Enrico Caruso’s “MeToo” Moment: The Monkey House Scandal (1906)

Enrico Caruso’s “MeToo” Moment:
The Monkey House Scandal (1906)

 

It could be a story ripped from today’s headlines — A prominent entertainer is accused of molestation by a woman who gives the police a false address (and, it was later discovered, only her maiden name), then promptly vanishes. She fails to appear at the trial.

With the mysterious accuser absent, a police officer of questionable background serves as the chief witness. Two women who accuse Caruso of similar behavior in the past also testify, one of them anonymous and fully veiled. A skeptical judge orders Caruso to pay a $10 fine, the minimum penalty the court can impose.

The trial draws an ethnically mixed crowd, with “Italians” cheering Caruso enthusiastically. But the New York Times also reports “a crowd of young Americans…shouting derisively, yelling, whistling, and hooting.”

Out in the heartland, a Richmond, Indiana, newspaper spreads what appears to have been “fake news,” claiming that Caruso is blaming a monkey for having assaulted the supposed victim. The story is ignored by the more reputable papers.

“Hanna Graham,” Caruso’s accuser and a supposed widow, is  tracked down shortly after the trial ends and is found to actually be Hannah Graham Stanhope, the wife of an amateur baseball player. She gives a lengthy account of the alleged molestation to a New York newspaper, which Caruso’s attorney dismisses on the grounds that she refused to testify under oath. The New York Police Commissioner promises to investigate the matter, but nothing more is heard in that regard.

In the end, Caruso appeals, loses, and pays his $10 fine. He then leaves for Paris, only to learn that he might by barred from re-entering the U.S. as an “undesirable immigrant” (it didn’t happen).

 

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November 17, 1906

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November 21, 1906

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November 22, 1906

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“Fake news” in the heartland? The Richmond, Indiana, Palladium might have been misled by a tongue-in-cheek piece that ran a day earlier in another Midwestern newspaper. The “monkey-pinch” story did not appear in more reputable papers. (November 19, 1906)

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November 24, 1906

 

May 16, 1906

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Forgotten Vaudeville Stars on Records • William H. (Billy) Tascott

Forgotten Vaudeville Stars • William H. (Billy) Tascott

By Allan Sutton

 

Known for most of his career simply by his last name, William H. Tascott specialized in the “coon song,” which merits some discussion here. These syncopated songs were the vocal counterpart to ragtime, and the subject matter was the supposed foibles of black folks.

There has long been a tendency to dismiss coon songs as racist trash, and not without some justification. Many exploited the worst stereotypes — corrupt preachers, razor fights, crap-shooting, cheating spouses, chicken-coop raids, and lusting after watermelon are recurring themes. And yet, many of the best (and, generally, least offensive) coon songs were written by blacks, including Bert Williams, Alex Rogers, Will Marion Cook, Jim Europe, and other notable figures.

The lyrics to “Shame on You,” which is posted here in Tascott’s rendition, were written by Chris Smith, a prolific black songwriter and vaudevillian who two decades later was featured on the earliest Ajax race records. If accounts of the period are any guide, many coon songs were enjoyed by black and white audiences alike. It was primarily white songwriters (like Paul Dresser, whose “Nigger Loves His Possum” was a hit for Collins & Harlan) who sullied the genre.

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One of the earliest mentions of Tascott appears in the Boston Post for June 16, 1901, which noted that he “excels as a singer of coon songs.” Newspaper reports and advertisements from 1901 give his name variously as William H. Tascott, Will H. Tascott, or W. H. Tascott. By 1902, Tascott was using only his last name on stage — perhaps to avoid confusion with William B. Tascott, a suspected murderer who was the subject of a headline-grabbing manhunt at the time.

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Singing between horse-races (Boston, August 1901)

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Tascott traveled extensively in vaudeville, where he was billed as “The World’s Greatest Coon Shouter” (and much less often as “The White Coon,” the billing used for his Edison recordings). He spent the summer of 1901 playing vaudeville houses in Boston and even performing between horse race at Combination Park.

Tascott seems to have been especially popular in Washington, D.C., where The Washington Times for October 28, 1902, reported that his act “is a novel one, in that he does not appear in ‘black face.’” The Washington Evening Star observed that Tascott’s delivery “would doubtless cause many of his hearers to believe that he is in reality a colored singer, were it not for the fact that he does not resort to burnt cork.” This is certainly borne out by the straightforward delivery we hear on Tascott’s recordings, in which he largely avoids the annoying, stereotypical “darky” mannerisms that mar the work of Arthur Collins and some others who specialized in the genre on records.

Tascott’s total known recorded output consists of two Edison cylinders — “Shame on You,” recorded on April 22, 1905, and “You Must Think I’m Santa Claus,” from May 12, 1905. They bear out several reviews of the period that remarked on Tascott’s auditorium-filling voice. There are any number of possible explanations for such a short recording career — a busy touring schedule, Arthur Collins’ and Bob Roberts’ stranglehold on coon-song recording, or a voice that produced records prone to wear out prematurely are all certainly possibilities.

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WILLIAM TASCOTT: Shame on You

New York: April 22, 1905  (released July 1905; deleted December 1, 1908)
Edison Gold Moulded cylinder 9033

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At some point, Tascott received a Richard K. Fox medal, an award originally bestowed upon boxers by the owner of the Police Gazette, which was later expanded to include entertainers. Tascott shifted his activities to the Midwest around 1907 and began touring on the Keith vaudeville circuit. The Suburbanite Economist reported on April 2, 1909, that he had purchased a home in Chicago, at 6230 Throop Street. Now billed as Billy Tascott, he toured widely throughout the Midwest during 1909–1910 and even ventured into Canada, where he appeared at Winnipeg’s Dominion Theatre in March 1910.

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“Billy” Tascott in the Midwest (Dekalb, Illinois, February 1910)

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A mention of Tascott’s Richard K. Fox medal
(Moline, Illinois, May 1908)

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The summer of 1910 saw Tascott back on the East Coast for a string of appearances in the Washington–Baltimore–Philadelphia corridor. From there, he swung westward to Altoona, Pennsylvania, and Akron, Ohio, after which his trail grows cold for a time. He resurfaced in December 1913, when he performed at a “smoker” in Brooklyn for fifteen-hundred supporters of politician James P. Sinnott. There are other occasional mentions of Tascott as late as January 1915, when he played a small-time theater in Trenton, New Jersey. By then, however, the coon song was becoming passé, and Tascott fades from the picture.

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© 2019 by Allan R. Sutton. All rights are reserved.

Collectors’ Corner (MP3) • Some January Cylinder Finds – Edison Two-Minute (1901 – 1909)

Collectors’ Corner (MP3) • Some January Cylinder Finds
Edison Two-Minute Cylinders (1901 – 1909)

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Cylinder fans — If you’re a serious collector or conscientious dealer, you need Edison Two-Minute and Concert Cylinders, compiled from the original Edison documentation. This is the only fully detailed guide to Edison cylinders, identifying and dating all of the numerous remakes. Remakes often employed different artists (see, for example, the note to the first selection below), who generally are not identified in earlier cylinder guides. Supplies are very limited, and we will not be reprinting once they are sold out — order soon!

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Some of these recordings contain racially derogatory language that is typical of the period. It does not reflect the views of Mainspring Press; however, we see no value in censoring history. This was America (and, sadly, still is, in some jerkwater communities).

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ARTHUR COLLINS: Little Alabama Coon

Edison Gold Moulded 1523
New York – Master plated July 19, 1901
National Phonograph began plating masters for the new Gold Moulded cylinders on January 21, 1901, in advance of an early 1902 launch. #1523 was originally allocated to George J. Gaskin’s 1897 recording of this title, which was subsequently replaced by a brown-wax version by Collins (deleted in July 1902 and replaced by this version in Gold Moulded format). The number was recycled yet again in July 1905, for a more common remake by Ada Jones with orchestra.

 

 

BOB ROBERTS: Somebody Lied

Edison Gold Moulded 9936
New York – Listed July 1908

 

 

WILL F. DENNY: My Word! What a Lot of It

Edison Gold Moulded 9620
New York – Listed June 1907

 

 

JACK PLEASANTS: I Said “Hooray”

Edison Gold Moulded 10293
London – Listed November 1909 (U.S.)
British issue on 13898 – Listed c. July 1909

 

 

MURRY K. HILL: In the Good Old Steamboat Days

Edison Gold Moulded 9619
New York – Listed June 1907

 

 

BILLY MURRAY & EDISON MALE QUARTET: San Antonio

Edison Gold Moulded  9547
New York – Listed March 1907

 

 

EDWARD M. FAVOR & CHORUS: Almost (from The Fair Co-Ed)

Edison Gold Moulded 10147
New York – Listed April 1909

 

 

ANTONIO SCOTTI: Falstaff – Quand ero paggio

Edison Grand Opera Record B-57
New York – Listed November 1907

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For detailed, fully documented histories of National Phonograph (Edison) and dozens of other cylinder record producers, be sure to check out American Record Companies and Producers, 1888 – 1950: An Encyclopedic History, newly released by Mainspring Press.

The James A. Drake Interviews • Nina Morgana (Part 1)

NINA MORGANA
(Part 1 of 3)
By James A. Drake

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Born of Italian parents who had emigrated from Palermo, Sicily, to Buffalo, New York in 1890, Nina Morgana (1891-1984) first sang in public performances in her native city’s Italian district in 1900. [1]  After studying in Italy with Teresa Arkel from 1909-1913, she made well-received debuts in Alessandria and in Milan.  When she returned to America, she was chosen by Enrico Caruso as one of his assisting artists in a highly-publicized series of concerts in the United States.  Morgana made her Metropolitan Opera debut in the 1920-21 season, having previously sung with the Chicago Opera Association under the management of Mary Garden.

In June 1921, scarcely two months before Caruso’s sudden death, Morgana married the tenor’s full-time secretary, Bruno Zirato (1886-1972), who later became the general manager of the New York Philharmonic and also served as Arturo Toscanini’s representative in North and South America.  Essentially self-educated and invariably self-assured, Morgana was well-acquainted with Beniamino Gigli, as she discussed in a number of interviews conducted by the author from 1973-1979. 

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Bruno Zirato with Dorothy and Enrico Caruso on their wedding day, August 20, 1918. The location is the roof of the Knickerbocker Hotel, New York.
(G.G. Bain Collection, Library of Congress)

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You and Beniamino Gigli made your Metropolitan Opera debuts during the same season, is that correct?

In the same season, yes, and less than twenty-four hours apart:  Gigli made his as Faust in Boito’s Mefistofele on November 26, 1920, and I made mine as Gilda in Rigoletto on Saturday, November 27.  But strictly speaking, my debut was not my first performance at the Met.  Several months earlier, on March 28, I sang three arias at a Sunday Night Concert, with Pasquale Amato and [violinist] Albert Spalding also on the program. 

 

Was Caruso [was] to have sung the Duke in your debut in Rigoletto?

Yes, but he was ill, so Mario Chamlee sang the Duke at my debut. [2]  Giuseppe De Luca sang Rigoletto.  Chamlee and De Luca were also my partners in Barber of Seville during that same season.  I also sang Nedda in Pagliacci with Edward Johnson as Canio and Antonio Scotti as Tonio in my debut season.  I was to have sung Pagliacci with Caruso originally.

 

In operatic circles, it is widely known that you were “discovered” by Caruso.  When and where did this “discovery” take place?

I can tell you precisely:  it was on Saturday, May 9, 1908, at 3:00 p.m., in Buffalo, New York, in one of the four suites on the top floor of the Iroquois Hotel.   I can be more specific by telling you that Caruso’s suite was the one atop the front of the hotel, which faced Eagle Street.  The hotel, which had one-thousand rooms, was still new at that time; it had opened for business in conjunction with the Pan-American Exposition, which was held in Buffalo in 1901.

 

You performed at the Pan-American Exposition, correct?

Yes, I sang there in an exhibition called Venice in America, on the midway.  I was nine years old, and was billed as “Baby Patti” or “Child Patti” in the [Buffalo] newspapers.

 

It was at the Pan-American Exposition, on June 13, 1901, that President William McKinley was assassinated.  Do you recall anything about that tragic day?

The only memory I have is hearing adults around me saying very agitatedly, “The President has been shot!  The President has been shot!”  I was too young to know what “being shot” meant—and I also didn’t know what “president” meant, much less who the president was.  When I asked my parents about it, they tried to explain to me that in the United States, the president was “the king.”  Well, I didn’t know what a “king” was, so I just accepted the fact that someone important had been hurt in some way.

 

When you auditioned for Caruso, do you recall what you sang?

Yes, I sang “Caro nome.”  Just the “Caro nome,” without the recitative.  When I finished, Caruso patted me on the cheek and told my father, who came with me, that I had a very promising voice.  He told us that I would have to study in Italy, and he said he would write a letter on my behalf to the great Teresa Arkel, asking her to accept me as a pupil.  He did so, and about a year later, my father and I sailed to Italy.  During the day, while I was at Mme. Arkel’s having my lessons, my father worked as a laborer.

 

Obviously, Caruso detected the youthful promise in your voice, just as he did several years later with the young Rosa Ponselle.  Looking back, what do you think he heard in your voice that prompted him to refer you to Teresa Arkel?

Well, whatever he heard was not what Mme. Arkel heard!  In his letter to her, Caruso had written that he believed my voice would become a mezzo-sopranone, or in English, “a great big mezzo-soprano.”  When I sang for Mme. Arkel, however, she said that my voice would be fine for roles like Lucia, Amina in Sonnambula, and Adina in Elisir d’amore, which require an exceptional top.  And I had one, too.  By the time I left Mme. Arkel, I could sing the G above high-C effortlessly.  But vocally, I was certainly not going to be singing Mamma Lucia in Cavalleria rusticana.

 

When you were studying in Italy, was Caruso as famous there as he was in the U.S.?

Actually, no.  His recordings were well-known, of course, and hence his name was well-known, but since 1903 he had been at the Metropolitan Opera, not La Scala or one of the other houses in Italy.  The tenor who was admired when I was studying in Italy—not just admired, but adored—was Giuseppe Anselmi.  He was as famous there as Caruso was in the United States.  

Anselmi, whom I heard several times, had a gorgeous voice and a perfect technique, and was also extraordinarily handsome.  Anselmi was “all the rage,” so to say, as was Maria Galvany among sopranos.  It was Galvany, not Melba, who was adored in Italy, yet in America she was almost unknown other than on recordings.

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Giuseppe Anselmi

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A great tenor who sang during Anselmi’s time, and whom some historians claim was the equal of Caruso in certain roles, was Alessandro Bonci.  Did you see Bonci, and if so, what was your assessment of him?

The distance between Caruso and Bonci as tenors was about the size of the Grand Canyon.  They had nothing at all in common, either vocally or as men.  In Italy, it was rumored that Bonci was an unethical person.  He had played some part in obtaining a forged letter from Verdi, giving Bonci supposed permission to sing the “È scherzo od è follia” in a unique way.  I heard a recording of it, and Bonci’s performance was different yet acceptable.  But he was still in disrepute because he had paid someone to forge the letter from Verdi.

Personally, I saw Bonci as Faust in Boito’s Mefistofele, in which he was wearing an over-stated costume topped by a large hat with an even larger feather protruding from it.  Frankly, he looked silly on the stage.  Vocally, his singing was pleasant enough, and it reminded me somewhat of Lauri-Volpi because both of them had exceptional high ranges.  But Lauri-Volpi was handsome onstage, whereas Bonci was a feather-bearing little man in an overdone costume with high-heeled boots.

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Alessandro Bonci, 1910

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Earlier, you mentioned having sung with Edward Johnson in Pagliacci at the MetWhen Johnson’s name is mentioned in connection with the Metropolitan Opera, it is usually in reference to his tenure as General Manager, not as one of its significant tenors.  Do you recall the first time you heard him sing?

Yes, in Italy in 1910.  I sang with him there in Elisir d’amore.  At the time, he was singing under the Italianized name “Edoardo di Giovanni.”

 

Where in Italy did you make your debut? 

My very first performance on an opera stage was as the hidden “forest bird” in Siegfried, at the Teatro Dal Verme.   Tullio Serafin, who was young and handsome—his hair was brown and thick in those days—had come to Mme. Arkel to ask if she had a pupil who could sing the part.  She told him that I could do it, and I did—I sang it hidden in a papier-maché “tree.”  Giuseppe Borgatti was the star of the performance.

I was also in the premiere of Der Rosenkavalier at La Scala on March 1, 1911, which was led by Serafin.  The cast included Lucrezia Bori in the breeches role of Octavian, Ines Maria Ferraris as Sophie, and Pavel Ludikar as Baron Ochs.  During one of the curtain calls with the full cast, I held Strauss’s hand.

 

At the Met, Lucrezia Bori and Edward Johnson were famously paired as Romeo and Juliet.  But you knew both singers in Italy a decade before you made your Met debut?

Bori and Johnson were perfect for each other in Roméo et Juliette.  And, yes, I sang a number of performances with Johnson at the Met.  But his best partner among sopranos was Lucrezia Bori, not Nina Morgana.  I’m sure you have heard recordings of Bori, but have you seen photographs of her?

 

Yes, mostly studio portraits but a few candid ones, in various books about the history of the Met.

Most of her publicity photos were taken [of her] in profile, or else at an angle, rather than facing the camera lens.  She had an ocular condition called strabismus, which lay people refer to as having a “lazy eye” or, less kindly, as “cross-eyed.”  When she was relaxed, Bori’s right eye would tend to drift toward her nose.  My brother, Dante Morgana, a premiere ophthalmologist and surgeon, gave her exercises to train the muscles of her right eye to keep the eyeball centered.

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Lucrezia Bori (G. G. Bain Collection, Library of Congress)

 

Although fate deprived you of the opportunity to sing Pagliacci with Caruso, you sang not only Nedda but other major roles with almost all of the legendary tenors who inherited Caruso’s repertoire.

My best roles were Nedda in Pagliacci, Micaela in Carmen, and Musetta in Bohème.  Although I also sang Mimì in Bohème, [General Manager Giulio] Gatti-Casazza said that I was not only better as Musetta, but that I was the best Musetta of the several sopranos who sang the role under his management.  

 

Do you recall some of the casts in your performances of those operas?

I sang my first Micaela in Carmen with Giovanni Martinelli and Miguel Fleta alternating as Don José, and with José Mardones as Escamillo.  I know of no other basso profondo who could sing Escamillo—later, Pinza sang it, but his voice was a less powerful lyric sound compared to José Mardones.  But Mardones’ range was so marvelous that he could sing Escamillo easily and convincingly.  In some of my performance in Pagliacci, Antonio Scotti sang Tonio and the “new boy,” Lawrence Tibbett, was Silvio. 

In the 1924-1925 season, in a new production of Tales of Hoffmann, I sang the part of the mechanical doll Olympia, with Miguel Fleta as Hoffmann.  In that production, Bori sang the roles of Giulietta and Antonia, and she did them with great distinction.  Later, Queena Mario sang Antonia, but with no distinction at all.

Perhaps you know that Queena Mario’s birth name was Helen Tillotson, a perfectly fine name.  She claimed that [conductor and coach Wilfrid] Pelletier, to whom she was married, had suggested the ridiculous name “Queena,” but I think she made it up herself.  I used to make her mad by asking, “If you have a brother, is his name Kinga?”

 

You sang several times with Giovanni Martinelli, who, perhaps with the sole exception of Caruso, seems to have been beloved by everyone, even by the other great tenors of that era.

I sang Eudoxie in the revival of La Juive with Martinelli as Eléazar, Leon Rothier as the Cardinal, and Rosa Ponselle as Rachel, the role she had created [at the Met] with Caruso in 1919.  In fact, other than Martinelli singing Eléazar in place of Caruso, the revival had almost the same cast as the [Met] premiere.  Ponselle sang most of the performances, but not all of them.  Florence Easton sang several Rachels, as did Elisabeth Rethberg later.

Among the other great tenors of that period, I sang with Giacomo Lauri-Volpi for the first time in Rigoletto in 1926, with De Luca and Mardones.  For that performance, with Gatti-Casazza’s consent, I made a change in Gilda’s costume:  I wore a pink gown in the first scene.  I also sang with Lauri-Volpi in Africana, with Ponselle as Selika, and I sang with him again in Pagliacci in the 1929-1930 season.  In Africana, Gigli was cast instead of Lauri-Volpi in several of the performances I was in, and Florence Easton replaced Ponselle in some of them.  Most were conducted by Serafin.

 

Do you recall the tenors with whom you sang in Bohème?

As I said earlier, Musetta was one of my best and most frequent roles, and I was especially fortunate to sing several performances with Lauri-Volpi as Rodolfo [in 1932].  A few times, Rodolfo was sung by Martinelli.  It’s not a role that one would immediately associate with him, but the color of Martinelli’s voice was light enough for it, and he restrained the volume of his clarion voice.  I also sang some performances with Armand Tokatyan, who was a very fine tenor and deserves to be remembered better today.

I was also fortunate to be in the opera house on the opening night of the 1921-22 season, when Gigli sang Alfredo to Galli-Curci’s Violetta at her debut.  I knew Galli-Curci before then.  Both of us had sung in Chicago when Mary Garden was the general manager.

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Mary Garden (G. G. Bain Collection, Library of Congress)

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If one-half of the stories that have been told and written about Mary Garden are true, she must have been a formidable person.

Indeed, she was, but probably no more so than Melba or Patti before her.  They ruled their kingdoms—and they made those kingdoms.  No woman who achieved what Patti, or Melba, or Geraldine Farrar, or Mary Garden achieved, could have done so without enormous self-confidence.  Mary Garden, at least as I knew her, was not imperious at all, but she knew very well what her value was. 

She could talk about herself in a way that may sound conceited in the retelling, but from her standpoint it was simply a matter of fact.  I remember walking to the Chicago Opera house with my sister Angie, who traveled with me, and seeing Mary Garden coming toward us.  She stopped us and said, “Did you see my Carmen last night?” Not “How are you,” or “Wonderful to see you today,” but “Did you see my Carmen last night?” 

We hadn’t seen it, so we said so.  “You must see my next one,” she replied.  “There is nothing like it, and there never will be.”  She said that without a trace of haughtiness.  It was as if she had said, “You should carry an umbrella tomorrow because it’s likely to rain.”    

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[1]  The family of Nina Morgana, which comprised seven children, is remarkable not only for her success, but also her siblings’ successes. In addition to her brother Dante Morgana (who, as she mentions in the interview, became a nationally-known eye surgeon), her brother Emilio Morgana entered the priesthood and became a close friend of the friar-author Thomas Merton.  Another brother, Charles Morgana (Giuseppe Carlo Morgana), was an automotive inventor and a close associate of Henry Ford.  His older sister, Angelina Morgana, followed their brother Dante into medical school, where she became the only female in her class in the Medical Department (as it was then known) of the University of Buffalo.   She withdrew because of the harassment she experienced from the all-male faculty.

[2]  Here Morgana’s normally precise memory has failed her: on the day of her Metropolitan Opera debut (Saturday, November 27, 1920) Caruso sang a matinee performance of La forza del destino, and hence was not “ill.”
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© 2018 by James A. Drake. All rights are reserved. Short excerpts may be quoted without permission, provided the source and a link to this posting are cited. All other use requires prior written consent of the copyright holder. Please e-mail Mainspring Press with questions, comments, or reproduction requests for the author.

Photographs from the Library of Congress’ Bain Collection are in the public domain and may be reproduced without permission.

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Coming in Part 2: Nina Morgana’s personal recollections of Caruso; Gigli’s premier at the Met; comparing the great tenors

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“American Idol,” 1916 Style

“American Idol,“ 1916 Style
By Allan Sutton

 

Long before The Voice, American Idol, Horace Heidt, or even Major Bowes, there was the Colorado Scholarship Fund contest of June 1916 — possibly the first amateur-talent contest for which the reward was a record deal (of sorts). The contest was widely publicized in the Colorado newspapers, and even The Talking Machine World (the major trade-paper of the day) covered it in detail:

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The record still turns up often in Colorado, generally to the dismay of collectors, since aside from the interesting-looking label, it’s pretty dreadful (so much so, that we won’t post the sound-file, out of respect to two artists caught at an awkward stage in their development). In defense of Ms. Forsyth and Mr. Parsons, both were truly amateurs at the time, and Forsyth had recently suffered throat problems, according to a local paper.

For all its shortcomings, the record appears to have sold very well. It didn’t lead to a Columbia contract for either singer (and was numbered in Columbia’s Personal Record series, ensuring it would never be listed in a Columbia catalog), but apparently the experience encouraged them to pursue professional careers. Both took up vocal studies at Denver’s Wilcox Studios shortly after the record’s release.

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Forsyth remained in Denver until late 1919, when she joined the All-American Opera Company on tour, as an understudy to Anna Fitziu. By the early 1920s she had married and settled in Los Angeles, where she became a fixture on the local concert circuit and taught at Davis Musical College.

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Alice Forsyth in Los Angeles, 1923

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Parsons joined the Jambon Players, a group that entertained the troops overseas during World War I, then settled in Pittsburgh. In addition to regular concert and church work, he was a radio pioneer, broadcasting regularly over station KDKA beginning in 1921. During 1927–1928 he appeared on Broadway in Artists and Models, which ran for 151 performances at the Winter Garden. In the later 1920s he had his own program on KDKA and was a featured star on NBC’s Yeast Foamers program during 1929–1930.

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Chauncey Parsons at Loew’s Aldine Theater (Pittsburgh), 1924

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The Colorado contest was so successful that it was later repeated in other cities.

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Mainspring Press Website Changes – August 2017

We will be deleting the Articles section of the Mainspring Press website later this month. Some articles date back to the early 2000s, and many could use some updating. The best and most popular of the group will be revised and reposted as blog features over the next few months.

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The rest will go to their well-earned rest in offline storage. You’re still welcome to download the articles for personal use while they’re available — just keep in mind that copyrights and publication restrictions continue to apply, even to deleted articles.

 

A Gallery of 1898 Recording Artists

These extracts are from an August 1898 Phonoscope feature, “Gallery of Talent Employed for Making Records” (entries without photographs are not shown).

All of the artists pictured were active into the early 1900s, and far beyond in many cases, but Russell Hunting and Steve Porter had the longest and most distinguished recording-industry careers.  In addition to his prolific recording activities, Hunting was the editor of The Phonoscope (the industry’s first trade journal) in the 1890s, and he was still active in the later 1920s as American Pathé’s technical director.

Stephen Carl (Steve) Porter spent several years abroad in the early 1900s, including a stint as a recording engineer with the Nicole company, for which he made ethnic recordings in India and Burma. Upon his return to the U.S. he resumed recording (often in a stereotypical “dumb Irish” role that belied his brilliance), organized and managed the Rambler Minstrels (a popular recording and for-hire act that featured Billy Murray), and successfully filed for patents on various devices, including the Port-O-Phone, an early hearing aid. His activities are covered in detail in Steve Porter: Global Entrepreneur, on the Mainspring Press website.

 

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Three ARSC 2015 Awards for Mainspring Press Books: Eli Oberstein, Victor Special Labels, Ajax Records

We’re honored to announce that three Mainspring Press titles have received 2015 awards from the Association for Recorded Sound Collections. Details and secure online ordering are available on the Mainspring Press website.

The ARSC Award for Excellence—Best Label Discography went to Eli Oberstein’s United States Record Corporation: A History and Discography, 1939–1940:

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2015 Certificates of Merit were awarded to The Victor Discography: Special Labels, 1928–1941; and Ajax Records: A History and Discography:

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ORDER SOON if you’re interested in Oberstein or Victor Special Labels. Both titles have been on the market for a while, so supplies are running low (and in addition, there’s recently been a big library run on USRC). We won’t be reprinting either title once our current supplies are gone.

Sorry, Ajax has already sold out (it was a 2013 title — the wheels sometimes turn very slowly at ARSC), although we might consider reprinting this one if there’s sufficient interest — Let us know.

The Playlist • Some Forgotten Vaudevillians (1921–1925)

MSP_gennett-5111B-8282.

MR. O’CONNELL (as BILLY REYNOLDS): I Got It (The Fidg-e-ty Fidge)

New York (master shipment date): March 17, 1923
Gennett 5111 (mx. 8282 – A)
With uncredited orchestra

A mystery artist — We’re going out on a limb here by lumping whoever this is in with the vaudevillians, but his style certainly suggests some stage experience. The Gennett log sheet attributes this only to a “Mr. O’Connell” (not M. J. O’Connell, based on the aural evidence), and the record was issued under the equally obscure name of “Billy Reynolds.” Anyone know anything about him?

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EDDIE NELSON: I’ve Got the Joys

New York — Released October 1921
Emerson 10426 (mx. 41919 – 3)
With studio orchestra probably directed by Arthur Bergh

 

MSP_nelson-eddie_1925.
Eddie Nelson (1894–1940; not to be confused with song-writer Ed G. Nelson) was a California native who toured in vaudeville with a succession of partners. His first major role in a musical comedy was in the 1921 production of “Sun-Kist” (Globe Theater, New York), from which he took his nickname. Nelson was a hit in London in 1927, where a reviewer opined, “He is starring at a very big salary…and evidently jusitifies it.” He made one Vitaphone short in 1928, and additional single-reelers in the 1930s as “Sun-Kist Nelson.”

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JANE GREEN: Somebody Like You

New York: January 30, 1925 — Released April 24, 1925; Deleted 1926
Victor 19604 (mx. B 31451 – 6)
With studio orchestra directed by Nathaniel Shilkret

green-jane-2Another California native, Jane Green got her start as a child actress in Los Angeles, toured in vaudeville as a teenager, then headlined at the major New York houses from 1918 into the late 1920s. Her Broadway credits include “The Century Revue” and “The Midnight Rounders” (1920), “Nifites of 1923,” and various editions of the “Grenwich Village Follies.” She began broadcasting over station WOR (Newark, NJ) in 1925.

Photo from the G. G. Bain Collection, Library of Congress

 

Just Arrived — “Edison Two-Minute and Concert Cylinders” — In Stock

NOW IN STOCK — Available Exclusively from Mainspring Press

ED2M-cover-x5EDISON TWO-MINUTE AND CONCERT CYLINDERS
American Series, 1897–1912
By Allan Sutton

398 pages, illustrated • 7″ x 10″ quality softcover
$49 (U.S. –  Free Shipping)
Order directly from Mainspring Press

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Edison Two-Minute and Concert Cylinders is the first study  of these records to be compiled from the surviving company documentation (including the factory plating ledgers, studio cash books, remake and deletion notices, catalogs, supplements, and trade publications), along with first-hand inspection of the original cylinders. All American-catalog issues from 1897 through 1912, including the Grand Opera series, are covered.

Unlike previously published guides, which don’t list Edison’s numerous and often confusing remakes, this new volume lists all versions — even indicating those initially supplied by Walcutt & Leeds — along with the listing or release dates and the distinguishing details (changes in artists, accompaniments, announcements, etc.) for each. Plating dates for brown-wax pantograph masters and early Gold Moulded masters, which provide valuable clues to the long-lost recording dates, are published here for the first time.

Other features include composer and show credits, medley contents, accompaniment details, pseudonym identification, an illustrated footnoted history of Edison cylinder production during the National Phonograph Company period, user’s guide, and indexes.

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The Playlist • Sophie Tucker: Edison Cylinders (1910–1911)

MSP_tucker-1910_composite

“When I first heard the playback, I turned to the boys and let out a yell: ‘My God, I sound like a foghorn!” I was terrible. However, the manager seemed satisfied with the recordings… I said to myself: ‘The Edison Company must know what they’re doing. They can’t think I’m as bad as I think I am.'”
Sophie Tucker (from her 1945 autobiography)

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SOPHIE TUCKER: That Lovin’ Rag

New York: January 5 or 11, 1910 — Listed March 1910
Edison 10360 (2-minute cylinder)
The Edison studio cash book shows Tucker’s first two sessions on the above date but doesn’t list the titles recorded.

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SOPHIE TUCKER: Some of These Days

New York: c. February 1911 — Listed April 1911
Edison Amberol 691 (4-minute cylinder)

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SOPHIE TUCKER: Knock Wood

New York: Probably July 27, 1911 — Listed October 1911
Edison Amberol 852 (4-minute cylinder)

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U-S Everlasting Cylinder Artists (1911)

From various 1911 issues of The Talking Machine World:

MSP-TMW-1911_u-s-e_AClockwise, from top: Frank C. Stanley, Henry Burr, Arthur Collins, Charles D’Almaine, Ada Jones, Byron G. Harlan, Fred Van Eps, Vess L. Ossman. Stanley died just a few months before this ad appeared, but most of his records remained in the catalog until U-S Phonograph’s end.
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MSP-TMW-1911_u-s-e-C MSP-TMW_u-s-e_B

 

This ad contains the only photo we’ve seen of the elusive Joe Brown, who also recorded for several of the smaller disc companies (including International Record, as early as 1906).

For details on all U-S Everlasting recordings, be sure to check out Indestructible and U-S Everlasting Cylinders: An Illustrated History and Cylinderography (Kurt Nauck & Allan Sutton), available from Mainspring Press and many major libraries.cover_indestructible-x200.

Pseudonym Update: Blanche Klaise Is Really Blanche Klaise [Klaiss]

MSP_klaise-variety-1930Blanche Klaiss & Ed Pressler listing from a 1930 Keith-Orpheum-RKO ad. The name was  spelled both “Klaise” (which appears on the Cameo labels, as well as in various trade-paper and newspaper reports) and “Klaiss” (which appears as early as 1920 and appears to be the more common spelling from the mid-1920s onward).

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Another great finding among Bill Bryant’s biographical clippings: We now know beyond any reasonable doubt that Cameo “blues singer” Blanche Klaise was really Blanche Klaise (or Klaiss — both spellings appear in the clippings), not the famous Harlem cabaret and stage star Edith Wilson. Chatter about Klaise and Wilson being one-and-the-same is all over the web lately, even though the newest edition of Pseudonyms on American Records (2013) has this to say:

“[Klaise] has been suggested as a pseudonym for Edith Wilson (Cameo), but Cameo’s original documentation does not exist, and the aural evidence is unconvincing. Not cited as a Wilson pseudonym in BGR [Blues and Gospel Records] or other reliable works.”

The Bryant files include numerous original and photocopied clippings mentioning Klaise/Klaiss, from Variety and other trade papers and newspapers of the day, which we’re in the process of conserving and scanning. From early 1920 through at least 1930, Klaise toured widely in vaudeville, on the B.F. Keith (later, the Keith-Orpheum-RKO) circuits, usually teamed with pianist-comedian Ed Pressler. The clippings show them performing in Washington DC, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Virginia, West Virginia, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Indiana, Ohio, and Michigan. A 1928 review describes their act as “hot jazz vocals with novelty piano.”

Klaise and Pressler toured on all-white circuits, so presumably were white themselves (Wilson, of course, was black), although Klaise found her way into a recent derivative discography — compiled from secondary sources of widely varying degrees of reliability — of recordings by African-American artists. More than one online auction dealer has misrepresented Klaise’s very common Cameo release of “Daddy, Change Your Mind” as “really” being by Wilson.

For a similar bit of discographical confusion that’s finally been laid to rest, see our posting on Flo Bert vs. Florence Cole-Talbert.