and magnetic tape revolutionized how recordings were made. It was Jack Kapp, in my opinion, who kept the industry going during the middle of the Depression. Without him, I’m not sure that there would have been much of an industry left because the vast majority of Americans barely had enough money to buy food.

 

Earlier, when you were speaking about Marion Harris, you mentioned two topics that I want to ask you about: electrical recording and the “Brunswick Hour.” Frank Black was played an important role in the “Brunswick Hour,” if I’m correct. How did you and Frank Black meet?

Walter [Rogers] and I hired Frank as a staff pianist and an arranger for our classical and popular recordings at Brunswick. I’m not sure when we hired him, but I would guess 1921 or 1922, after we were well-established in the industry. Frank was the fastest and most versatile arranger I’ve ever known, and I’ve known and worked with a lot of them. As you said, he had an important role in the “Brunswick Hour” broadcasts. He wrote many of the arrangements for them and was the pianist in them too.

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Frank Black (undated photo, and a 1937 caricature)

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How would you compare the two of you as pianists?

Frank was the better pianist—he was much more versatile than I was. I played in one style, which we called “ragtime” back then, but [which] came to be known as “stride” when James P. Johnson and other black pianists became well known. That was the style I learned in St. Louis, the style that Scott Joplin helped me to refine. Frank, on the other hand, could play in almost any style, and he could hold his own with some of the classical pianists. But his most important role for us at Brunswick was his extraordinary speed and output of very imaginative arrangements.

 

What led you to become a partner of his in radio, where the two of you became nationally known as a team?

That started with the first broadcast we did of “The Brunswick Hour.” Between us, Frank and I wrote all the arrangements for that first broadcast. We just clicked when it came to writing arrangements for radio broadcasts.

 

Those “Brunswick Hour” broadcasts were well-received by the critics, and certainly by the public. Was that your first performance on radio?

Yes. Before that, my only experience with radio was building them for me and my family and friends. [David] Sarnoff envisioned radio becoming the dominant form of entertainment, and between 1920 and about 1924 radio technology improved to the degree that the [radio] sets had cone-type loudspeakers that made it possible for a whole family to listen to a broadcast. Until then, loudspeakers that were used with one- or two-tube receivers were basically megaphones connected to a diaphragm like the one in a telephone receiver.

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The earliest “Brunswick Hour” programs featured a “Music Memory Contest” that was suspended after several broadcasts. (March 1925)

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Do you remember how you felt about hearing radio broadcasts through an electrical amplifier and loudspeaker, compared to listening to an acoustical phonograph record?

Well, hearing the full range of sound coming through a cone-type loudspeaker made what we were doing in our recording studios seem almost primitive by comparison. It was obvious that radio was going to replace phonographs as the source of entertainment.

When you look back, you can see why radio was the future. Our twelve-inch phonograph records had a playing time of about four minutes at the most. A radio program could be any length, from fifteen minutes to an hour or more, and it was free in those days. Later, when sponsors came in [to fund radio broadcasts] and network programs aired commercials at the beginning and end of a [radio] show, radio was still free of charge to the people at home.

 

Do you recall the financial recession of 1921–1922 and its effects on the recording industry?

Oh, yes. Phonograph sales went to hell, and so did record sales. Like Victor, Brunswick weathered that downturn better than the other smaller companies. In our case, it was because of the parent company’s diversity and the money they could afford to lose in the phonograph division. But I would say that by 1923, anyone in the recording industry could see what was going to happen [with radio] because acoustical recordings cost money and their sound was inferior compared to a high-quality radio broadcast in the middle-1920s.
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©2019 by James A. Drake. All rights are reserved.

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Editor’s Notes (Added with interviewer’s approval)

[1] The Valentino session (May 14, 1923) preceded Chaplin’s by two years.

[2] Brunswick catalog number 3299 was finally assigned to the recordings in 1926, but the release was cancelled. Both selections were remastered by Brunswick in August 1930, with the addition of a spoken introduction, for the apparently unrelated Celebrities Recording Company (Los Angeles).

[3] Hardy, Navarro, and Boles made no known recordings for Brunswick.

[4] This recording, made for Edison on November 18, 1924 (one month before Munn’s first Brunswick session), was eventually approved for release in October 1926.

[5] However, Munn’s earliest Brunswick recordings are acoustic.

[6] Trumbauer was added beginning with a session on March 13, 1924, Lang beginning with a session on December 10, 1924. Jugs were not used.

[7] And Victor.

[8] Vocalion records initially were reduced to 50¢ from 75¢ following the label’s acquisition by Brunswick, but were soon reinstated as a standard 75¢ line following dealer protests. However, Haenschen is correct in observing that Vocalion served as Brunswick’s primary race-record outlet. Jack Kapp was in charge of the race catalog, which probably explains Haenschen’s limited recollections.

 

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