The Playlist • Some Vintage Mexican and Tejano Favorites
(1906 – 1938)
Original Recordings from the Mainspring Press Collection
CARLOS CURTI’S MEXICAN ORCHESTRA: El Amor es la vida New York; Released June 1906
American Record Co. 031367 (mx. not visible) Mislabeled 031361. This was in a cache of American Record Co. discs found in Wyoming, and what a nice surprise it was to discover it’s really not 031361 (which is one of those sorry minstrel-show routines by White folks pretending to be Black).
TRIO ARRIAGA (Joaquin J. Arriaga, mandolin): Bolero (Curti)
Mexico City; U.S. release September 1910
Edison Amberol 6101
MAXIMIANO ROSALES: Maria, yo te amo
Probably Mexico City: 1906
Columbia C154 (mx. 5538 – 2) Although some publications list this as a New York recording, Rosale’s recordings for other companies are known to have been made in Mexico City. Unfortunately, the original Columbia documentation for this series (which included both foreign and domestic recordings) has long-since vanished.
JESÚS ABREGO & LEOPOLDO PICAZO: La Rancherita Mexico City; U.S. release February 1910
Edison Amberol 6058
ENRIQUE ESPINOZA: El Borrachito
Los Angeles: c. October 1925
Sunset 1126 (mx. 777)
LIDYA MENDOZA: Una cruz
San Antonio (Blue Bonnet Hotel): October 25, 1938
Montgomery Ward M-7982 (mx. BS 028629 – 1) Acc: Own guitar; probably Maria Mendoza (mandolin); unknown (maracas). Accompanists are not listed in the RCA files.
LIDYA MENDOZA: Esperanza San Antonio (Texas Hotel): October 22, 1936
Montgomery Ward M-7115 (mx. BS 02811 – 1) Acc: Own guitar
MELQUIADES RODRÍGUEZ (as El Ciego Melquiades): Paulita
San Antonio (Texas Hotel): August 15, 1935
Montgomery Ward M-4870 (mx. BS 94591 – 1) Acc: Probably Enrique Morales (guitar), who the RCA files credit on the vocal-instrumental sides that he and Rodríguez recorded on the same day. Session supervised by Eli Oberstein.
Victor’s 1930 Mexican-series catalog, published after the RCA – Victor merger. Material for the Mexican and Mexican-American markets was still being released on the 75¢ Victor label at this point; but in 1933, RCA began shifting most releases for those markets to its 35¢ Bluebird line, from which many found their way onto Montgomery Ward’s 21¢ house label.
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 HEREto 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.
• Addition to the Indestructible Cylinder Listing • Upcoming Gus Haenschen Installment
Thanks to Joel Reese (Local History Librarian at the Iredell County Public Library, Statesville, NC), we can finally confirm that Indestructible 1363 — unaccounted-for in our Indestructible cylinderography — is “Narcissus,” by an unidentified orchestra. A revised version of the Indestructible file, incorporating this and other recent updates, will be posted later this year.
The eagerly awaited next installment in Jim Drake’s Gus Haenschen interview series is now in preparation! This chapter will be of special interest to ragtime enthusiasts and record collectors, covering (among many other things) Haenschen’s 1916 Columbia Personal Records, including the legendarily rare “Maple Leaf Rag.” In the meantime, if you haven’t already done so, be sure to browse the other installments in this fascinating series.
The Playlist (Free MP3s) Grey Gull’s Mystery Black Bands (1929 – 1930)
Amongst all the garbage that was Grey Gull are these often-overlooked gems by some unknown black groups. The band names are meaningless; they were also used to cover groups ranging from Clarence Williams’ Orchestra to several obviously white groups, including the so-called Grey Gull house band. Several bear some resemblance to 1929–1930 sides by known J. C. Johnson and Walter Bennett bands on other labels.
We don’t know who the musicians are, despite countless published guesses — some of them reasonable, and some so far off the mark as to be real head-scratchers (such as Brian Rust attributing the January 1930 titles to Grey Gull’s coarse and buffoonish house band). The only clue is that the composers are the same for all titles in each group — J. C. Johnson for the August 1929 sides, Porter Grainger for November 1929, and Claude Austin for January 1930 — so it’s likely that they and/or their publishers had a hand in booking these sessions.
You can see what else Rust had to say about them in our free downloadable edition of Jazz Records, 1892-1942 (the sixth and final edition). But like so much else you’ll find there, take it with the proverbial grain of salt. In early editions of JR, Rust attributed the cornet on “Harlem’s Araby” to King Oliver. Then, in Edition 4, he did a complete flip-flop and changed it to white novelty trumpeter Mike Mosiello. Finally, he changed it to Unknown in Edition 6, after some prodding by his editor — which of course was the correct answer all along.
So, enjoy these on their own terms, whoever they’re by.
UNKNOWN BAND (as “MOONLIGHT REVELERS”):
New York: c. August 1929
Grey Gull 1767
UNKNOWN BAND (as “MOONLIGHT REVELERS”):
Baby Know How
New York: c. August 1929
Grey Gull 1775
UNKNOWN BAND (as “JAZZOPATORS”):
Don’t Know and Don’t Care New York: c. November 1929
Grey Gull 1803
UNKNOWN BAND (as “MEMPHIS JAZZERS”):
In Harlem’s Araby New York: c. November 1929
Grey Gull 1804
UNKNOWN BAND (as “LEVEE SYNCOPATORS”):
The Rackett New York: c. January 1930
Grey Gull 1843 (take A)
UNKNOWN BAND (as “NEW ORLEANS PEPSTERS”):
The Rackett New York: c. January 1930
Van Dyke 81843 (take B)
UNKNOWN BAND (as “NEW ORLEANS PEPSTERS”):
Harlem Stomp Down
New York: c. January 1930
Grey Gull 1836
The following statistics provide some insight into who were Columbia’s best- and worst-selling artists of 1919–1920. Compiled from the company’s record-shipment sheets, they show average shipping figures for records that were released from June 1919 through May 1920 by selected artists. They represent the total number shipped; i.e., from time of release until time of deletion (the latter averaging about two-to-three years from release for these records).
It is important to note that these are the number of records shipped to distributors, not the number sold — actual sales statistics for these records are long-gone. Sales would have been somewhat less than the number shipped, since shipping figures do not reflect unsold copies exchanged or returned for credit (although those numbers likely would not have been large, due to strict limits the company placed on such transactions). And it is not known if these figures include review and other complimentary copies, which would not count as sales. Nevertheless, they provide a good gauge of relative sales, and of an artist’s relative popularity.
These figures put to rest any notion of rampant “million-sellers” in the early 1920s. Although Victor had several 1919–1920 releases that probably approached or even slightly surpassed that mark, Columbia (the nation’s second-largest label) did not. One of its top-selling releases for this period (A2895, coupling Ted Lewis’ “Bo-La-Bo” and the Kentucky Serenaders’ “Venetian Moon”) eventually shipped approximately 512,000 copies — and that’s more than double the total number shipped for the typical Columbia “hit” of the period. Total shipments in the 80,000–150,000 range were more the norm, and were still considered highly respectable.
This is just a preliminary survey (in preparation for what will be a detailed statistical analysis at some point), and one should not to jump to any far-reaching conclusions from a selective, one-year sampling. Some points to bear in mind:
These figures do not reflect artists’ sales ranking during the full run of their Columbia tenure. Some, like Bert Williams, already had many substantial best-sellers behind them, and would have made a stronger showing here had those been included in the tally. Others, like Ted Lewis, were just getting started and would go on to rack up even more impressive figures than are shown here.
These are average total shipments; shipments of individual releases could vary considerably. Individual Jolson releases during this period, for example, shipped anywhere from 70,705 to 283,004 copies over their life-span.
Sales of the 1920 releases, in particular, were undermined by the start of a severe recession. Columbia’s average sales declined dramatically in 1921, and they remained depressed well into 1922. Generally, peak sales occurred for only a few months after release; thus, those records released in 1919 had already seen their biggest sales before the recession hit, while those released toward the middle of 1920 saw their sales cut short by the economic crisis. As a result, the figures for artists who are more heavily represented by 1920 than 1919 releases are skewed slightly downward.
Columbia’s tendency to put different artists on each side of a record also has the potential to skew results. Some popular names (including Billy Murray, Arthur Fields, Charles Harrison, and Henry Burr) do not appear here because their records so often have other artists on the reverse sides, raising the question: Which artist’s side “sold” the disc? Shipment of these and similar artists’ Columbia releases generally hover around the 70,000–90,000 range for the period, but with many outliers on either end of the sales spectrum.
Records by Al Jolson and some other major stars were coupled with lesser artists’ recordings during this period. In these cases, we’re assuming that it was the “star” side, and not the reverse-side filler, that sold the records. It seems highly likely, for example, that far more customers bought A2836 for Jolson’s Broadway hit, “You Ain’t Heard Nothin’ Yet,” than for Billy Murray’s “Come on and Play with Me,” a “dog” of a title if ever there was one. Therefore, that release is tallied with Jolson’s sales, not Murray’s.
Some records by Fox, Fuller, Hickman, the Jockers Brothers, Jolson, and Stewart were heavily discounted to distributors during 1922–1923, as part of Columbia’s “59¢ Retired Record” clearance. This revived the sales of some records that otherwise had long-since reached the end of the line in terms of sales, adding another 1,000–5,000 copies to the final tally.
Average Total Shipments of Columbia Records
by Selected Artists (June 1919 – May 1920 Releases)
Al Jolson • 208,258
Ted Lewis’ Jazz Band • 178,913
Columbia Saxophone Sextet • 173,836
Louisiana Five • 170,162
Art Hickman’s Orchestra • 150,245
Irving and/or Jack Kaufman • 146,729
Bert Williams • 134,984
Kalaluki Hawaiian Orchestra • 124,542
Nora Bayes • 123,567
Wilbur Sweatman’s Original Jazz Band • 121,174
Van & Schenck • 116,686
Fisk University Jubilee Quartet • 103,100
Cal Stewart • 101,904 *
Sascha Jacobsen • 94,235
Harry Fox • 89,001
Earl Fuller’s Rector Novelty Orchestra • 83,698
Jockers Brothers • 76,027
Oscar Seagle • 58,106
Louis Graveure • 34,731
Yvette Guilbert • 1,781
*Columbia’s release of multiple, previously unissued Stewart recordings soon after his death in December 1919 might account for this high figure. After an unusually strong showing in early 1920, sales of these records declined quickly and dramatically.
Compiled from the Original Columbia Documentation by Allan Sutton
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
A3511 • Stafford: Down Home Blues / Monday Morning Blues
A3537 • E. Wilson w/ Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: West Texas Blues / I Don’t Want Nobody
A3541 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Bugle Blues / Birmingham Blues
A3579 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Put and Take / Moanful Blues *
A3653 • E. Wilson w/ Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: He May Be Your Man / Rules and Regulations
A3696 • L. Williams: Sugar Blues / The Meanest Man in the World
A3736 • L. Williams: Uncle Bud / Mexican Blues
A3739 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Four O’Clock Blues / Hawaiian Blues
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
A3815 • L. Williams: I’m Going Away / Bring It with You When You Come
A3835 • L. Williams: If Your Man Is Like My Man / That Teasin’ Squeezin’ Man
A3839 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Hallelujah Blues / Spanish Dreams
A3844 • B. Smith: Down Hearted Blues / Gulf Coast Blues
A3888 • B. Smith: Baby Won’t You Please Come Home / Oh Papa Blues
A3893 • Dunn’s Jazz Hounds: Vampin’ Sal / Sweet Lovin’ Mama
A3897 • L. Miles: Sweet Smelling’ Mama / Haitian Blues
A3910 • B. Smith: Mama’s Got the Blues / Outside of That
A3915 • Gulf Coast Seven: Daybreak Blues / Fade Away Blues
A3915 • L. Wilson w/ Jazz Hounds: Deceitful Blues / Memphis Tennessee
A3920 • L. Miles: Family Trouble Blues / Triflin’ Man
A3921 • A. Brown: Michigan Water Blues / Tired o’ Waitin’ Blues
A3922 • Baxter: You Got Ev’rything / Taylor: My Pillow and Me
A3936 • B. Smith: Bleeding Hearted Blues / Midnight Blues **
A3939 • B. Smith: Yodling Blues / Lady Luck Blues
A3942 • B. Smith: Nobody in Town / If You Don’t I Know Who Will
A3950 • J. P. Johnson: Worried and Lonesome Blues / Weeping Blues
A3951 • Henderson’s Hot Six: Gulf Coast Blues / Midnight Blues
A3958 • R. Henderson: Afternoon Blues / I Need You Shipped: 10,716
A3959 • Fowler: Blues Mixture / Satisfied Blues
A3965 • Ridley: I Don’t Let No One Man Worry Me / Alabama Bound Blues
A3966 • C. Smith: Play It / All Night Blues
A3978 • Gulf Coast Seven: Papa Better Watch Your Step / Memphis Tennessee
A3992 • C. Smith: I Want My Sweet Daddy Now / Irresistible Blues
Colin Bain’s New Beniamino Gigli Biography
Now Available from Barry Ashpole
GIGLI: THE MASTER TENOR
COLIN BAIN BARRY R. ASHPOLE, General Editor & Publisher
560 pages with 16 pages of photos Limited edition book or e-book
Beniamino Gigli fans, rejoice. Colin Bain’s long-awaited biography has released and is available online from Barry Ashpole at Gigli: The Master Tenor, a gorgeous website that also hosts some interesting ancillary materials.
From the Gigli site:
More than twenty years in the making, Gigli: The Master Tenor by Colin Bain (Barry R. Ashpole, General Editor) promises to be a definitive biography of Beniamino Gigli (1890–1957), offering a detailed, intimate portrait of the singer and his extraordinary career.
Based on thousands of official and personal documents secured by the author as well as interviews with opera stars, musicians, teachers, and loved ones — including extensive interviews with members of the Gigli family and household — the new biography spans a lifetime, opening and closing in Recanati, Italy, ancestral home of the Gigli family where Beniamino reportedly sang as soon as he learned to talk.
All proceeds from the sale of the biography (limited edition and e-book) are being donated to Médecins Sans Frontières (Canada).
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:
Excelsior [X] 2060 BILLY MURRAY: If Mr. Boston Lawson Has His Way
Image and MP3s courtesy of Scott Vaughan
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): .
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:
The International Record Company Discography — Second Edition
Free to Download for Personal Use*
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.
Victor and A. T. Emerson Launch the
By Allan Sutton
Source documents courtesy of Doreen Wakeman
Father and son: Victor Hugo Emerson and Adelbert Tewksbury (“A. T.”) Emerson (Doreen Wakeman)
Victor Emerson’s next venture after resigning from the Emerson Phonograph Company in 1922 was the Metal Recording Disc Company. Beginning with the purchase of Henry Wadsworth’s patent on a process for manufacturing pre-grooved metal recording discs, Victor and his son Adelbert built an operation that would corner the market for bare-metal recording discs, in the process laying the groundwork for what would become the instantaneous-recording industry.
The Metal Disc Recording Corporation was incorporated in Manhattan on March 22, 1922, by L. E. Dresser, E. E. Ennison, and A. B. Hermans  W. Jay Ennison (Victor Emerson’s personal attorney) made the corporate filing and served as MDRC’s president, while Emerson served as treasurer. The corporate filing stated only that the company would “make phonographs,” with no mention of metal recording blanks.
It appears that the original plan was to manufacture a coin-operated automatic disc-recording and dispensing machine on which Henry L. Wadsworth had filed a patent in 1917. For recording purposes, Wadsworth stated his preference for a disc of varnish or shellac, the surface of which was to be slightly softened by the application of a solvent just prior to recording. 
Wadsworth soon came up with a more practical recording blank. In March 1918, he filed a patent on a pre-grooved, uncoated metal disc:
I have discovered that a substantially permanent record groove may be formed in the highly polished surface of a suitable fine grain metal, for example, copper, sheet aluminum, pewter, etc. For best results the surface of the blank is first properly prepared by filling the voids therein as by the application thereto of an element of wax-like nature… Aluminum possess all of the characteristics necessary to make a record by my process, and I prefer to use the metal.
On May 11, 1922 MDRC signed a memorandum of agreement with Wadsworth, agreeing to purchase both patents (the second of which was still pending) and the corresponding foreign patents. Wadsworth was paid $10,000 in cash and received 2,500 shares in the company. 
In the meantime, Emerson had filed his own patent embodying improvements to Wadsworth’s pre-grooved metal blanks, which he claimed would make the discs more suitable for use “in connection with the ordinary talking machine.” Chief among them was a wider groove that he claimed would offer less resistance to the cutting stylus. In his patent filing Emerson boasted, “I have produced a new type of disc record in which the public, that is the unskilled person, can utilize his talking machine for the purpose of recording and thereby making permanent and indestructible records.” 
Victor Emerson’s metal-disc patent, showing the wide groove that Emerson claimed offered less resistance to the cutting stylus. (U.S. Patent and Trademark Office)
With strong patent protection in place, the Metal Recording Disc Company was ready to commence operations. The idea of manufacturing Wadsworth’s automatic disc-recording machine apparently was dropped. Instead, the company focused on creating a market for pre-grooved aluminum discs and an accompanying recording attachment that could be used to make home recordings on ordinary phonographs.
There had been earlier, short-lived attempts to market home-recording devices for the disc phonograph, including the Landay Brothers’ widely advertised Land-O-Phone of 1906. None had been a technical or commercial success, in part because the discs usually were composed of wax or other materials that were easily damaged in playback. MDRC’s aluminum discs solved that problem, being largely immune to damage provided that they were played with thorn or fiber needles rather than steel.
MRDC sold its pre-grooved blanks under the Kodisk brand beginning in May 1922.  Recording was accomplished by simply shouting into the phonograph’s horn (preferably with the aid of a megaphone), allowing the phonograph’s own reproducer and stylus serving as the recording mechanism. For better results, the company offered a $6 recording attachment consisting of a pivoting recording horn attached to a reproducer. An early advertisement pictured the device being used by Irving Kaufman, a popular Emerson recording artist.
Irving Kaufman plugs Kodisk, August 1922. As an exclusive Emerson recording artist for a time in the early 1920s, Kaufman would have been well-known to Victor Emerson. (Talking Machine World)
Although MRDC at first warned that only Kodisk blanks were the genuine article, it was soon supplying other companies who sold the discs under their own names. The Plaza Music Company, which had recently taken over Emerson’s Regal label, marketed the blanks under the Echo brand. Even Eugene Widmann, president of the Pathé Phonograph and Radio Corporation, got involved.  For a short time, Pathé phonographs could be purchased with a home-recording attachment employing the MRDC blanks. The idea apparently failed to interest many consumers, but it would not be Widmann’s last involvement with Emerson’s metal discs.
Unfortunately, due to the low volume inherent in the acoustic recording process and the mechanical resistance of the metal blanks, the recordings were often barely audible. As Douglas Cooke noted in his early account of the operation, “While an important step had been taken, there were still further obstacles to be overcome — the record was right, but mechanical recording was deficient.”  Interest in the Emerson–Wadsworth system of home recording faded in the mid-1920s. It would take the advent of commercial electric recording to rekindle that interest.
Little was heard of the Metal Recording Disc Company during 1925–1926. Management of the company had already passed to Victor Emerson’s son, Adelebert Tewskbury Emerson (or “A. T.,” as he called himself for business purposes) by the time Victor died on June 22, 1926. In early 1927, A. T. incorporated the Emerson Foundation Company to carry on the family’s business interests. H. T. Leeming, who had developed the inexpensive Regal label while an Emerson Phonograph executive in 1921, served as the company’s treasurer. 
Emerson Foundation Company stock certificate #1. (Doreen Wakeman)
On September 21, 1927, the Metal Disc Recording Company licensed Frederick H. Sanborn to manufacture blank metal discs, with or without pre-grooving, under the Emerson and Wadsworth patents. MDRC retained ownership of the underlying manufacturing rights, which it transferred to the Emerson Foundation Company on or about October 1, 1927.  Sanborn’s as-yet unnamed company was licensed to manufacture and sell the blanks in the United States, its territories and dependencies, and Cuba “in connection with installations of phonograph recording machines to make personal recordings on said discs at such installations.” 
Sanborn would be allowed to sell the blanks to his agents or sub-licensees, with several restriction. The blanks, and the machines on which they were to be recorded, were not be employed for commercial record production, broadcasting, home recording, or office dictation. The question of whether or not to enter the latter market, which at the time was dominated by Dictaphone and Ediphone, would resurface several times in the coming years. Ultimately, the machines and blanks would be marketed for dictation and other business purposes, but not until the early 1930s.
Sanborn was required to pay MDRC a royalty on each blank sold, ranging from ¼¢ for five-inch or smaller discs to 2¢ for ten-inch or larger. In addition, effective January 1, 1928, Sanborn would be required to manufacture and sell a minimum of 200,000 discs that year, and 500,000 discs in each succeeding year. The agreement prohibited Sanborn’s agents and licensees from duplicating recordings made on the blanks, effectively precluding their use in commercial record production.
By late 1927, Sanborn had acquired rights to an electrical recording system and was in the process of assembling a group of investors to develop and market that system. On December 30, 1927, Henry Blum, J. H. Schiller, and Helen Marsak, filed a certificate of incorporation for Speakeophone Incorporated in New York. Their names thus far had not appeared in connection with the metal-disc business, and they were inconsequential from an operating standpoint. The driving forces behind Speakeophone would be Frederick Sanborn, as president, and A. T. Emerson, as its largest stockholder. 
Speakeophone’s purpose, according to the incorporation filing, was:
To make, sell, lease, and otherwise deal in, metal or other discs for the recording, perpetuation or reproduction, or otherwise, of sound; and also recording and reproducing machines, their parts, thereof, and accessories therefor, relating to metal or other discs, and the making of phonographic records thereon, by any means, for the production, recording, or reproduction of sound. 
Incorporated as a separate entity, the Speak-O-Phone Corporation would serve as the public face of Speakeophone. It would handle distribution and licensing, while Speakeophone would continue to handle manufacturing. The distinction, although seemingly a fine one, would prove contentious in the later legal battle for control of the business.
The Speak-O-Phone Corporation filed a trademark application on the Speak-O-Phone name on August 28, 1928, claiming use since May 1. A second application covered the phrase, “A Snapshot of Your Voice,” a slightly revision of the old Kodisk slogan that would appear only on the earliest Speak-O-Phone discs.  The company planned to franchise walk-in Speak-O-Phone studio throughout the country.
The franchise operation Speak-O-Phone experienced steady growth. Licenses were granted to any financially qualified party wishing to open their own recording studio and willing to abide by a lengthy lease agreement that bound the licensee to purchase discs only from Speak-O-Phone.
Page 1 of the Speak-O-Phone studio operating and lease agreement. (Doreen Wakeman)
Before the advent of Speak-O-Phone, individuals wishing to make their own disc records had to deal with commercial record producers. Turnaround times were slow and costs were high, and most companies required customers to purchase multiple pressings. With the advent of Speak-O-Phone, anyone could walk into a studio, record their talk or performance, and walk out a few minutes later with an electrically recorded disc at prices ranging from 50¢ to $1.50 per side, depending upon the diameter.
The entire unit was housed in a cabinet the size of a large console phonograph. The licensee was responsible for set-up, maintenance, and repairs. Sound quality of the finished discs could vary, depending upon operator skill and the microphone selected (the choices, all carbon microphones, included the default Speak-O-Phone model, of unknown manufacture; a Western Electric model; and a couple of off-brands). But in the hands of a skilled operator working with a decent microphone, the technical results could be surprisingly good.
Early Speak-O-Phone discs had full-size back-plates (top). They were soon replaced by the familiar Speak-O-Phone label (bottom left), which allowed for recording on both sides. The slotted, embossed-label Remsen blank — essentially just a rebranding of the Speak-O-Phone disc — was introduced in 1930. Another version of the Remsen disc, not pictured here, had Remsen’s name and patent notice embossed in a circle around the regular Speak-O-Phone label. (Author’s collection)
A demonstration studio — little more than a closet, judging from the advertisements — was opened to the public in the “economy basement” of Snellenberg’s Philadelphia department store on September 3, 1928.  By October, the studio was doing so much business that it was moved to a more prestigious location, in the fifth-floor music department.
Speak-O-Phone’s first demonstration studio, in the “economy basement of Snellenberg’s department store in Philadelphia. (Philadelphia Inquirer)
Speak-O-Phone’s license #1 was granted to the Famous-Barr Company’s St. Louis store, which first advertised its studio on September 18.  Speak-O-Phone made international headlines in May 1929, when it installed a studio aboard the luxury liner Ile de France. It was back in the headlines on June 22, when Dorothy Caruso (Enrico’s widow) opened Speak-O-Phone studio #7 in New York. 
Speak-O-Phone studio #1, in the Famous-Barr Company’s St. Louis department store, 1928. (Doreen Wakeman)
Speak-O-Phone studio aboard the S. S. Ile de France, one of at least five ocean liners that licensed Speak-O-Phone equipment. (Doreen Wakeman)
Dorothy Caruso, Enrico’s widow, opened Speak-O-Phone studio #7 in June 1929. (Doreen Wakeman / Brooklyn Daily Eagle)
By the late summer of 1929, new Speak-O-Phone studios were being opened almost weekly. A 1930 list of contracts showed seventy-one active Speak-O-Phone installations at the time, in department stores, music and record shops, free-standing studios, colleges, and aboard at least five ocean liners. 
Speak-O-Phone brochures, c. 1929, announcing the opening of a new studio in Boston (top); and explaining the system and touting its profit potential to aspiring licensees (bottom). (Doreen Wakeman)
Speak-O-Phone provided portfolios of customizable newspaper ads to its licensees and distributors. This copy was sent to Herman Germain, of the Plaza Music Company, retailers of Banner and other inexpensive records. Plaza had been one of the earliest sellers of rebranded Kodisk blanks in the early 1920s.
On August 14, 1929, Emerson wrote to Sanborn proposing a new partnership with the Emerson Foundation Company to further develop the technology for commercial purposes, including dictation machines, to be called the Metal Recording Products Company.  The way was soon cleared for Speakeophone to transfer all licensing, distribution, and sales rights to Speak-O-Phone. The agreement between Speakeophone and Speak-O-Phone was signed on August 28, 1929, at which time Sanborn also signed over the rights to his electrical recording process to Speakeophone. 
Speakeophone further consolidated its control of the operation in October 1929, when the Emerson Foundation Company assigned it all of its remaining U.S. manufacturing, distribution, and sales rights in return for a royalty agreement on disc sales.  On February 17, 1930, however, Emerson suddenly reversed himself, writing to attorney Thomas H. Matters, “I believe that the Emerson Foundation Co., Inc., should immediately take steps to cancel all of the arrangements which it has with the Speakeophone Corporation of America.”
At issue was some bad publicity over the company’s failure to deliver machines and records for which customers had paid. The issue came to a head after crooner Rudy Vallee publicly complained that he had not yet received a machine and discs for which he had paid $750 many months earlier. Complaints to the Better Business Bureau increased as a rumor flew that executive Jacques Blevins was misspending company funds. Emerson was also displeased over the company’s failure to pursue the home-recording and radio markets. 
The next few months would be marked by ongoing disputes between Emerson, Blevins, Sanford, and various shareholders, involving accusations of questionable loans, overdue notes, missing stock, and unpaid salaries, among other issues. Thomas H. Matters (who ten years earlier had been of the receivers for the Emerson Phonograph Company), was finally called in by Emerson in an attempt to resolve some of most contentious issues. The ongoing legal squabbling had no apparent effect on Speak-O-Phone’s day-to-day operations, which so far seemed to be weathering the early effects of the Great Depression reasonably well.
By April 1930, Eugene Widmann — now working in banking after having resigned as president of the Pathé Phonograph and Radio Corporation three years earlier — was preparing to step into the fray. Blevins clearly wished to be out of the business. On April 8, he wrote to Widmann,
In connection with the proposal that you step into the situation and furnish the necessary capital to meet the requirement of the Corporation and develop its business, I propose to turn over to you the control of the business and its management and supervision on whatever basis you deem fair to the respective interests involved. 
At the same time, Blevins turned over a list of Speak-O-Phone accounts payable, notes payable, and studio contracts to Widmann, and Sanborn supplied him a breakdown of disc-production costs and an estimate of costs to produce attachments for home and radio recording. 
On April 11, Emerson informed Widmann that the Presto Machine Company could supply Speak-O-Phone fifty large studio recording machines within six to eight weeks and was also prepared to look into the production of home-recording equipment. Furthermore, Emerson reported, Presto was eager to take over production of the metal discs, with eighteen presses available and the capacity to “take care of unlimited quantities.” Emerson concluded his letter by writing, “I consider this an ideal plant for our work and for all of its future development.”  However, no agreement with Presto was forthcoming. The announcement that RCA Victor was about to introduce its own home-recording system may have dissuaded Emerson from further pursuing a Speak-O-Phone home system.
The long-simmering feud between Blevins and Sanborn came to a head toward the end of 1930, with Blevins complaining to Emerson that Sanborn had conducted “practically no business” since June, and had spent only $100 on sales. Blevins wrote to Emerson in January 1931, “In the interests if the creditors of Speak-O-Phone Corporation of America, I should like to see you and the other stockholders place a management in charge which will immediately take advantage of the demand for the product and give the business a progressive management.” 
As the sniping continued, Emerson finally moved to assume full control of Speakeophone Incorporated, canceling the Emerson Foundation Company’s contracts with Blevins and Sanborn. On January 20, 1931, he requested the return of their stock from the Harriman National Bank and Trust Company, which had been holding it in escrow.  Full manufacturing, licensing, and sales rights were transferred from the Metal Disc Recording Company to Speakeophone, which was now firmly under Emerson’s control (Speak-O-Phone now being little more than a trade name). In addition, MRDC lifted some earlier restrictions on its products’ use, although it inexplicably continued to prohibit their use for dictation purposes. 
On January 22, 1931, Emerson authorized the Emerson Foundation Company to sell any or all of its shares in Speakeophone Incorporated.  The move roughly coincided with the formation of H. T. Leeming’s Remsen Corporation, and it appears that Emerson accepted Remsen stock in exchange for some or all of his Speakeophone stock. By February, Emerson was negotiating to have Remsen take over manufacturing of the metal discs.
The Remsen Corporation left little in the way of a paper trail. It was affiliated in some way with inventor Douglas H. Cooke, who wrote a rambling, six-page document “not for public consumption” extolling the Remsen record’s virtues, although there is nothing to indicate that the Remsen disc was anything more than a rebranding of the regular Speak-O-Phone disc. 
According to Cooke, Remsen either owned or otherwise controlled (it is not clear which, from his wording) the Emerson and Wadsworth metal-disc patents, in addition to holding Cooke’s own pending patent on portable and home-recording machines.  When Cooke balked at the idea of manufacturing recorders, preferring to contract the work to outside suppliers, Emerson went to Widmann to with a proposal that they form a new company to manufacture recording machines. Widmann was not interested. 
On August 10, 1931, Sanborn wrote to Emerson, “Being completely out of Speak-O-Phone, I would like to clear it all up. The sum total of my loans to you is somewhere over $1,000. I would like to see this taken care of in some way… Trusting that Speakeophone is now doing all that you have expected from it.”  Emerson replied, “Am more than anxious to take care of the loan you were good enough to give me just as soon as I can… As to Speakeophone — Say Uncle Freddy, why pick on me?” 
On September 14, 1931, Emerson authorized sale of his Remsen stock through Widmann.  Speak-O-Phone would go on to flourish for a time in the 1930s, especially after finally getting into the dictation-machine market, although its bare-aluminum discs would be rendered obsolete by the Presto Recording Corporation’s superior lacquer-coated recording blanks. Speak-O-Phone’s later history will be the subject of a future posting.
The Sound of Speak-O-Phone
As many collectors have learned from disappointing purchases, surviving Speak-O-Phone discs are only rarely of any musical or historical interest. Here are two interesting exceptions. The first is by Martha Wilkins, a professional radio and concert performer who also sang occasional minor roles at the Metropolitan Opera. Her collection of personal records and air-checks from 1930 through 1948 now resides in the Mainspring collection.
The second (courtesy of David Giovannoni) is an excerpt from a 44-minute talk, extending over multiples discs, on the rosy future of dirigibles. The craft mentioned suggest the recording was made in 1933 or thereabouts. If any of you aviation-history buffs out there know who this might be, we would love to hear from you.
MARTHA WILKINS: Indian Love Call Norfolk, VA: May 22, 1930
UNKNOWN SPEAKER: Talk on lighter-than-air aircraft (excerpt) Unknown location: c. 1933
 “New Incorporations.” New York Times (Mar 22, 1922), p. 23.
 Wadsworth, H. L. “Sound Recording and Reproducing Machine.” U.S. Patent #1,312,461 (filed Mar 7, 1917; granted Aug 5, 1919).
 Memorandum of Agreement Between the Metal Disc Recording Company, Inc., and Henry L. Wadsworth (May 11, 1922.
 Emerson, Victor H. “Record for Talking Machines and Method of Making the Same.” U.S. Patent #1,444,960 (filed April 25, 1921; granted February 13, 1923).
 “Kodisk Placed on Market.” Talking Machine World (May 1922), p. 33.
 Cooke, Douglas H. Unpublished manuscript, c. 1930.
 Emerson Foundation Co., Inc. Letter to Sanborn, op. cit.
 Agreement Between Speakeophone, Incorporated, and Speak-O-Phone Corporation of America (Aug 28, 1929).
 Agreement Between Emerson Foundation Company, Inc., and Speakeophone, Incorporated (Oct 5, 1929).
 Emerson, A. T. Memorandum for Mr. Matters (Feb 17, 1930).
 Blevins, Jacques E. Letter to E. A. Widmann (April 8, 1930).
 Sanborn, Fredrick H. Latter to E. A. Widmann (April 8, 1930).
 Emerson, A. T. Letter to E. A. Widmann (April 11, 1930).
 Blevins, Jacques E. Letter to A. T, Emerson (Jan 31, 1931).
 Emerson, A. T. Letter to Harriman National Bank and Trust Company (Jan 20, 1931).
 Agreement Between Metal Disc Recording Co, Inc., and Speakeophone Incorporated (Jan 16, 1931; amended Mar 28, 1931).
 Emerson Foundation Company, Inc. Resolution (Jan 22, 1931).
 Cooke, op. cit. Cooke and a group of associates invented what he called the Chromatron recorder in the winter of 1927, which he claimed in the document was “developed quite independently of anything of the Remsen Corporation.” It is unclear whether this was the recording device that Remsen marketed.
 Sanborn, Frederick H. Letter to E. A. Widmann (Oct 28, 1930).
 Emerson, A. T. Memorandum to E. A. Widmann (Aug 18, 1931); Widmann, E. A. Memorandum to A. T. Emerson (Aug 20, 1931).
 Sanborn, Frederick H. Letter to A. T. Emerson (Aug 10, 1931).
 Emerson, A. T. Letter to Frederick H. Sanborn (Aug 17, 1931).
 Emerson, A. T. Memorandum to E. A. Widmann (Sep 14, 1931).
Our thanks to Doreen Wakeman (A. T. Emerson’s grand-daughter, and Victor’s great grand-daughter) for providing the source documents and many of the graphics used in this article.
The autumn of 1920 was a high-water mark for the Emerson Phonograph Company. A year earlier — after five years of producing only small-diameter discs — Victor Emerson had finally decided to take on the major companies, introducing standard ten-inch, full-priced records. Some popular stars and dance orchestras were being signed to exclusive contracts, there were the beginnings of a respectable operatic series, and the company was doing a strong business in records for the immigrant markets. In addition, Emerson had recently introduced a new line of phonographs starting at $80 and topping out at $1,000, a far cry from its first $3 offering of 1915.
From Magazine of Wall Street (November 27, 1920)
Emerson’s facilities at the time were scattered around New York, with an executive suite at 3 West Thirty-Fifth Street, a sales office at 120 Broadway, and a studio at 365 Fifth Avenue. At some point, the decision was made to consolidate at a single location that could also house the company’s flagship phonograph and record store.
With production and optimism at an all-time high, in January 1920 the company signed a twenty-one lease for a building at 206 Fifth Avenue. A long, narrow five-story structure, it extended the full depth of the block, with an additional entrance at 1126 Broadway. It was already an old building, dating to 1856–1857 according to real estate records, but had recently been modernized and given a fresh facade by its new owner, the Emigrant Industrial Savings Bank.
Emerson’s offices and studio space would be consolidated on the upper three floors, one of which reportedly was given over entirely to recording. The move was completed during February 1920, at which time the record store was still in the early planning stages. Walter K. Pleuthner, a somewhat eccentric painter, architect, and interior designer, was hired for the task.
Pleuthner drafted ambitious plans for a record store and phonograph showroom on the ground level, with entrances on both Fifth Avenue and Broadway. It was an extravagant design, with vaulted ceilings, leaded-glass windows, specially designed chandeliers, individual listening booths, two “cloisters,” and a central staircase leading to a second-floor auditorium, to be called Emerson Hall. The store opened in September 1920 but wasn’t widely advertised until November, when it was featured in a nationwide marketing campaign.
Unfortunately, no one at Emerson foresaw the crippling recession of 1920–1921, which began in the same month the company leased the Fifth Avenue building. Burdened with excess inventory and deeply in debt, the Emerson Phonograph Company was placed in the hands of receivers on December 9, 1920. It carried on, but on a less ambitious scale, buoyed in part by its 1921 introduction of the inexpensive Regal label for the dime- and chain-store trade.
The company continued to operate at 206 Fifth Avenue for nearly two more years, although plans to hold concerts in Emerson Hall apparently never materialized. Victor Emerson resigned in March 1922 and launched a new business, manufacturing and selling blank metal recording discs. Reorganized under new ownership in August 1922, the Emerson Phonograph Company vacated the Fifth Avenue building in October for decidedly cheaper-looking quarters. The Fifth Avenue building still stands today, minus the Emerson logo that once graced its pediment.
Arthur Collins & Byron G. Harlan:
After the Fall (1921 – 1936)
By Allan Sutton
Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan (Bain Collection, Library of Congress)
At a time when online access to digitized archives was the stuff of science fiction, Ulysses (Jim) Walsh did a remarkable job of chronicling what he called the “Pioneer Recording Artists” for Hobbies magazine, using the limited material available to him. Many of us found our collecting experiences greatly enriched by his columns. They remain enjoyable reading long after his death, even if some of what he wrote doesn’t hold up to close examination. As a popular columnist who relied on colorful tales to keep readers coming back, Walsh often accepted anecdotes as fact without question, provided they suited his narrative, and he tended to embroider the facts to keep the story line going.
A case in point is his account of Arthur Collins’ accidental fall from the stage at the Princess Theater in Medina, Ohio, and his skewed take on the outcome of that event.  Walsh gave the date of the accident as Thursday, October 20, 1921, an error that has been widely repeated in derivative works. But in fact, October 20 was simply the date on which the Medina Sentinel belatedly reported the incident.  As noted in the Sentinel article, it had actually occurred on “Thursday of last week” — i.e., on October 14.
Both accounts have Collins falling into the basement from a stage that had been darkened as part of the Tone Test routine. Walsh has him plunging dramatically through an open trap-door — then, “reeling dizzily…fearfully bloody and almost out of his head … dazedly — almost instinctively,” making his way back up a ladder, with “the trooper’s [sic] instinct that ‘the show must go on.'” The Sentinel, on the other hand, has him simply falling down a flight of stairs, then being given medical treatment after regaining the stage.
The Medina Sentinel for October 20, 1921, confirming the date of Collins’ accident as “Thursday of last week” (i.e., October 14).
So, a minor factual error, and an over over-abundance of purple prose on Walsh’s part, which might be easily overlooked had he not then gone on to thoroughly misrepresent what happened in the wake of the accident, erroneously declaring “For the duration of Collins’ illness, the Collins-Harlan partnership was broken up…”
That was not the case; Collins made a quick recovery, and one week after the accident, the team was back on the road, which is where our survey of the team’s advertising and press coverage, post-fall, begins.
Collins makes a quick recovery: The Zanesville Tone Test was presented on October 21, 1921, one week after the accident in Medina.
The Zanesville Time-Recorder commented on his steady stride and the “virile quality” of his voice at the October 21 Tone Test). With Collins apparently in passable health, the team went on to complete their tour, wrapping up in late November. After a month-long break, they went back on the road in early 1922, reaching California in February.
Collins & Harlan in Visalia, California (February 1922)
Harlan seems to have first ventured out on his own in the spring of 1922, when he was featured on several broadcasts sponsored by Okeh records, minus Collins. At that time, however, the team was still performing together.
Harlan on the air (New York Herald, April 26, 1922). “Rubalogue” was a coined term for a monologue by a “rube” (or “hick,” in slightly more modern parlance).
Although Collins and Harlan did little traveling together during the spring and summer of 1922, they recorded duets for Edison in July, August, and September. In the latter month, they hired Palmer Kellogg as their new road manager, apparently anticipating a busy fall travel season.
From the Fremont, Ohio, News-Messenger (September 6, 1922)
A short time later, however, the act split temporarily, for reasons that remain to be determined. Perhaps Collins was experiencing health problems, albeit not necessarily related to his accident, which was now nearly a year behind him; all that is certain is that there was a sudden dearth of press coverage devoted to him. Whatever the cause, Harlan took the road with a widely publicized new solo act in the autumn of 1922.
Harlan and his own company on tour, minus Collins (Coudersport, Pennsylvania, November 1922)
Collins and Harlan reunited in the late spring of 1923. They returned to the Edison studio on July 25, but recording was now only an occasional undertaking for them. Increasingly, their old minstrel-show shtick was lost on younger, more sophisticated urban record buyers. They attempted some more up-to-date material for Edison, toning down the racial stereotypes that marred so much of their earlier work, but the records fail to attract much interest. However, their older material remained popular in the small cities and rural areas.
They were soon on the road again, now with their own small company, making grueling cross-country tours of predominantly small-town America. While they continued to perform Edison Tone Tests, they also began staging their own shows in churches, high-school auditoriums, YMCA’s, fraternal halls, movie theaters, and any other venue that would have them. Clearly, given the rigors these tours entailed, Collins was not the broken, infirm man that Walsh made him out to be.
Together again: Collins and Harlan in St. Louis in October 1923, on the first leg of a tour that would take them as far west as Utah.
Collins and Harlan wrapped up their 1923 western tour in the final days of that year. This ad for their appearance in Provo, Utah, ran on December 16.
The team had barely time to catch their breath from their last 1923 tour before again heading west. They arrived in California in January 1924, then worked their way back east during February, with stops in Nevada, Utah, and Colorado. March and April were spent touring Pennsylvania, followed by sporadic appearances in the Middle Atlantic region during the spring and summer. A new feature had been added to the act — they would now make and play instantaneous recordings on stage, of themselves as well as aspiring local artists, using a process that remains to be discovered.
The early 1924 western tour: Collins and Harlan in Grand Junction, Colorado (February 1924)
The on-stage recording sessions were heavily promoted. Presumably they had been approved by the Edison organization, since many were conducted during Tones Test appearances. At least one ad made the misleading suggestion that these were Edison trial recordings that could lead to “fame and fortune” for the performers.
Collins and Harlan in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania (May 1924), on their second tour of the year.
Collins and Harlan and “Company,” as the added attraction at a movie screening in Allentown, Pennsylvania (March 1924)
Collins and Harlan stayed close to home during the summer of 1924, making only occasional documented appearances in the Mid-Atlantic region. On October 3, they returned to the Edison studio to record the forgettable “Liver and Bacon.” Coupled with “Any Way the Wind Blows (My Sweetie Goes)” on Edison 54123, it would be their last issued record as a team.  A short time later, they embarked on a two-month Tone Test tour of the Midwest, with stops in Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio, and Michigan.
A two-month Tone Test tour followed in February–March 1925, playing mostly no-name venues in Maryland, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia. Ending in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, it would be their last major tour as a team.
Collins and Harlan in Hinton, West Virginia, in February 1925, during their final major tour as a team.
In 1926, Collins retired and moved with his wife to a suburb of Fort Myers, Florida, where he occasionally performed at the local social clubs and reportedly enjoyed tending his orange grove. He died at home on August 3, 1933. Walsh, quoting Mrs. Collins, has him expiring peacefully by her side in a pastoral setting:
“We were sitting on a bench under the trees, talking about a recent trip I had just returned from, when he put his head on my shoulder and quietly passed away.”
The Fort Meyers News-Press reported the event less poetically, although the basic facts are the same:
“After pushing the [lawn] mower, he sat down beside his wife for a minute’s rest and then suddenly slumped to the ground.” 
Harlan died at his home in Orange, New Jersey, on September 11, 1936  — in his bath-tub, according to Walsh, who didn’t cite a source for that tidbit (nor have we found one so far).
 Walsh, Ulysses “Jim.” “Favorite Pioneer Recording Artists. Arthur Collins — Part III.” Hobbies (Jan 1943), p. 13.
 “Edison Artist Nearly Killed.” Medina Sentinel (Oct 20, 1921), p. 1.
 Collins is not known to have made any further recordings. Harlan reportedly made unissued experimental recordings for Edison in 1926. His last commercially issued records were made with Steve Porter, for the ultra-cheap Grey Gull chain of labels, in 1928 and 1929.
 “Arthur Collins Dies Suddenly; Was Noted as Singer and Actor.” Fort Myers News-Press (Aug 3, 1933), p. 1.
 Walsh, Ulysses “Jim.” “Favorite Pioneer Recording Artists. Byron G. Harlan — Part II. Hobbies (Mar 1943), p. 14.
Update: American Record Company Masters
on Hawthorne & Sheble’s Star Label
The overwhelming majority of Star records were pressed from Columbia masters (see Star Records in Mainspring’s free Online Reference Library). However, a few anomalous issues — presumably pre-dating Hawthorne & Sheble’s switch to Columbia recordings, although their date of production remains unclear — use Hawthorne, Sheble & Prescott’s American Record masters.
These obscure issues retain American Record’s original catalog numbers and, like their counterparts, have rubber-stamped label information. On some specimens, the Star label was pasted over the American Record Company original; on others, the label was affixed directly at time of pressing.
These issues don’t appear in any Star catalog or supplement we’ve seen thus far. The corresponding American Record Company issues were released between March and October 1906.
The latest addition to the list comes to us from Robert Johannesson (Kristianstad, Sweden) — in this case, an operatic recording that is fairly rare in the original American Record Company pressing, and no doubt even rarer as a Star disc.
Courtesy of Robert Johannesson
The American Record–derived Stars appear to be far scarcer than the Columbia-derived Stars. Thus far, only the following have been confirmed by sources we know to be reliable. If you have other examples, we would like very much to hear from you (label scans are appreciated, if possible). You can e-mail us at:
Star 031317 Cheyenne (Shy Ann) Billy Murray Acc: Orchestra Mx: X 837
La Golondrina (The Swallow) Curti’s Mexican Orchestra (Carlos Curti, director) Mx: —
El Matador — Paso Doble Curti’s Mexican Orchestra (Carlos Curti, director) Mx: — [ctl. M 5284]
Star 031401 Rigoletto: Monologo Cesare Alessandroni Mx: X 196
Himno Nacional Mexicano A. de G. Abello Mx: X 777
The Bullfrog and the Coon Ada Jones Mx: X 1428 [ctl. M 5299]
Full details, including corresponding issues on other labels, can be found in the Star Records discography.
Thanks to Robert Johannesson (Kristianstad, Sweden), we now have additional details for the following issues in The Phono-Cut Discography:
I Rosens Doft = side A (mx. 1374 )
Trollhättan = side B (mx. 1375 )
Phono-Cut 5253 (previously unconfirmed issue):
Fogeln’s Visa = side A (mx. 1525 )
Stephanie = side B (mx. 1446 ; catalog number 5209, on which this also appears, is also in the wax)
These and other recently received additions will be incorporated in our next full revision of the discography (V.3), tentatively scheduled for early November. Our thanks for all who have taken the time to respond.
It now appears almost certain that the “0” characters following many of the master numbers are take indicators. If so, that raises the question of whether “0” indicates take 1, or the absence of “0” indicates take 1 (in which case, “0” would be take 2, “00” take 3, etc. — similar to Gennett’s use of no letter for take 1, “A” for take 2, etc.). The relative rarity of “000” markings suggests the latter, but that is still just a guess at this point.