A Ladder of Roses

Early talking films, when thought of, discussed, described or written about --- if at all, that is --- are invariably contaminated by notions born of later films and printed industry recollections that, while colorful, forsake truth in favor of a good story. This fictional realm of the early sound film is one populated by grotesquely attired and made-up "flappers" (always clad in beaded gowns, and with a sequined headband from which emerges a single feathered plume) being wooed by suitors who stiffly emote with flailing arms and a pronounced stutter, or a burly hero who speaks with a lisp.

These flickering images are then depicted as being thrown upon a small screen, from which the sound that emerges is not only as thin and harsh as Edison's first tin covered cylinder, but (for greater comic effect) running moments ahead or behind the action on the screen --- or, for even greater laughs, the action on the screen is somehow accompanied by the wrong soundtrack entirely. "Oh, those crazy early talkies!" or something much like it is then the closing pronouncement.

Forgiving though I am to films of the early sound period, I also believe myself to be just as critical, with no blind eye nor deaf ear to flaws and inadequacies on either side of the camera. (There's no shortage of books that treat the early sound films as pathetic forerunners to "real" movies --- which is why I tend to avoid discussing films or performers I genuinely dislike. My intent is to intrigue and pique the interest of the reader enough to the point where they might be moved to explore these films on their own and reach their own conclusion, rather than to veer them away --- via personal opinion or agenda --- from a corner of film history kept perpetually dark and cobwebbed with neglect.)

Therefore, it may come as a surprise to learn that although many an hour has been spent combing through period printed matter, the instances where an account emerges of early talkie "trouble"or difficulties of the sort detailed earlier, are so few and so scarce as to be virtually nonexistent.

Instead, when the early sound film is called to task, it's invariably a complaint of the sound being reproduced too loudly --- or not loud enough. This frequent gripe is as interesting as it is understandable, considering that it would take some time for unaccustomed ears to come to terms with voices being amplified as loudly as live music. We must not forget that audiences up to that time had only heard the human voice projected from the stage without any amplification other than that afforded by the theater's acoustics --- so imagine (or try to imagine!) the first time experience of hearing dialogue blasting forth from the stage with the power of a full orchestra!

The early Technicolor films are also a frequent target for discontent, with complaints of "not especially clear," and "dim" being common complaints. I suspect that these flaws could probably be traced to unskilled or careless projection, where lazy attention to focus or below-spec illumination would surely turn even a top notch two-strip Technicolor print into little more than foggy murk.

But, through it all, printed accounts of the heroine speaking with the villain's voice (or vice verso) seem to exist only in the minds of humorists and screenwriters. So then, when I do come across a surprisingly detailed mention of a specific problem, it's nothing short of an event --- and one well worth sharing!

Following the premiere of Mary Pickford's first talking film, "Coquette," at Sumter, South Carolina's Rex Theater on March 22nd of 1929 --- a much publicized and anticipated event, as well as the perfect venue for this southern melodrama --- the morning newspaper contained the following forlorn little item, penned by the management of the Rex:

"Due to the very poor recording of the talking in the first four reels of Mary Pickford's picture, 'Coquette,' the Rex management thought it advisable to change the picture and substitute a new program for showing today and tomorrow. The management regrets that this chance was necessary. However, regardless of the popularity of Miss Pickford, and the quality of 'Coquette,' unless the talking sequences are satisfactory, the picture has little entertainment value. The trouble was in the recording, and not in the theater's sound equipment for reproducing."

No amount of special "Coquette" Ice Cream (a stomach lurching concoction of chopped red, green and yellow "Rubyette" grapes blended into a grape flavored ice cream base) could disguise the fact that there was a problem with some prints being released for exhibition. (The ice cream ad's proclamation that "you'll enjoy it as much as the movie" seems more hopeful than decisive in this light.)

Nearly a full month later, the indignant manager of another South Carolina theater (in Florence, S.C.,) was compelled to place this item in the morning newspaper, in which he included the Sumter public note. Although the chronology is somewhat muddled, his wording --- clumsy though it be, is fascinating:

"I was in New York last week. Had I been here, I would not have attempted to run 'Coquette' with such poor recording. As I understood we had. We were the first in the state to play the picture and therefore had no report on the recording. I have learned that other houses had the same trouble we did, and I am printing below a copy from an advertisement run in Sumter regarding the picture which should be sufficient proof that it was the fault of the recording and not our equipment. You could not wish for better reproduction than we gave you on 'The Broadway Melody' and are giving you this week with 'Lady of the Pavements.' Respectfully, J.M. O'Dowd."

For all the ruffled feathers, we can assume the problem was isolated to prints shipped for distribution in South Carolina, as there's no mention to be found of similar problems with the film anywhere else. "Coquette" was a tremendous success, satisfying the burning curiosity of millions of patrons who virtually grew up along with Pickford and the movies themselves, but had never heard her speak. It would be Pickford's last great triumph, for once the wrapping paper had been removed and the contents observed, well --- that was that. Perhaps it's for that reason that the film still manages to thrill despite itself, for if you can see and hear it through the eyes and ears of 1929 audiences, there's still more than a trace still remaining of what so thrilled audiences of the day.

There's little, if any, of that excitement evident in the theme song written for the film by no less a talent than Irving Berlin, for no matter the rendition, the theme song has always struck me as an inordinately meandering and tuneless bit of nothing --- a melody that fails to conjure up images of Pickford, the film's setting, or even 1929 music for that matter. But, with all due respect, here's composer, organist (and accordionist!) John Gart playing the theme song to "Coquette" on the Morton Wonder Organ at the Loew's Valencia Theater (New Jersey,) recorded for Edison on March 27th of 1929. If you please, Mr. Gart...

Theme Song of the Photoplay "Coquette" (1929)

Leaving behind magnolia blossoms, dainty dishes filled with delicately tinted grape ice-cream, let's move on and away.


Traveling backwards in time and northward in direction, we arrive at New York City in the summer of 1915.

Behold, the magnificent Hippodrome! (Clicking on the image to the right will produce a large photo of impressive depth and clarity.) By 1915, the massive theatrical venue was a mere 10 years old, and still 23 years away from it's lamentable but inevitable destruction in 1939. The 5,000+ seat theatrical gargantuan bravely fought a losing battle with new and modern Times Square theaters just blocks away --- until finally falling to progress, cowering from the same machinery and hands that once brought it to life.



In the summer of 1915, production was underway for what would be vast success by the standards of the day, the musical revue "Hip Hip Hooray," which would go on to play for 425 performances before closing nearly a year later, in June of 1916.

Just before the production closed --- and began to tour the country in necessarily smaller sized touring companies, a remarkable recording was made for Columbia in mid June of 1916. Vaguely titled "New York Hippodrome Rehearsal," the recording reached out and captured --- for all time --- a small and unimportant sliver of entertainment history that would normally pass into time unnoticed, but seems somehow magical for the fact that it's with us today.

Robert H. Burnside, staging director of "Hip Hip Hooray" as well as lyricist, was enough of a personality and recognized name to warrant a featured speaking recording and given the realm of this blog, I can't help but see him as something of a Ragtime era Busby Berkeley. In the recording, in which he exchanges scripted gags with what is presumed to be some of the actual chorus girls from the show, there's more than a hefty dose of similar chatter to be found in Warners promotional films for various musicals of the 1930's --- stale jokes and puns included!

Once you get past the unremarkable dialogue exchange, there's a gem to be discovered. With only a minute left of recording time, Burnside instructs the chorus to rehearse the melody "The Ladder of Roses," and it's here where the thick veil of time that separates us from 1916 is suddenly lifted. Through all the surface noise and haze, it's remarkably easy to envision these voices rising from the center of the cavernous Hippodrome --- the performing area festooned with colored lights and flowers, ladders dropping from the ceiling -- also draped with roses --- being climbed by dancers in synchronized movement, as lyrics are sung that are so sweet, and so of their day and time that they defy groans, rolling eyes and the usual sort of criticism:

"So come along, it's not far away,
let's spend a happy day,
in that beautiful land!

And pass away the happy hours,
amidst the sunshine and the flowers!

For it's a land where all is new,
wonderful gardens too,
joy waits for all far up above!

So let's climb up the ladder of roses,
and we'll soon reach the garden of Love!"

To be sure, "Ladder of Roses" was recorded by others, and in far more complete versions too --- but there's something so immediate and so real about this almost painfully worn peculiar disc that I've no desire to seek out other renditions. It exists as a perfect moment here and here alone, forever.

"New York Hippodrome Rehearsal" (1916)

The history of the New York Hippodrome has yet to be fully examined in any book I've yet read, but the venue is described --- so magnificently that one is all but transported inside of it --- in Jim Steinmeyer's 2003 book (and verbal time machine) "Hiding the Elephant: How Magicians Invented the Impossible and Learned to Disappear." I can't recommend it highly enough and suspect that if you're a regular reader of these pages you'll not only want to read it, but need to!


We'll remain in New York City for this next item, but will move ahead in time to the summer of 1929, where a curious sight has brought traffic and business to a near complete halt within the vicinity of the Woolworth Building. This regal structure (pictured right) which once dominated the skyline and is now buried deep within it, seemed to be almost a target for the Curtis-Robin airplane that swooped down and circled several times through the man-made canyon between it and the nearby Telephone Building, but the only danger that day was that of the tricky currents and unpredictable air pockets that surrounded the buildings of Lower Manhattan, then as now.

Piloted by one Captain Francis Brady of the Curtis Field in Valley Stream, Long Island, a period newspaper explains that "the dangerous exhibition was staged for the benefit of motion picture cameras from the Paramount Long Island studio mounted atop the Telephone Building, where scenes for the production of 'Applause' were filmed. Signallers stationed near the camera wig-wagged directions to the pilot, keeping him within range of the cameras at all times."

"The solo mission of the plane was to supply atmosphere for the dramatic action played in the foreground by Joan Peers and Henry Wadsworth, two of the players who support Helen Morgan in this all-talking Paramount screen play. The plane used by Captain Brady is a sister ship of the Spirit of St. Louis Robin aircraft which recently shattered all endurance flight records."

For all the elaborate preparation, the sequence as it appears on film is fleeting at best --- as is other location photography, but when combined they help to elevate "Applause" to something quite unusual and equally spectacular for a 1929 motion picture.

"Applause" is one of very few early talkies that has been given the attention, analysis and distribution it deserves and therefore I won't detail it's history here. The widely available Kino DVD edition of the film offers a beautiful transfer and while somewhat lacking in the Extras department (the film is a virtual warehouse of early talkie, entertainment and New York City history begging to be explored by a commentary track but it's without one) it's as perfect a presentation --- or nearly so --- as one could hope for. Let's pause for a moment.

An image of a little girl, caught in a graceful but dramatic pose, dancing on a lawn, somewhere in Chicago of 1917. A phonograph is likely somewhere nearby, providing the music ("Narcissus," perhaps?) for her performance. A make-shift costume that includes beads borrowed from her mother, rabbit's feet strung to a belt of sorts, a metal arm cuff and a headband all signify that this child has some degree of talent, and that she --- or her parents, have very definite plans for her future, and her success.

Time has clouded the ways and means, but two years later, and the young Chicago lawn dancer is officially in show business, and part of the touring company of a production titled "The Masquerader," --- an unusually serious drama dealing with drug addiction. As reviewed in a Reno, Nevada newspaper (right) in October of 1919, the production was a success as were the performances: "there is not a member of the company whose work is slighted, while in little Joan Peers there is a child player of notable ability."

The "notable ability" evident in 1919 remained with little Joan Peers, for our next view of the young lady is that of a motion picture actress arriving back home in Chicago for a visit, and the film she appeared in --- Paramount's "Applause" of 1929, is in theaters across the country.

While much of America viewed "Applause" with mixed reaction, the film and Peers' performance as the convent raised daughter of fading burlesque queen Helen Morgan have long since found a vast and appreciative audience, one that isn't put off and baffled --- as 1929 audiences seemed to be --- by a raw, tragic and oftentimes painful story of show business that seemed so out of step with the glittering, fanciful musical films it did battle with for screen space originally.

While not a musical in the conventional sense, "Applause" contains enough music for two or three conventional films. Drawing from the music of the three periods of time in which the film is set --- roughly 1909, 1915 and 1929, the music is supplied by theater orchestras, phonographs, restaurant dance bands and street barrel organs. Heard are "Alexander's Ragtime Band," "Everybody's Doin' It Now," "Pretty Baby," "Smiles," "A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight," "Doin' the Raccoon," "That's Him Now," as well as Morgan's uniquely presented accapella vocalization of "What Wouldn't I Do For That Man."

The film's scenes that depict Joan Peers as a convent student (featuring Dorothy Cummings, who played a role of even greater holy quality in "King of Kings") utilize "Ave Maria" to memorable effect --- that quick montage of skies, trees, lake, ducks and convent members never fails to amaze me --- with some interiors and most exteriors of the "convent" filmed on the H.H. Will estate in Roslyn, Long Island. Noted one period publicity placement, "In order to achieve absolute fidelity to the religious procedure in this phase of the screen play, Father Edward J. Brophy, pastor of the Long Island City Roman Catholic parish has been retained by the studio as technical advisor."

In case you're wondering about the sheet music pictured to the left, the somewhat bizarre and decidedly raucus tune, "Yaaka Hula Hickey Dula" is what we hear as Joan Peers first ventures into the seedy New York City burlesque house in which her mother works --- the music being pounded out as a hula-skirt attired dancer gracelessly shifts across the stage, with banana curls flying and her gold teeth catching the beam of the footlights. It's a view of run-down, low-brow burlesque at it's degenerate best --- (that is until Helen Morgan and chorus peel off their brassieres during the following number) and the tune fits the moment perfectly.

Offered here, in a 1916 rendition by Collins & Harlan, "Yaaka Hula Hickey Dula" isn't quite so tawdry as it would be in 1929, and while the tune (and performance) meanders a bit, listen for the final moment or so, when the duo veers off into a mesmerizing, trance-like refrain of nonsense pseudo-foreign lyrics.

"Yaaka Hula Hickey Dula" (1916)

Another tune that plays an important role in the film, for it's heard during key dramatic moments as well as during it's still moving finale, is "Give Your Little Baby Lots of Loving." As recorded here for Edison by the "Seven Blue Babies" (with an unusual female vocal), it's an all-around unusual recording that will strike familiar chords with those who've seen the film.

"Give Your Little Baby Lots of Loving" (1929)

For Joan Peers, her film debut in "Applause," didn't result in stardom of any great degree. While perfect as the confused, fragile convent girl facing fearful odds in the big city, her personality (however endearing) limited her to largely similar roles --- and by late 1931, after eight films, she left the movies behind her. She would pass away in San Francisco on July 11th of 1975 -- aged 66, and it's curious to find "Applause" making it's television premiere on at least one TV station that very same day.

As a final audio offering associated with "Applause," here's a rendition of the tune that's played on a wailing phonograph as Joan Peers is reluctantly taught to emulate her mother's dance moves by Helen Morgans lecherous boyfriend. The plaintive melody and lyrics of "Sweetheart of All My Dreams," so at odds with the smarmy feel of the scene --- and therefore a clever choice --- is performed here by an unusually subdued Johnny Marvin.

"Sweetheart of All My Dreams" (1929)

If ever there was a tune that, when heard, manages to encapsulate the feel and mood of the day in which it was composed, it's "Poor Butterfly," which arrived not in the 1920's as is usually supposed, but in 1916. Listened to today, you can virtually feel and hear the influences of the decade that was waning and the one that was gathering on the horizon --- slightly ragtime waltz, slightly early 20's sweetly lyrical --- and the combination is grand. Showcased in "The Big Show," which ran at the aforementioned New York City Hippodrome (still bravely holding on) for 425 performances from August of 1916 to May of 1917, the melody is unashamedly sentimental, encapsulating the familiar "Madam Butterfly" scenario of a doomed and one-sided love affair.

"Poor Butterfly" took off like a skyrocket --- and within months there was no escaping the tune, as it trundled forth from orchestras, bands, phonographs and the throats of countless performers, amateur and professional alike.

There aren't many similar documented cases, but the swift and widespread popularity of the tune resulted in a mild backlash of sorts, which can be seen in the sheet music to the right. ("The Maine Stein Song" would share a fate a decade or so later.) The artwork on "If I Catch the Guy Who Wrote Poor Butterfly" is terrific --- picturing a hapless victim of the tune unsucessfully attempting to escape the melody --- and readers are urged to click on the image to note some of the small, but wonderful details.

If "Poor Butterfly" was guilty of over exposure in 1916, it's surely forgiven that sin by now, and it's offered here in two versions. The first, a vocal by Charles Harrison (please forgive the very rough audio!) and the second a bit more of a sprightly rendition by noted violinist Fritz Kreisler, who momentarily turned away from heavy classical pieces to lend his brilliance to a tune that had caught the world's fancy for a few years, oh so very long ago.

"Poor butterfly, 'neath the blossoms waiting,
Poor butterfly, for she loved him so!

The moments pass into hours,
the hours pass into years,
and as she smiles through her tears,
she murmers low:

'The moon and I, know that he be faithful,
I'm sure he'll come to me by and by ---
But if he don't come back, then I never sigh or cry.
I just must die.' Poor butterfly!"

"Poor Butterfly" (1916) Vocal by Charles Harrison

"Poor Butterfly" (1917) Fritz Kreisler, Violin with Orchestra



There's not many darkly unpleasant corners of phonograph history, but one commercial recording dating from 1904 is interesting because of --- and despite of, it's content. The gentleman pictured to the right is famed Shakespearean actor John McCullough --- born in Ireland in 1837, and appearing on the American (and worldwide) stage from 1857 onward. On one evening in 1884, he suffered a mental collapse while on stage in Chicago, and thought drunk by the audience, was mercilessly booed and heckled. Suffering from a (then) undiagnosed case of "general paresis" (caused by syphilis infection) he was later committed to an insane asylum, where he would die in 1885 at the age of 48.

The news media of the day eagerly followed every aspect of McCullough's condition (except the true cause and likely outcome) throughout his institutionalism, and period newspapers of the day are filled with reports of his various improvements and set-backs, as well as discussions of his dwindling finances and pleas that those who had borrowed money from him in the past now step forward and return the favor. Even the actor's autopsy was fully described in detail not usually attributed to 1885 newspaper reporting, and it (reprinted left) makes for interesting if not pleasant reading for the curious.

Nearly twenty years after the actor's demise, his name and tragic end had become inseparable and had apparently so firmly entered the realm of popular culture that a 1904 Edison cylinder recording was released titled "The Ravings of John McCullough," passing itself off as a dramatized reading of the poor man's actual ranting from inside the asylum where he spent his last year in mental and physical agony. Entertainment it's not --- a shadowy corner of entertainment history? Yes.

"The Ravings of John McCullough" (1904)

A far more notable Edison achievement --- and one that isn't explored, studied and researched anywhere as much as it ought to be, is his introduction of talking pictures via the Kinetophone.

Throughout the period of 1912 to late 1915, audiences worldwide witnessed motion pictures synchronized with dialogue and music, but technically acceptable though the results, the element of sufficient amplification couldn't be overcome as yet, and the noble effort soon passed into nothingness so complete that by the time the Vitaphone and Movietone had arrived, it wasn't uncommon to see these devices heralded with nary a mention of their forerunner, to which they owed everything.

Amazingly, considering the hit or miss survival status of silent films and early talkies alike, we have a couple of Edison's early sound films with us today. Although a glaring absence from the otherwise superb multi-DVD set of Edison's work issued a short time ago, these films --- when seen, are enchanting and propose so many "What if?" questions concerning the history and progress of cinema and sound films that to watch them is almost a sensory overload. We tell ourselves we shouldn't be able to hear performers speaking from a 1914 film --- but there they are, in front of us --- sounding not much better nor worse than the earliest of late 1920's sound experiments.

Two Edison Kinetophone films for which we have the sound elements but not the picture (the same problem that plagues so many 1926-1930 films) with us are "The Five Bachelors" (advertised left, in Kingston, Jamaica of all places) and "The Old Violin," (advertised below in the same unlikely outpost of cinema technology.)

Opening with synchronized pop of a champagne cork, "The Five Bachelors" is presented as a meeting of five gents who have vowed to avoid marriage, and judging by the amount of harmonizing and good cheer, seem to be having a fine time while at it.

"The Five Bachelors" (1912)

"The Old Violin" (1914) covers more familiar territory, adding voice to a dramatic situation that would be explored, with minor variance, in numerous films of the period. An elderly musician reprimands a youngster --- a servant in his house, for playing ragtime on his piano. While accompanying the old man on the piano while he plays violin, it is discovered the child is an orphan, left alone in the world with nothing except the violin it's dead mother had left it. The old man asks to see the old violin and --- you've guessed it, a great light dawns with the realization that his young servant is actually his granddaughter.

Expertly recorded, and a touching if not trite little story, "The Old Violin" could easily be the surviving disc to a 1927 Vitaphone one-reeler had we not known of it's origin. The mind reels at what might have been had technology kept pace with Edison's capacity for invention --- but it was not to be.

"The Old Violin" (1914)

Perhaps researchers and cinema archaeologists ought to turn an eye towards Kingston, Jamaica and other similar last-stops for films distribution? One never knows, after all!

We'll now move ahead in time towards more familiar and comfortable ground...

Here's someone and something I deem special. Vocalist Marion Harris might not turn heads throughout her long career in the way Ruth Etting did, but she had an almost timeless quality to her voice that's exceedingly difficult to explain. So much so, that it's probably best you simply listen to her and see for yourself. Here, performing a tune you'll likely never forget once you've first heard it, "Left All Alone Blues" from the 1920 stage offering "The Night Boat," with music by Jerome Kern and lyrics by Anne Caldwell.

"Left All Alone Again Blues" (1920)

And, while the melody is still with you --- and if you liked it as much as I hope you did, here's a precise and careful modern-era re-creation, sans voice, of the same piece. (The full lyrics for the tune are reproduced at the conclusion of this post.)

"Left All Alone Again Blues" (Modern Re-Creation)

Although officially a "blues" song, and "blues" singer, Marion Harris' "Left All Alone Again Blues" blends pathos and humor into Kern's beautiful melody that intertwines and weaves itself through Caldwell's lyrics so perfectly that at times the melody and lyrics seem almost too good for one another --- with each deserving of undivided attention. Repeated listening will fix that!

Marion Harris also turns up in Ramon Novarro's first all-talking film, "Devil May Care," which was released at the tag end of 1929 and was in general distribution throughout much of 1930. Here's a moment of "Devil May Care" in which Harris effortlessly steals the show with a painfully lovely melody titled "If He Cared," which when heard on it's own --- removed from all that surrounds it, is melody and lyric of no time and place -- and of every time and place.

"If He Cared" (1929) - Marion Harris

Speaking of performances captured on film that, through the talent embedded within them, manage to transcend the medium and time itself, it's well worth mentioning one Mr. Jack Pepper.

Once husband to Ginger Rogers, with whom he performed in vaudeville, Jack Pepper is best known to audiences today via his appearance in a handful of Metro Goldwyn Mayer "Metrotone" short subjects of the early sound era, in which he served as master of ceremonies for miniature vaudeville revues that featured talent ranging from the obscure and wonderful, to well known and dreadful. Slight of build, awkward, gangling, and undoubtedly clever although lacking polish, it comes as a surprise then --- amidst groan inducing one-liners and ukulele strumming of the Cliff Edward and Johnny Marvin variety, to find Jack Pepper put over the tune "Girl of My Dreams" in so simple and pure a fashion that it tears at the heart while bringing a smile to the face at the same time. You can listen to it here, sounding a good deal better, I believe, than it does elsewhere, the victim of apathetic mastering by people with little thought and even less "feel" for the product they work with.


"Girl of My Dreams" (1928) - Jack Pepper

The arrival of the first all-Technicolor, all-talking film, "On With the Show," was important enough an event in some quarters to result in the closing of a theater to the general public in order to facilitate a "test showing" of the print --- presumably to make certain the multi-hued images were seen to their best advantage. Clearly a theater manager of the sort film buffs can only dream of! A dream indeed, for the fact that the film was being screened "by invitation" for a select few suggests that a publicity gimmick was at work here, to whet the appetites of film-going locals, but whatever the case, it's a mighty nice story.

Also mighty nice is this rendition of "Am I Blue?" from the film, performed here by a relatively unknown vocalist named Helen Richards, recorded for the Banner label in June of 1929. There was some question to her actual identity --- some guessed Vaughn DeLeath --- which she certainly isn't, but whoever she is, she makes for exceptionally fine listening.

"Am I Blue?" (1929) Helen Richards

We'll have to make due with this one-sheet from the Nancy Carroll and Charles "Buddy" Rogers film "Illusion" to illustrate our next item --- a hotter than hot number from the 1929 Paramount film "Close Harmony" that teamed Carroll and Rogers again --- this time in an all talkie.

"I Wanna Go Places and Do Things" is one you'll want to crank up I suspect, while wondering why the film (which survives in beautiful condition) is yet another case of art being held prisoner and away from the public for no discernable reason other than greed and litigation combined with a hefty dose of ignorance. No matter, we can dance while waiting. (And waiting.) Here's Jesse Stafford and his Orchestra, from February of 1929...

"I Wanna Go Places and Do Things" (1929)




Long before he found amusement park and media operations to amuse himself, a certain mouse could be seen in newspapers acting as something of a publicity advance man, hawking forthcoming films --- all of them deemed quite good, of course --- but the combination of adult theatrical language coming from this little fellow's pen (always prefaced with "Dear Folks") is best filed away under Things We Never Expected To See.

The mouse gives the gloved thumbs-up to Fox's 1930 science-fiction-musical-comedy "Just Imagine," and we'll celebrate that fact by offering another roll-back-the-rugs recording, this time of the film's "Never Swat A Fly," performed here by Abe Lyman and His California Orchestra in February of 1930.

"Never Swat A Fly" (1930)



Rounding out this post, a selection from a film lost in the shadows of time --- and gone from this world. "The Rainbow Man," (1929 --- produced by Sono Art and released by Paramount) seems to have gotten such uniform critical praise that it's loss is especially sad. Receiving long bookings and return engagements the country over, there must have been something special to it all --- but alas we'll never know for certain. Here is the film's theme song, "Rainbow Man," as performed by The Rounders for bargain label, Domino in 1929.

"Rainbow Man" (1929)

Appearing in at least two early musicals which are lost or awaiting discovery, "Married in Hollywood" and "Cameo Kirby," J. Harold Murray --- for all his talent, is now largely forgotten. Arriving in film following his sterling work in the stage version of "Rio Rita." Murray had a remarkably powerful voice that seemed somehow at odds with his slight stature and fair hair and eyes, and perhaps this resulted in his inability to secure a niche for himself once the first cycle of screen musicals had ended. We can learn a bit of J. Harold Murray's pre-screen life via a syndicated press release:

"A youthful ambition to wear a gaudy uniform is partly responsible for J. Harold Murray's present eminence as one of the foremost baritones on the singing screen and stage. As assistant porter at a small resort hotel at Old Orchard Beach, Maine, the widowed Mrs. Murray's boy envied the head porter, who took all the tips in addition to being impressive in gold braid, but at 14 the star of the Eckel's "Women Everywhere" decided that there wasn't any future in portering and set out to be a sailor, but reached the rock after his chosen ship had sailed. The lane to success turned from the sea to the land, and he became a singer of illustrated songs in theaters. He soon became dissatisfied with hte supply of songs available on the colored slides and started to write better ones." "

"Almost before he knew it, he was song writer, plugger and music publisher all rolled into one. His first worth-while stage opportunity came in 1921, when he jumped from vaudeville into a musical comedy role with Willie and Eugene Howard in 'The Passing Show of 1921.' His stage roles include the leads in 'The Whirl of New York,' 'Vogues,' 'China Rose,' 'Captain Jinks' and 'Rio Rita.'"

J. Harold Murray left the screen in 1934, and eventually settled back east, in Killingworth, Connecticut where he passed away due to kidney disease, aged 49, in December of 1940. At the time of his death, he was president of the New England Brewing Company, and had also operated a sawmill for many years.

Here, from his featured appearance in the 1930 Fox film "Happy Days," is J. Harold Murray's rousing "A Toast to the Girl I Love," which features an interesting optical effect that allowed Murray to be seen in the center of the screen as the surrounding four corners dissolved into smaller screens that illustrate the song's lyrics.

"A Toast to the Girl I Love" (1930)

We'll conclude with a suitably snappy rendition of "Clap 'Yo Hands" (from the stage musical "Oh Kay!") recorded in 1927 by the always impeccably hot British band, Harry Bidgood and His Broadcasters. This, if nothing else, should serve to clear away any stray remnants of inane asylums, orphans, theaters reduced to rubble, and weeping butterflies! A pint of "Coquette" ice cream is up for grabs, but we'll hold onto that ladder of roses, I think. Until next time!

"Clap Yo' Hands" (1927)

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"Out For A Racket"

Quicker than the woman to our left can change the needle on her 1909 Victor phonograph, we'll be changing topics too --- exploring a variety of film, music... and film musical items. She looks as though she's keen on playing "Oh But Could These Freckled Hands Once Again Gather Wheat," so let's take our leave, shall we?

A previous post ("Show Folks") contained a poster image for a now lost 1926 silent Fox film, "A Trip to Chinatown," which received no little attention for it's vivid artwork.

Although the film title sounded vaguely familiar to me at the time, I somehow failed to connect it with it's incredibly noble heritage, that being an 1891 New York production which held the record for the longest running stage presentation for many years, presumably until "Florodora" arrived at the dawn of the new century.

While it's a safe bet that the 1891 musical comedy extravaganza was somewhat altered for it's 1926 film incarnation, a description of the film's narrative (via a Pathe press release disguised as a review) gives us some clue to a stage production that's even further beyond human recall than it's vanished cinema counterpart.

"San Francisco's Chinatown is the pivot for the fun-making of the brilliant comedy drama which we saw yesterday at the Strand theater. You will recognize from its title that it is adapted from Charles Hoyt's justly celebrated play which is probably known in every hamlet, town and city of the country."

"The entertainment value of the picture is several hundred paces ahead of the the stage piece. It is one hilarious howl from start to finish. The story is concerned with the complications that arise when a beautiful widow invites a young millionaire, who imagines himself an invalid, to take her on a sight-seeing trip though the Chinese quarter. At least the widow thinks she has invited him, but in reality has been talking on the phone to his frisky old Uncle."

"When the couples arrive in Chinatown and discover the mix-up, things grow more complicated each minute. In the end, everything is straightened out but not until you are worn out from laughing."

"Much of the action is laid in San Francisco's romantic Chinatown, reproduced with the utmost fidelity, and many of the interiors are gorgeous in the extreme. It is said to be the only costly five-reel comedy ever produced. Thousands of extras were necessary for the revelry scenes in Chinatown."

One element of the original stage production that the 1926 film couldn't boast or replace with costumes, scenery and clever situations was music and song. And what an astonishing, odd and eccentric array of music it was! From the bucolic "Reuben and Cynthia," to the minstrel themed "Push 'Dem Clouds Away" and "Keep a Knockin'," to standard set pieces like "The Widow" and "The Chaperone," to the intriguingly titled "Out for a Racket," and most surprising of all, two melodies which escaped oblivion and remain widely known to this day, "The Bowery" and "After the Ball."

Here's a somewhat overly animated vocal rendition of "The Bowery," which for all it's popularity doesn't seem to have been widely recorded at all --- hence this re-creation of much more recent vintage, alas.

"The Bowery" - From "A Trip to Chinatown"

Before moving on, I can't easily resist offering two other melodies that have long become interwoven into the fabric of New York City's musical history, "The Sidewalks of New York" and "The Daughter of Rosie O'Grady."

The former tune is heard here in a lovely, lilting rendition dating from 1928 by Nat Shilkret & the Victor Orchestra, and the latter in a period 1918 recording which is sure to strike a familiar chord among Warner Bros. animation buffs.

"The Sidewalks of New York" (1928)

"The Daughter of Rosie O'Grady" (1918)

As mentioned elsewhere and earlier in these pages, the 1933 Metro film "Broadway to Hollywood" utilized Technicolor footage from the abandoned 1930 musical revue "March of Time." Originally intended to be the finale of the 1930 film, and sharing the same title, was a massive production number that eventually turned up at midpoint in the 1933 motion picture. As described in a contemporary newspaper account, "Five hundred dancers in the largest singing and dancing chorus ever assembled appear in the biggest set ever constructed in the great spectacle that furnishes the dramatic climax to the cavalcade of the stage. The spectacle is staged on a flight of two hundred steps proceeding apparently to the sky, where a gigantic figure of Father Time is silhouetted."

Opening with the fading of a swirling, colored "mist of time" effect, the golden stairs are quickly revealed in all their glittering (and steep!) glory --- and then what follows is a passing cavalcade of popular American music of the past, accompanied by dancers, singers and entertainers appearing at the top of the set --- emerging from the robes of the looming figure of Father Time, and then working their way down the stair set. Although rather simple in presentation, it's wildly effective --- especially in terms of the musical arrangement, that incorporates tunes like "My Blushin' Rosie," "Bedelia," "Hiawatha," and "A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight." Best of all, it's in this one sequence that we see legendary entertainers originally signed for the 1930 revue but absent in the 1933 film, such as Marie Dressler, Weber & Fields, and Fay Templeton.

This entire Technicolor sequence, as well as two others, are completely absent from the print that airs on Turner Classic Movies --- although the footage exists in privately held prints of the film.

Although a poor substitute for seeing and hearing this remarkable and important bit of American entertainment history captured on film, here are period recordings of two songs featured in the production number's medley --- a vocal version of "Bedelia," rather wheezy in terms of audio but a nice book-end for the orchestral version featured in the previous post, and "Hiawatha" --- which allowed for a fantastic array of chorus girls dressed in feathers (and not much else) in the 1930 "March of Time" sequence.

"Bedelia" (1903) Edward M. Favor, Vocal

"Hiawatha" (1903) The London Regimental Band

As a postscript to "A Trip to Chinatown," it's interesting to note that the musical comedy, once deemed widely known "in every town, hamlet and city of the country" had so faded from memory by 1939 that it was included in an intriguing radio series (now equally forgotten!) titled "Lost Plays," where the production was "excavated" for a July 1939 broadcast featuring dialogue and music from the original production.

Readers who optimistically noted that last week's scheduled airing on TCM of "Rio Rita" was given the proper 150 minute time-slot have learned by now that what was actually transmitted turned out to be the familiar, truncated 1932 re-release version --- with lots of extra air-time at the end for non-related filler.

As a salve, here's as nice a musical rendition of the film's title tune as I've yet heard --- set to a tango rhythm --- recorded in 1926 by "The Floridians" for the Brunswick label.

"Rio Rita" (1926)

Those attending the December 12th screening of "Sweetie" (1929) in Centralia, Washington were treated to a free box of Mary Arliss' "Sweeter Than Sweet" chocolates, courtesy of the Stahl Drug Company --- and also had a chance at winning the $90.00 toilet case on display in the theater's lobby.

While such incentives aren't needed today for anyone curious to view this gently endearing 1929 Paramount film, a home-made time machine might come in handy however, as the film (which exists in beautiful condition) is just one of many early Paramount talkies being kept from public view by it's present guardians. No small wonder then that Jack Oakie looks baffled in the "Sweetie" publicity still to the right!

The film's title tune, warbled by Stanley Smith and Nancy Carroll in the film, proved immensely popular in late 1929 and for those who've never heard it, here's your chance --- via two similar yet decidedly different period recordings.

First up, here's "Sammy Fain, the Singing Composer" doing his level best on the dime-store "Velvet Tone" label, although in the end it's the unknown violinist who delivers the stand-out performance:

"My Sweeter Than Sweet" (1929) Sammy Fain

Offering a somewhat smoother handling of the title tune from "Sweetie," here's the Ipana Troubadours, as recorded on October 11th of 1929:

"My Sweeter Than Sweet" (1929) Ipana Troubadours







It's always a treat to happen upon a newspaper item that reveals a bit of forgotten history connected with early musical films --- fragments of popular culture that invariably manage to escape inclusion in books that cover the period.

The enterprising manager of Schine's Ohio Theater ("The Theater Beautiful") in Lima, Ohio made novel use of his theater's stage and the installed Vitaphone sound equipment in May and June of 1929.

Patrons who visited the theater on Saturday evenings were given the chance to dance upon the theater's stage --- accompanied by music played on the Vitaphone reproducing horns --- and then, after a half hour of dancing, were treated to a "surprise" Vitaphone feature and a stage show as well. While we'll never know what patrons danced to on the Ohio Theater's "immense stage," it could have been something much like this --- a musical rendition of "I've Got a Feeling I'm Falling," as recorded by the Warner Bros. studio orchestra for the foreign export version soundtrack that accompanied the (now lost) 1929 Dorothy Mackaill film "Hard To Get."

"I've Got A Feeling I'm Falling" (1929) Warner Bros. Orchestra

Delightful though this concept of a "Vitaphone Dance" may be today, it was doubtless met with incredible and justifiable fury by the legions of theater musicians who were either facing or already experiencing unemployment due to talking and singing films. For them, the sound of the Vitaphone was akin to the Crack of Doom.

In late 1929, The American Federation of Musicians sponsored a series of newspaper advertisements designed to be placed on the same page as film listings and ads. A noble effort to gain public sympathy and call attention to their very real plight --- although doomed to failure --- they weren't helped by the fact that these fascinating placements were written in a style that virtually guaranteed they'd be either completely ignored or, if read at all, would probably baffle and confuse rather than inform the readers of small-town newspapers in which they appeared.

Referencing "Janus, the Two Headed God," or "The Weeping Muse," just wouldn't fly in the rural hinterlands of America in 1929, and on the occasion when facts were stated plainly, the small, plain, text-filled notices fought a losing battle against the eye-catching graphic based ads for films they appeared alongside of on the printed page.


By the time the last ad in the series appeared, just before Christmas of 1929, the group appears to have given up the ghost altogether, in an ad that simply features an image of Santa Claus and a "Merry Christmas" greeting. (One ad in the series is pictured to the left, with others in the series offered at the conclusion of this post.)

Often working entirely without musicians, the German vocal group "The Comedian Harmonists," enjoyed tremendous popularity in their homeland from the 1920's through the early 1930's --- until the prevailing political climate and gathering war clouds closed the door on frivolity for some time to come. Although their primary material were tunes of their own country, the influence of the American musical couldn't be avoided either, and the group would record somewhat altered but readily recognizable versions of such melodies as "Happy Days Are Here Again," "Tea For Two," and "Wedding of the Painted Doll."

Pictured to the right, "The Comedian Harmonists" look very much as one would expect them to in this portrait from the mid-1920's, and their utterly unique vocal style can be heard in the following 1929 recording of "Puppenhochzeit," which is, actually....

"The Wedding of the Painted Doll" (1929)

There's an enchanting, dream-like quality to this rendition that transcends both time and language. Ethereal and unforgettable.


The Ironwood Amusement Corporation, which owned and managed both the Rex and Ironwood theaters, were celebrating their first anniversary of presenting sound films in May of 1930, and marked the event with placement of this full page advertisement in local newspapers. Interestingly, "Vitaphone" is used here in a generic sense --- as a word indicating sound films in general. Although Warners and First National product were heavily booked at both theaters, neither studio is represented in their anniversary week booking.

Happily, The Ironwood Theater still exists today (sister theater "Rex" seems to have met a sadder fate earlier on) and it's always nice to see a present day image of a theater previously familiar only via period advertisements.

In belated celebration of the Ironwood's Sound Anniversary (and in homage to the defunt Rex) here's two views of The Ironwood as it looks today --- well maintained, completely intact, and appearing very much as anyone's idea of a small town American movie house looked in 1930 --- only smaller, perhaps.

The late 1929 Warners' musical comedy "So Long Letty" played the Ironwood, and patrons likely left whistling one or more of the film's many catchy theme songs --- which included "My Strongest Weakness" and "One Little Yes."

As audio accompaniment while you view the images and explore the elaborate 1930 Ironwood ad, here's a musical sequence from "So Long Letty" via Vitaphone disc. The setting is a party in Letty's disfunctional bungalow, and includes Charlotte Greenwood's rendition of "My Strongest Weakness" and Grant Withers joins up with diminutive Marion Byron for "One Little Yes."
Also heard are Patsy Ruth Miller smothering Bert Roach
with domestic niceties, prompting some brutal dialogue
from Greenwood's remourseful husband.

Party sequence from "So Long Letty" (1929)

Also offered, a 78rpm version of "My Strongest Weakness," as interpreted by the Ipana Troubadors, a recording pseudnom for Sam Lanin & His Orchestra.

"My Strongest Weakness" (1929) Ipana Troubadors

Here's as good a place as any to also offer a much improved audio transfer of George Olsen's marvelous rendition of "Mona," from the 1930 Fox film "Happy Days." If you like the tune --- and what's not to like? --- go for it!

"Mona" (1930) From "Happy Days"


Having arrived some thirty-odd years too late to witness the arrival of sound films firsthand, I was still fortunate enough to experience cinema for the first time (and many, many times thereafter) at a movie palace that arrived in 1929. The Loew's Kings, on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, New York was still as awe-inspiring as ever in the early 1960's, and it was here that I was taken to see "Mary Poppins" in 1964. Unable to quite understand the concept or mechanics of cinema, I nonetheless enjoyed what I saw --- so much so, that after a few days of my non-stop toddler babble about the film, my exasperated Mom finally asked if I'd like to see it again. Again? But how? Wasn't "Mary Poppins" just a one shot performance of some sort? I was then told, in terms I could understand, that a movie was something which could be seen again and again --- that it would be unchanged and always as it first appeared, forever. It was at that moment that I understood what a movie was --- if not how it worked, then what it meant, and I was hooked from then on. In retrospect, perhaps that moment of revealation is also the origin for my passionate feelings about film preservation. I've long since learned that movies do not remain unchanged, "always and forever," unless they're assisted and tended to, and I suspect that's also why, to this very day, learning that a film has been lost to neglect or folly strikes me as an unpardonable sin of some sort --- as though we've not kept an unspoken promise to preserve our past for future generations.

Had Rodgers & Hart composed a tune called "Brooklyn," I'd insert it here --- but as they didn't, we'll settle for the glorious "Manhattan" instead and remain content with various Brooklyn locales that gain mention within the song's clever lyrics. "Manhattan" was a featured number in the 1929 Paramount two-reeler "Makers of Melody" that starred the composers themselves, and offered up spirited versions of "The Girl Friend" and "Blue Room" as well. It's a nifty and fascinating little film that deserves to be seen and heard far more than it has, if only for the fact it's managed to survive at all.

"Manhattan" (1929)

Seeing as "Makers of Melody" accompanied bookings of RKO's "The Vagabond Lover" in some theaters at least, as indicated by the above ad, the languid love theme of the Rudy Vallee film deserves inclusion here too. No, not the title tune --- but the often overlooked "Then I'll Be Reminded Of You," which remains as pretty and sentimental tune today as it was when first emoted and vocalized by Vallee to a clearly smitten Sally Blane in the 1929 film.

"Then I'll Be Reminded Of You" (1929)

Before closing this post, let's recall the image of the young woman changing needles on her phonograph which opened this post. Had both she and her Victrola lasted until November of 1929, and had she grown tired of her collection of two or three records, she would have doubtless taken notice of the promotion detailed to the left.

Patrons could bring in their old, tired recordings of "Bedelia" and "At A Georgia Camp Meeting" and recieve a store credit of ten cents per disc toward the purchase of something a bit more modern. The only requirement was that the discs be unbroken, and that (oddly) each old disc was first defaced by scratching a large "X" across the label and presumably some of the grooves.

Any record collectors who have Victor discs with an "X" engraved across the label now know from whence they came! I'm hoping a saavy vintage record collector out there might explain this odd practice. Defaced discs were clearly unsaleable, but what was the reasoning behind this? Anyone know?

We'll close out this post (in which no tragic and early demises were reported!) with a prevue of coming attractions for the 1931 Warner Bros. All Technicolor Film "Fifty Million Frenchmen" which arrived on screens --- in the midst of the backlash against musicals --- with all the wonderful Cole Porter melodies relegated to background incidental scoring. Seen today, without the witty Porter lyrics and without the salmon, aqua and rose hues of the original Technicolor print, there's not much left save for Olsen and Johnson, and that's as good an exit cue as I can think of. Until next time!

Trailer Disc for "Fifty Million Frenchmen" (1931)














###

Kicking A Hole In the Sky

A moment caught in time.

What appears to be at first glance an unremarkable group portrait, is actually a photograph with quite a story to tell. Click on the image to enlarge it, and odd details begin to emerge. What first seemed to be spectacles on the elder and middle boy turns out to instead be carefully applied theatrical make-up. The little fellow is dressed in pseudo Chinese costume, replete with faux braid attached to an ill-fitting skullcap. The costumes on the other two are intentionally shabby, but footwear on the boys --- which shouldn't be mismatched or torn, is.

What we're looking at is not so much a portrait but photographic documentation that accompanied a written report by child labor investigator Edward F. Brown, who visited this family on or about June 10th of 1910 at the Victoria Theater in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Notes jotted on the back of the photograph tell us more. "This picture shows 'The Four Novelty Grahams.' The father is 23 years of age. Willie Graham is 5 years of age, and Herbert Graham is 3 years of age. At 9PM, these children were performing on the stage. Four times daily they do a turn which lasts from 12 to 14 minutes. Herbert Graham, the youngest, was said by the Father to have commenced performing on the stage as an acrobat when he was 10 months of age. Willie, now 5, is said to be the youngest acrobat in the world. The mother of these boys was formerly a school teacher, and is now performing with this trio on the stage. The children are bright and strong, but have a playfulness about them which shows them to have forgotten the best years of childhood."

I suspect that by using the word "playfulness," the writer actually meant something else, for the remainder of the sentence certainly alludes to that fact. Perhaps the two boys kidded and chided the investigator --- parroting words and expressions they heard their parents use --- the lingo and slang of wizened vaudeville troupers. They certainly look rather world-weary for their young age, but there's also a lovely aura of defiance about the trio too --- unapologetic and proud.

Reaching a bit further back, we can see the elder Graham and his firstborn, Willie, circa 1906. A day's outing at the park at a time when families still did such things --- not as an isolated novelty, but as a community of families. Stripped of theatrical costuming and make-up, "Pa" Graham poses with Willie, held in place atop an old war cannon converted to a monument. We can suppose a bandstand wouldn't be far off, for public music seemed to be everywhere in the early part of the century. Music to be shared and mutually enjoyed --- not music shuttled through headphones, shutting the listener off from everyone and everything around them.

And the music itself? It might have been a concert rendition of a wildly popular tune of the day titled "Bedelia," or Victor Herbert's "Gypsy Love Song," a featured selection from the composer's "The Fortune Teller" of a few years earlier. The melody that would be most likely be affixed in the minds of the public, however, would have been the huge success of the day, titled "Love Me and the World is Mine."

Music, like few other things, firmly sets a sense of time and place in the way that words can't often do. Here then, is Sousa's Band performing "A Musical Joke on Bedelia," recorded in 1904, Gypsy Love Song,"in the form of a careful and loving musical re-creation of modern vintage, and finally a stirring 1906 vocalization of "Love Me and the World is Mine," unabashedly sentimental and expertly performed by Albert Campbell --- with the tune's famous chorus repeated twice, it's power undiminished these many lifetimes later.

"A Musical Joke on 'Bedelia'" (1904) Sousa's Band

"Gypsy Love Song" (1902) Modern Re-Creation

"Love Me and the World Is Mine" (1906)

"I care not for the stars that shine,
I dare not hope to e'r be thine,
I only know I love you ---
Love me, and the world is mine!"

Time passes. "The Novelty Four Grahams" are left intact and presumably unmolested by the well-meaning but income-threatening child labor investigator.


It's 1912, and the family is performing at the Lydia Margaret Theater in Wichita Falls, Texas. In addition to the usual acrobatics, a new and unusual angle has been added to their performance --- a comedic miniature boxing match enacted by Willie and Herbert. The "boxing contest" is the highlight of the act, warmly received by a public that is increasingly demanding speed, action and novelty in it's entertainment --- and performers like "The Novelty Four Grahams" evolved accordingly, for those that didn't couldn't survive via their chosen art. It's interesting to note that, featured at the bottom of the bill, is "Three Thousand Feet (of) Licensed Pictures." The movies had taken root, and the "Novelty Four Grahams" shared their bill with a form of entertainment which would, not soon --- but ultimately, destroy vaudeville.

Despite progress, sentiment still held reign in music, as evidenced by the success of 1913's "The Curse of an Aching Heart," ("The Moral Song With a Blessing") a tune perhaps best known today by it's rendition in the 1930 Laurel & Hardy three-reeler, "Blotto." Comedic in 1930, it was serious stuff in 1913 --- despite the oddly unsuitable photo of one of it's performers, Carrie Lilie, on the sheet music depicted at the right! Here's Will Oakland performing the tune in 1913, as if his life depended upon it --- and it very nearly was, for tunes such as this were slowly but surely being replaced by new forms of music that would take hold and morph into ragtime and jazz.

"The Curse of an Aching Heart" (1913)

We next see "The Four Novelty Grahams" in February of 1917 -- two months before America's entry into The Great War. The family's billing, as "Physical Culture Experts" indicates a lasting move away from acrobatics --- and into the realm of athletic exhibition. It's unlikely that acrobatic feats still didn't largely figure into their performance, however and also unlikely that at some point their act wouldn't have been musically accompanied by a piece titled "Nights of Gladness," dating from 1913.

If the title is unfamiliar, the music won't be. Used throughout the early sound era to accompany virtually any scene set within a run-down vaudeville house, or to indicate that the performance (or performer) on view is somewhat antiquated, there should be instant recognition among most readers. Here's an unusual 1926 recording of the 1913 composition, by the Utopia Salon Orchestra. Listen and see if you can't help but envision acrobats, feeble magicians and a bored audience!

"Nights of Gladness" (1913) 1926 Recording

Our view of the progress of the performing family fades here --- obliterated equally by time as well as the world events that shaped it. Great battles and even greater losses sweep by with the passing years, but at the end of it emerges victory of a sort, and a new decade of unprecedented change and prosperity.


We last left "The Novelty Four Grahams" in February of 1917, and we rejoin them in another February --- this one of 1924. Sweeping changes for the world, and while vastly smaller, no less far-reaching for the "Novelty Four Grahams" too, as detailed in the otherwise innocuous looking syndicated sports column reprinted to the right. Excerpts of the text reveal a surprise in the midst of a discussion about the rise of a young Georgia boxer nicknamed "Young Stribling" ---

"The Stribling family did circus stunts, trapeze and all that sort of thing all over the country for several years under the name of 'The Four Grahams.' Pa and Ma Stribling are expert acrobats and both fine physical specimens. William (Young) Stribling and his younger brother were both trained as acrobats. Pa and ma Stribling had an ambition for higher things than trapeze work for the youngsters. Financially higher than trapeze work, that is. So, when Willie was about two years old they got him a pair of baby boxing gloves and a kid punching bag."

"When the younger brother came along he was started on the boxing path too. For some years Willie and his kid brother assisted in The Four Grahams trapeze act. Then their boxing developed so that they could put on a very attractive exhibition bout. It was this exhibition stuff that developed young Stribling into a fighter. When 15, he went to his mother and said he wanted to try out his boxing in a real professional bout. He was fast and clever, and he made good from the star. He never has been hurt because the others can't hit him."

"He has perfect judgement of timing, developed in acrobatic work. He has speed. He has general strength and supple joints and muscles. And best of all, he has exactly the hand, wrist and forearm equipment needed for heavy hitting. Acrobatic work, trapeze and bar work, hand balancing and etc. have given him big, powerful hands with thick fingers, extremely thick wrists and powerful, heavy forearms. Stribling is five feet ten, weights 185, is fast, and likes to pull fancy stuff."

Above right, we see --- no longer the "Novelty Four Grahams," but the Stribling Family. Young William (no longer "Willie") on the left, our first view of "Ma" Stribling, former school-teacher and too busy or occupied elsewhere to have posed for a photo at the request of a child labor investigator in 1910, and "Pa" Stribling --- now older and a bit thicker about the middle, but still very much the head of the family's new act --- that of raising and promoting a professional boxer. The youngest of the family, the curious 3 year old boy in Chinese garb first seen in 1910, is following in his elder brother's footsteps too.

It's now 1928, and as William Stribling is months away from the greatest fight of his life --- pitted against Jack Sharkey in a February of 1929 bout set in Miami Beach, he poses with his younger brother --- the pair now billed as William "Young" Stribling and Herbert "Baby" Stribling.

Melodies like "Bedelia" and "Curse of an Aching Heart" seem a universe away from this bright, modern speedy world of 1928. The 3,000 feet of "licensed pictures" the boys once shared a vaudeville bill with have now begun to talk, and popular music is experimenting with vocal styles that wouldn't be possible were it not for the now standard electrical recording process.

"Miss Annabelle Lee" (1928) - "Whispering" Jack Smith

"If You Want the Rainbow" (1928) - Fannie Brice


The arrival of 1929 signaled a year for Wililam Stribling that would be, if not his best, then his biggest in terms of publicity and attention.

The day of William Stribling's bout with Jack Sharkey, sportswriters were at their florid best --- a reminder of the day when sportswriters were writers who wrote about sports, not merely personalities with negligible skills who manufactured ten second sound-bytes. The full page to the right, promoting the battle, makes for fine reading indeed, detailing "scenes and surroundings that are a strange contrast to the old days when prize fighting was a fugitive game in the South."

Some things do not change, however. The greater the hype and bally-hoo, the more a "non-event" is likely --- and such was the case with the Stribling/Sharkey bout, the dreary outcome (and loss for William) of which can be read about below left.

Although there would never again be the same aura of excitement surrounding the young boxer again as there was in February of 1929, both he and his family would continue to be key players, quite literally, in the world of the sport for the next few years. For the present at least, he'd mourn his loss briefly and then move on --- smiling for the cameras in publicity photos (awful segue alert!) bravely keeping his sunny side up on the lonesome road he currently trod.

Two renditions of a highly popular, somewhat somber tune of 1929, "The Lonesome Road." First, performed by Nathaniel Shilkret and the Victor Orchestra (with vocal by Gene Austin) and then, as performed by Cora Green, billed as "The Creole Singer" in a Vitaphone one-reel short subject of that year. Miss Green would, in time, reach greater fame in films originally manufactured for --- and exhibited to --- black audiences, but which are now receiving the long overdo attention and recognition they deserve. She can be seen featured in films of this nature such as "Swing!" (1939) and "Moon Over Harlem" (1939.)


"The Lonesome Road" (1929) - Shilkret, Austin & Orchestra

"The Lonesome Road" (1929) - "Cora Green, The Creole Singer"

And, as it could be heard in amusement parks, fairgrounds and carnivals throughout the country in 1929 --- and beyond, a mechanical rendition of "Sunny Side Up" that's as spirited as it is, I think, slightly creepy.

"Sunny Side Up" - (1929) Fairground Mechanical Roll


Boxers, and boxing were well represented in films throughout the 1920's, and their popularity remained with the arrival of talkies. Georges Carpentier was featured in the Warner Bros. Technicolor musical revue "The Show of Shows" in 1929, and again in the 1930 (also Technicolor) film version of the Broadway stage success, "Hold Everything."

While William Stribling was meeting with Jack Dempsey in 1930 (left), the United Artists' production of "Be Yourself" was in release throughout the country. Sporting a slight adjustment to her nose, the comedienne was as skillful as ever --- but the fever for musical films had begun to abate, and "Be Yourself" would largely fizzle at the box office of 1930 only to be rediscovered decades later and find itself entangled in a complicated web of ownership rights that keeps the film from wide distribution and proper presentation to this day.

In the film, night-club entertainer Brice discovers, supports and eventually falls in love with a "lay down boxer," beautifully played by Robert Armstrong. Among the film's numerous musical sequences (some of which are absent from the battered prints commonly traded today) are two which became minor popular music hits at the time of the film's release.

"Kicking A Hole in the Sky" is presented as a memorably surreal nightclub production number, having to do with the banishment of gloom, doom, temptation and evil from the earthly plane --- all set to a highly infectious jazz beat. In other words, a typical lovely up-tempo melody of the early talkie era.

This rendition is by Billy Barton and His Orchestra.

"Kicking A Hole in the Sky" - (1930)

The second selection offered here from "Be Yourself," is a Victor recording of 1930 vocalized by Miss Brice herself, entitled:

"Cooking Breakfast For the One I Love" (1930)

Contrary to what's printed in a widely lauded fairly recent book on early musicals, the portion of lyrics that detail the prepartion of oatmeal actually states "sprinkled with Lux" (dishwashing flakes) and not "sprinkled with lox." A bit of research, and this sloppy (albeit humorous) error could have been avoided. Brice may have been an ethnic comic, but there's a limit, after all!


But what of Young William Stribling?

We've not deserted him.

While personal details are vague during this period, there's no shortage of professional accounts, and we learn that in July of 1930, showcased as the Heavyweight Champion of the Old World, Stribling knocked-out Phil Scott, the Champion of Great Britain, in the second round in Wimbledon Stadium.

In 1931, Stribling fought Max Schmeling for the World Heavyweight Championship, but was stopped by a 15th round TKO delievered by Schmeling. Still, the former acrobat would earn $33,168 for this single event alone.

From July to November of 1932, Stribling fought seven times in Australia, winning six of his seven bouts, and in December of that year, he defeated Don McCorkindale in a Johannesburg, South Africa match. In 1933, Stribling's first notable bout for that year would be between him and Maxi Rosenbloom, where he defeated the future film comedian in ten rounds.

In the end, it would be not fist nor tightrope that would bring tragedy to the boxer so much as it would be a product of the technological age that grew and matured alongside Stribling, eventually pausing briefly to claim him and then proceed onward without ever looking back.

On March 2nd of 1933, Stribling was still aglow with the pride that accompanies any new father, and took to his motorcycle in order to visit his wife and new son at a Macon, Georgia hospital --- the pair still recuperating following what had been a difficult birth two weeks prior.

The motorcyclist was sideswiped by a passing automobile, both traveling at high speed. His pelvis crushed, his left foot severed, William Stribling would pass away in the morning hours of October 3rd of 1933 while in a period of unconsciousness. Present at his bedside when the end came were the most important members of the small world that traveled with him from vaudeville house stage-entrance to stadiums filled with thousands of cheering patrons, his parents and younger brother, Herbert.

To close this post --- a not entirely typical one for this blog, but one which I hope proved interesting if not precisely entertaining, a reprise of a tune featured earlier in this page.

Peformed by vaudevillian Mel Klee, excerpted from a 1930 Vitaphone short titled "The Prince of Wails" in a unique and heartfelt manner...

"If You Want the Rainbow, You Must Have the Rain"

William Stribling was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in 1996.

###

Show Folks

An eye-catching period film poster is as good a way as any to kick off a post, and in this case we have "Show Folks," a 1928 part-talking Pathe film that seems to have left this earth many decades ago, leaving little behind of itself save for remnants of paper and print... in fact everything except it's original elements of moving image and sound.

A pity too, as the film was a serio-comic depiction of vaudeville and it's denizens. To be sure, there were flashes of a "big city" revue, since one figured in the plot-line, but the heart and soul of the film centered around just plain show folk... The Trouper, the Old Timer, The Gold Digger, The Baby Doll, The Vamp, and The Feeder. (Whatever that was!)

Not widely distributed, judging by period newspaper accounts, the film did however enjoy a long run (October of 1928 to mid-1929) although largely relegated to second-string bargain and "dime" theaters, providing perhaps the perfect audience for what looked to be an unpretentious and earnest little film. The picture also offered a theme song, "No One But Me," which I wish I could offer here, but can't --- at least not yet.


What I can offer instead is a mysterious little recording dating from 1926 anywhere to 1930, of which I have no information nor detail, not even a title. Found on the tag end of a reel tape many years ago, this intricately orchestrated melody has entertained and perplexed me since first hearing it, and I'm hopeful a reader might be able to identify it. For means of identification, I've titled it "A Jazz Cocktail," which seems to fit the concoction well enough. The poster to the right, for the lost 1926 Fox film "A Trip to Chinatown" is here to give you something to look at while listening, and also because the image seems to suit the recording. A bit. Somewhat?

"A Jazz Cocktail" (Unidentified 78rpm Disc)


Those attending the midnight premiere of "The Desert Song" in Lima, Ohio on August 3rd of 1929 were in for a long night. Like so many films of the period, "The Desert Song" exists today as a tattered shadow of itself, and certainly not as the part-color film which premiered at a length of approximately two hours and fifteen minutes. Naturally, some of this time-frame would have been given over to intermission, overture and exit music... but that still leaves roughly forty minutes of footage unaccounted for in the dismal prints that survive today.

That aside, "The Desert Song" was a classic example of a film that the critics hated, but audiences loved and flocked to see, time and again. Problem is, most books tend to ignore public reaction to the film and instead focus only upon critical reviews and then simply join in on the gloomy chorus, resulting in what amounts to an unfair representation of the film as it was originally received --- not by critics, but by the most trusty of all popularity barometers, the paying public.

There's no getting around the fact that the film is a long haul when seen today, (what we have today is the much shortened reissue print) but under the right circumstances (and I'm thinking back here to a long ago screening at a Syracuse CineFest) the film is as charming as it is tuneful and entertaining. John Boles, while always John Boles, is sturdy, reliable stuff --- and Myrna Loy, Johnny Arthur and Louise Fazenda routinely pop up at regular intervals when things become a bit too turgid.

Syndicated reviews such as the one to the left are typical, although this one points up the interesting fact that at this relatively early date (April of 1929) critics (and audiences) alike were still very much in the midst of adapting themselves to the new medium. With a lifetime behind them of attending stage performances and silent films, there was no small degree of difficulty in mentally (and physically) combining the two elements into one new unified whole. As such, familar reference points from the stage and silent screen were absent in this new medium--- or beyond the grasp of description at least. You're urged to read the review (which can be enlarged, of course) for a better description than I'm capable of.

Unfortunately for female lead in "The Desert Song," Carlotta King, there was criticism aplenty, and the innocent looking publicity placement to the right helped to kick off the sort of juicy public disagreement between star and studio that would be the main feature on television "news" magazines today.

In the press release, appearing in newspapers just before and as "The Desert Song" opened around the country, all was well and good --- with the Warners publicity department playing up the old "star is born" angle by mentioning (or fabricating) the story that King was discovered via singing on the radio. Had the film been met with laurels and kisses by critics, the story would end there.

However, when reviewers began to either blame King for the film's presumed flaws, or dismiss her entirely, the actress stepped forward to defend herself... unwisely, perhaps.

Two months after the above press release appeared, the one to the left was published, and in a show of emotion that far exceeded what she displayed in the film, Carlotta King defiantly insisted "I am not a radio singer and never was," and then rather weakly qualifies this bold statement with "I don't believe I ever sang over the radio more than five or six times in my whole life." Digging herself in even further, the actress goes for the sympathy angle and continues, "I read many criticisms on 'The Desert Song' in which the writers stated that the reason my acting was so poor was because I was just a radio singer. That is not so."

The article goes on to mention that, not incidentally, she is now under the caring wing of Metro Goldwyn Mayer --- suggesting that Waner Bros. just didn't understand or appreciate her, and that it would be Uncle Louis (B. Mayer) to rescue, nurture and allow her star to ascend.

The next film for Miss King? It would be MGM's super revue for 1930, "The March of Time." Abandoned in mid-production. Carlotta King would never appear in another film, but perhaps this played some role in allowing the actress to survive (if internet data is correct) to the astounding age of 102, before passing away in 2000.


Before leaving "The Desert Song," it's worth noting that the article to the left indicates that color footage in the film was limited, entirely it appears, to sequences set outdoors in whatever sandy stretch was dressed and utilized as a "desert," while the article to the right details what may well have been the first instance of a plagiarism lawsuit filed against a talking film. If nothing else, that particular court date must have had some degree of temptation for a then very much "at liberty" Miss King!

Offered here, the original Vitaphone overture disc for "The Desert Song," which while purely orchestral, has a certain stately magnificence (or, depending on your view, pomposity) all it's own.

Either way, this as what audiences heard while settling down into their upholstered seats for two hours and fifteen minutes of the screen's first operetta, and it's beyond lovely for that.

"The Desert Song" (1929) Vitaphone Overture Disc

Some twenty odd years before "The Desert Song," there was a musical stage production called "Piff, Paff, Pouf!" which, among other things, featured the startling "Radium Dance," and which opened at New York City's Casino Theater (where "Florodora" changed musical history in 1900.) Break-out star of the show was one Miss Grace Cameron, who nearly stole the show with a wickedly sly song called "Since Dolly Dimple Made A Hit," one of those tunes filled with period references of names and places that have since passed into legend, but which were all alive and vital at the time Miss Cameron breathed into a recording horn in 1904 --- and through her, and because of her, can be almost magically resurrected today in a way that mere words fail to do.



Grace Cameron's hit tune would cause the actress no small amount of trouble in addition to creating fame however, as the April of 1905 article to the left indicates --- as well as giving us our first glimpse of the performer herself, looking unconcerned, confident and worldly, with more than a bit of fun about her too, don't you think? Seems that the owner of "Piff! Paff! Pouf!," Maurice Whitney didn't much cotton to not having a hand in the till where the popular tune "Dolly Dimple"
was concerned, and filed a lawsuit in
New York alleging that the words and music was his property alone, and therefore Miss Cameron had no right to perform (and gain from) the melody. How this lawsuit ended is anyone's guess --- although payment of some sort likely salved any supposed wounds on Mr. Whitney's part.

At this point in time, I believe we can safely avoid awakening Mr. Whitney's legal team and listen... quietly... to Grace Cameron performing this most remarkable, clever and witty tune just as she did in 1904, replicated here in a 1912 recording. Shall we? This will be a treat for Broadway and New York historians alike, I suspect!

"Since Dolly Dimple Made a Hit" (1904)

Proving just how complex and intertwined show folk history can often be, I was surprised to learn that appearing with Grace Cameron in the cast of "Piff! Paff! Pouf!" was Kathryn Osterman, mother of vaudevillian Jack Osterman, who's interesting and ultimately sad life was detailed in an earlier post ("Talking It Over"). Kathryn Osterman was also present and inordinately blase about the matter when Jack Osterman's widow took her own life in 1950. (See article right.) "A tear today, a smile tomorrow," or so they say. What say you?

Before chasing away gloom for the remainder of this post, it's always healthy (and fun) to wallow in it for a bit, so here's an entirely appropriate recording by the then quite ripe Sophie Tucker that was recorded in 1922, and which is titled:

"Complainin' - It's Human Nature" (1922)


Why be downhearted when we can instead listen to the undeniably powerful and talented Newell Alton, organist and vocalist of the Capitol Cinema in Australia, scatter any remaining frowns with a rendition of "Sing A Little Love Song" from the 1929 Universal spectacular "Broadway?" Why indeed? The stage is yours, Mr. Alton... and adjust your speakers or headphones accordingly, readers!

"Sing A Little Love Song" (1929) Newell Alton

Likewise, the equally strident melody "Song of the Dawn," from Universal's 1930 revue "The King of Jazz" is not without the ability to whisk away melancholy, and this Paul Whiteman rendition (with Bing Crosby backed with an unusual full vocal chorus) is just as effective as it is in the film.

"Song of the Dawn" (1930)

British renditions of familiar melodies from early musicals seem to enjoy a particular degree of popularity in these pages, a fact which pleases me, as it's nice to move beyond the usual suspects when covering these topics.


From Paramount's ethereal "The Love Parade," a 1929 film which seems to appear once every decade despite it surviving in astonishingly lovely prints, comes this two sided medley of tunes from the production, recorded in the UK that same year and released on the Broadcast label. (The somewhat off-kilter rendition of "Nobody's Using It Now" that leads off Side 2 is a must even for those who aren't particularly fond of this picture!)

Selections from "The Love Parade" (1929) - Side 1

Selections from "The Love Parade" (1929) - Side 2

Looking for something hotter? Look no further than the two selections that follow!

From Rodger's & Hart's "Spring Is Here," (Warners-1930) the one tune that also rouses the whole film to life midway through, "Crying for the Carolines." Performed in the film by the Brox Sisters, who appear to have wandered into the film's garden party to sing and then leave far too soon and too early, it's performed here by the British artists, Alfredo's Band... and despite likely never having been any closer to the Carolines than the West End, you sure wouldn't know it!

"Crying for the Carolines" (1930)

There's a musical sequence in the likewise uneven "Love in the Rough" (Metro-1930) that is staged so unusually and effectively that it seems as though we're not watching a film at all so much as seeing, from a distance, a group of youthful men and women entertaining themselves on the patio of a country club. The tune, "I'm Doing That Thing," starts out simply with Dorothy Jordan accompanying a ukulele wielding fellow --- and then others take up simple instruments, while others (The Biltmore Trio) join in on the vocal --- and then the tune is picked up by an unseen orchestra while everyone present breaks into a dance that's carefully choreographed to not look choreographed at all. It's a sequence that exhilarates, and should you note the film scheduled on cable, you're urged to catch it for this bit of footage alone. Performed here by Morris Elwin and his Orchestra, with a vocal by Van Phillips, recorded in the UK in late-1930. Roll up the rugs, and grab a golf club for a partner.

"I'm Doing That Thing" (1930)

Sooner or later I'll be giving "Noah's Ark" (WB-1928) the full attention it deserves, despite the knowledge that I'm among a very small minority who believe it to be one of the most underrated, under-appreciated and overlooked films of the early sound era. So, either consider yourself warned or, more hopefully, intrigued.

In the meantime, you might enjoy hearing one of the two "modern day" melodies that drift throughout the intricate score. One, the love theme, was "Heart O' Mine," and the other, (also a love theme, in a sense) was "Old Timer," which serves as the theme for the two pals who's lives are predestined and intertwined throughout history.

This rendition of "Old Timer", one of very few recorded (if not the only one?) is by Nick Lucas, shortly before he'd find his Forever in singing of sunshine and tulips. Not to everyone's taste I'm sure, but for those that love the film as I do, it's just grand... just perfect.


"Old Timer" (1929)

By the by, should anyone have the flip-side, "Heart O' Mine," do let me know!

While we're with Mr. Lucas, I've a chance to fulfill a request for his rendition of "In a Kitchenette" from "The Gold Diggers of Broadway," and hasten to do so now.

"In A Kitchenette" (1929)

The selections from "Sunny Side Up" in the last post proved more popular than I imagined, and it's heartening to learn that the film has a far wider base of fans than I once thought. Now, if only the folks at Fox DVD could be convinced, it might get the respectful treatment it so rightfully deserves.

Here's yet another medley from the film, this time by the
Victor Light Opera Company, who recorded this sprightly number in early 1930. (The Revelers, I believe, handle "Turn on the Heat" here.)

Vocal Gems from "Sunny Side Up" (Fox-1929)


Also very much within the realm of "sprightly" recordings, is this rendition of "Who?" from Jerome Kern & Marilyn Miller's "Sunny" of 1926, which would arrive on the screen, somewhat deflated and after-the-fact, in mid-1930. Recorded here by a group calling themselves "The Gaiety Musical Comedy Chorus," who it seems would later be reincarnated as the odd present-day vocal group "Chanticleer," turn in a rendition unlike any other you're likely to hear. 'Nuff said.

"Who?" from "Sunny" (1926)


To close out this entry of "Vitaphone Varieties," let's listen in on the closing moments of 1928's "My Man," the lost Fannie Brice feature film. As someone once perceptively pointed out to me, these final moments are different from most films of this period in that here we have a dramatic situation that, while left unresolved, still provides a powerful and firm ending to the film --- unlike other early sound efforts which simply end abruptly (often over a silent "end" title.) We'll probably never know for sure, but here --- as Brice is resigned to the loss of her love, and faces and uncertain future, is brightened by her sympathetic manager's advice. I envision the camera moving in close on Brice's expressive face, her eyes filled with tears, bravely smiling. Her confidence swells, and with it the orchestra, for what must have been a remarkably forward-thinking finale to an equally remarkable (and misjudged) film.

Closing Moment - "My Man" (1928)

Finally, there's no need for me to bid Good-Night when The Blue Mountaineers (UK-1933) can do it for me, and far better too, with

"Big Ben Is Saying Good Night" (1933)

Until next time!

###

"Fun in a Chinese Laundry"

A wide assortment of music (and words) for this edition, so let's go!

Although Charlotte Greenwood (pictured left, with her husband Martin Broones) wasn't destined to portray the role of "Mabel" in the 1929 Warner Bros. film version of "The Gold Diggers of Broadway" as was originally announced (see previous post,) the studio had high hopes for the famed Broadway comedienne, signing her to a six picture deal in January of 1929 --- and putting her husband on the payroll too, to write scenarios, dialogue and songs. Greenwood was no musical slouch either, if a newspaper item from mid-1929 is to believed.

According to the publicity placement, Greenwood penned the words for a tune slated for inclusion in Marion Davies' film "Marianne," titled "Blue Boy Blues," and for two other tunes in a Sam Wood directed college film (likely "So This Is College"-1929) titled "Campus Capers" and "Gorgeous," both of which apparently never made it into the finished product.

Speaking of things not making into finished products, a press announcement from May of 1929 proclaimed that Frank Fay had been signed to appear opposite Charlotte Greenwood in "So Long Letty," in the role eventually enacted by the rather lifeless Grant Withers. It's fun to contemplate Fay's quietly sardonic humor playing against the boisterous Greenwood --- but it was not to be.

One of the many praiseworthy elements in "So Long Letty" is one that usually goes unmentioned, that being the intricate, busy little incidental musical score that runs throughout the entire film. Similar in execution to the beautifully atmospheric musical scoring for the comedies being produced by Hal Roach at the time such as "Another Fine Mess," "Be Big" and "Pups Is Pups." With music closely scored to accent and underline the screen action, "So Long Letty" is as much a delight to listen to as it is to watch, made even more so by the rather surreal dialogue and characters that pepper the film.

Here's an odd little moment from "So Long Letty" via a Vitaphone disc excerpt, involving an unexpected party invitation from a jarringly buoyant neighbor ("Mrs. Ziphter") and a bizarre bit of moonlight wooing. Incidental scoring for this brief sequence makes use of "Clowning," "One Sweet Little Yes," and an intricate arrangement of "Down Among the Sugar Cane."

"So Long Letty" (1929) Dialogue & Music Excerpt

An example of equally tight scoring can be heard in this sequence, also excerpted from Vitaphone disc, from 1929's "The Time, the Place and the Girl," in which a simple premise (sending a telegram while drunk) makes use of "Collegianna" and "Doing the Raccoon," in keeping with the film's early setting of a college football game.

"The Time, the Place & the Girl" (1929) Dialogue & Music Excerpt

Before moving on, and for no other reason than that I happen to have it handy, here's a snappy 78rpm rendition of the aforementioned "Down Among the Sugar Cane," as recorded in the UK by "The Midnight Merrymakers" in 1929.

"Down Among the Sugar Cane" (1929)

There's not much evidence of "fun in a Chinese laundry" detailed in the 1927 article to the right, what with anxious customers --- some going for days in soiled clothing --- wondering where their laundry owner vanished to, but while Berkeley police search for the errant and mysterious business owner, one Mr. Homer Gee, you may choose to listen to a remarkably well preserved bit of Turn of the Century recorded humor and leave them to their chore.

Here's Cal Stewart, as his stock-in-trade character "Uncle Josh," as he encounters the perplexing intricacies of a Chinese laundry during one of his infrequent visits to New York City, circa 1910. Politically incorrect perhaps, but we can't and shouldn't erase, ignore or rewrite history to suit but a few. (Note: Unlike many surviving examples of Cal Stewart's recorded work, this one is very easy on the ears!)

"Uncle Josh in a Chinese Laundry" (1910)


The young lady to our left, intently strumming her ukulele, is one May Singhi Breen --- musician extraordinaire, who rode high on the wave of popularity that the instrument enjoyed for a relatively brief period during the mid-to-late 1920's, before the fad faded and the ukulele was returned to it's original and noble native roots by the quickly bored youth of American college campuses.

At the height of the ukulele's popularity, the market was flooded with instructional books, pamphlets and recordings --- all of which were likely flung away in disgust when it became obvious that the apparently simple looking instrument was actually rather difficult to play with any degree of effectiveness.

Suiting the sound to the word, here's an excerpt from a set of 78rpm instructional recordings issued by (I believe) Victor in April of 1928, where none other than recording legend Vaughn DeLeath (see earlier post, "The Soul of an Adventuress") serves as Instructress and Vocalist, while Miss Breen does the string work. If all this sounds incredibly dull (and I must admit, these lessons were surely incredibly daunting!) I urge you to at least listen to the final few moments of the recording, in which Vaughn DeLeath sings a "jazz version" of "My Old Kentucky Home," (with ukulele accompaniment) that stands as a regal example of pure, unadulterated late 1920's madness.

"Ukulele Instruction Record" (1928)

Madness of another sort --- "Harlem Madness," to be specific, was explored in the late 1929 Metro film "They Learned About Women," which featured vaudevillians Gus Van and Joe Schenck in their only feature film --- and one of the very few films that could be termed a "Baseball Musical." No, that's right --- it really didn't work at all, but it's a charming film in spots (and utterly bizarre in others) the value of which today is in the film's two stars. Before continuing, here's a rendition of the film's one "big" number, "Harlem Madness," as recorded by Coon-Sander's Nighthawks.

"Harlem Madness" (1929)

On June 27th of 1930, the team was performing in Detroit and had turned in an especially grueling opening night performance --- singing 44 songs instead of the usual 24, but although Joe Schenck confided to his partner that he felt somewhat unwell, he refused to cut the act short. The following afternoon, Schenck suddenly cried out and collapsed in his hotel room. The hotel physician, Dr. Harry B. Dibble, later told reporters that he felt "the strain and excitement of the Detroit opening" caused Schenck's death, and then related an oddly detailed description of the team's final moments together, stating that Gus was with Joe until the last. While the pianist was tossing on his death-bed, Gus knelt at his side and said, "Joe, we've been in all sorts of places together - tough dives and swell ones. You can't, you must not, go out like this."

When Joe Schenck breathed his last, Gus Van was heard to wail "I've lost my best pal!" and a moment later, "crazed with grief," became delirious, collapsed and was swiftly taken away to be sedated and kept under medical care himself for the remainder of the day and coming night. Horribly, Schenck's wife, Lillian, was en route to Detroit via automobile at the time of his death, and did not learn of the tragedy until arriving at the hotel. So ended an eighteen year partnership that began by a chance meeting on a Brooklyn trolley car, blossomed in the beer gardens of Coney Island, and rose to the heights of fame in Ziegfeld's Follies.

As is usually the case, then as now, tragedy and loss is soon tainted with human emotion less noble than grief. Two months after Joe Schenck's demise, his widow (Lillian) filed suit with the Brooklyn Supreme Court, claiming that Gus Van (August Von Glohn) owed her husband $27,000 at the time of his death, and also demanded that the surviving partner pay her an additional $25,000 under an unusual arrangement set up years earlier.

Lillian Schenck maintained that Gus Van had successfully collected $75,000 on a policy made payable to whichever member of the team survived the other, and that Van had neglected a clause requiring that the widow of the first to die would be granted $25,000.

How the lawsuit played out is unknown to this writer for no news accounts mention the case again, but perhaps it's best to leave it where the mists of time have long ago claimed and clouded it. Before moving on, here's Gus Van and Joe Schenck in close harmony --- like a hand in a glove, performing "Get Out and Get Under the Moon" for a 1928 Columbia recording.

"Get Out and Get Under the Moon" (1928)

According to period publicity placements, when Marilyn Miller was asked to select a leading man for the 1929 Warner Bros. film version of "Sally," without hesitation she named Alexander Gray, who had come to Miller's aid years earlier by replacing a leading man in a Miller show who suddenly dropped out while touring --- and left his gig with Ziegfeld to do so.

When Miller requested Gray for the 1929 Technicolor film, the Studio wired him and requested a screen (voice) test, but Gray (who was playing Philadelphia in a touring company of "The Desert Song",) balked at the sort of ordinary screen test in which the candidate stood before the camera and simply talked and/or sang. Instead, he requested that he do a scene from "The Desert Song," and the studio agreed.

Joining Gray in the scene was the young lady who played "Margot" in the Philadelphia production of "The Desert Song." Upon screening the test, Warners had contracts drawn up for not only Gray, but for his stage partner as well, Bernice Claire.

Here, Alexander Gray and Marilyn Miller vocalize "Look for the Silver Lining" from a Vitaphone disc excerpt for "Sally," which indicates that the audio on surviving prints (undeniably flat, muddy and lifeless) could sound considerably better if only surviving Vitaphone audio discs were called into play for the entire film instead of just the one instance in which they're used to accompany the brief fragment of Technicolor footage that's been reinstated into circulating prints. No one ever seems to quite go that extra yard where these early musicals are concerned.

"Look for the Silver Lining" (1929) Vitaphone Disc Excerpt

RKO's "Syncopation" of 1929 could be seen in various newspaper ads billed as "The Wonder Picture," "The First Great Jazz Revue of the Talking Screen," and "Better than 'Broadway Melody.'" While it's none of those things, it survives today as an enjoyable and somewhat compact (claustrophobic) example of the very early screen musical, and deserves distribution and exhibition beyond the Ebay auctions where it can usually be found.

Once you get past the hopelessly wooden performance of Barbara Bennett (the Bennett sister nobody seems to remember,) there's much enjoyment to be had with the presence of Dorothy Lee (no different here than she'd be when teamed with Wheeler & Woolsey,) a surprisingly street-wise Morton Downey, the always elegant Verree Teasdale, and Waring's Pennsylvanians long before they were scrubbed clean and relieved of their personality.

Two musical excerpts from the film, heard here via Vitaphone discs which were made available to theaters that weren't equipped for sound-on-film presentations: Morton Downey and Dorothy Lee's rendition of "Do Something," and "Jericho," as played and vocalized by Waring's Pennsylvanians.

"Do Something" (1929) Disc Excerpt

"Jericho" (1929) Disc Excerpt

It's always interesting to hear how familiar tunes from American talkies were interpreted by British bands, and while neither appreciably better or worse, these 78rpm recordings are always a source of fascination to me for the fact that they're so infrequently heard on these shores... and when they are, as in CD compilations, it's invariably the same dozen or so tunes time and again.

While a bit rough going owing to dodgy recording and the ravages of time, this two-sided medley from Fox's 1929 "Sunny Side Up" is notable in that it contains every tune from the film, including "You Find the Time, I'll Find the Place," which I believe hasn't been recorded elsewhere.

Recorded in the UK for Decca, here's a two-sided dose of "The Rhythm Maniacs" in 1929 ---



Selections from "Sunny Side Up" (1929) Part 1

Selections from "Sunny Side Up" (1929) Part 2

Before leaving "Sunny Side Up," a seldom heard, exceptionally spirited rendition of "Turn On the Heat," recorded by Eddie Harding's Nightclub Boys recorded for the UK label Piccadilly in 1929. You'll want to crank this one up!

"Turn on the Heat" (1929)


For as many fine recordings of the title tune from Metro's 1929 "The Broadway Melody" as there are, we have an interesting version such as this one, by Ben Selvin and his Orchestra. Musically, it's perfect --- but the vocalist (Jack Parker) so over enunciates his lyrics that the effect is --- well, decidedly different.

"The Broadway Melody" (1929)

Returning to recordings of British origin for the remainder of this post, our next offering is by Harry Hudson & His Band, circa 1929, of the tune "How About Me," (which can also be heard in the incidental scoring for First National's "Broadway Babies") which blends band with vocalist and, quite out of nowhere, a cinema organ! While the three elements seem somewhat at odds with one another, it's interesting enough a recording to warrant inclusion here.

"How About Me?" (1929)


To conclude this offering, a corker of a rendition of "I Want To Be Bad" from "Follow Thru," by the magnificently named "Jack Leon's Symphonic Dance Band," recorded on the British Piccadilly label in 1929.

"I Want to Be Bad" (1929)

Until next time!

###

Out of the Everywhere

For the theme of the 20th Annual San Mateo County Fair and Floral Fiesta, the theme "Progressive Living" was chosen. While not exceptionally original, few terms could better sum up America in the post-War boom of the 1950's.

A decade of excess, frivolity and self-reward during which the American suburbs exploded seemingly from nowhere, television became the centerpiece of homes, and gracious yet easy living was the order of the day --- barbecues aflame on poolside patios while rock & roll music slowly, almost imperceptibly worked its way onto the dials of portable radios.

A lifetime away from the realm of motions pictures in the first years of sound --- films which would soon be finding their way onto small television screens in the wee hours of the morning --- but it's here, in 1954, that we must stop for a moment to witness an odd, unexpected and ultimately touching scene.

On the opening night of the San Mateo County Fair and Floral Fiesta, as crowds filled the Fair's Fiesta Bowl for the premiere performance of the "Entertainment Jubilee," two old friends --- a man and a woman, were awaiting their stage call. While the man basked in the attention and limelight that had remained with him through much of his performing career, the petite woman at his side considered the experience a lark, for she had long ago left behind her persona as a singer and dancer and had built a new life for herself here in San Mateo, California. Married well, financially secure, and making fine use of both these attributes to serve community and charitable functions, the woman was always agreeable to singing some of the "old songs" if called upon to do so for a cause or reason she deemed worthy. Such was Mrs. Henry Morris.

Waiting in the wings of the stage that balmy evening for their stage cue, the air perfumed with the thousands of flowers from the spectacular floral exhibits that dotted the fair, I wish we could read this pair's thoughts or hear them speak --- but we can only imagine. A bit of playful reminiscing surely, some light laughter edged with healthy and lucky show-biz nervousness, and perhaps a wistful sigh or two, as much for what once was as for what never was.

As a familiar old tune filled the stadium, electronically amplified to a degree undreamed of in 1929, audiences were asked to greet the famed "Singing Troubadour", Nick Lucas, and a well-known and much admired San Mateo resident, Nancy Welford --- both former stage and screen entertainers, and co-stars in the landmark 1929 all-Technicolor Warner Bros. musical, "The Gold Diggers of Broadway."

Spectators who were too young or simply unaware of Lucas and Welford's former cinematic pairing (it had been at least 25 years since anyone could have seen the film anywhere), didn't much mind nor care, and simply enjoyed the duo's musical performance, "singing many of the songs they both made famous," a medley which might have easily been book-ended with the two hit songs from their 1929 film, "Painting the Clouds With Sunshine" and (long before a silly song would forever become something rather grotesque via Tiny Tim,) "Tip Toe thru the Tulips."

Born in London in 1904 to theatrical parents, Nancy Welford's family migrated to America while she was still a child, and by the age of twelve she was working as a "flying bird" in the "Bird Ballet" at the New York Hippodrome during the 1916 season. Her skill as a dancer led to chorus work in a 1919 edition of Raymond Hitchcock's "Hitchy-Koo," and by 1921 she was touring the country with a featured performer from that show, veteran vaudevillian and musical comedy star William Rock on the B.F. Keith circuit, in a catch-all act billed as "Songs, Dances and Character Studies."

A description of the act is worth repeating here, if only for the fact that it's probably not been described since 1921: "Mr. Rock is made up like an old Broadway-ite on the look out for the pretty ladies. At the end, he and Miss Eby show some clever ballroom steps. Between these specialties comes a Chinese scene done with Miss Welford that is highly amusing and at the end there is an encore, a burlesque of classical dancing that is a scream."


From the start, critics took notice. Says an anonymous 1921 review of William Rock's act, "he is supported by two comely misses, both of whom bid fair to soon become stars themselves. One of them, Nancy Welford, was only recently graduated from the chorus, dancing her first solo and speaking her first lines before in audience in Fort Worth just three weeks ago. She has an abundance of personality and good-looks, large lustrous blue eyes, and a clear, resonant voice."

All that, plus her dancing skill led to a successful tour and then an amiable parting of the ways between Rock and Welford when the team arrived back in New York, where Welford's notices and experience landed her a featured part in Victor Herbert's "Orange Blossoms" and, in 1923, the leading role in Rudolf Friml's musical comedy "Cinders," in which she co-starred with George Bancroft.


As the 1920's rushed past, the years were filled with starring or featured roles in "Hit the Deck," "Irene," "No, No, Nanette," "Lady Do," and "Rain or Shine," and during the infrequent periods in which she wasn't on Broadway, she toured the country in road companies of these and other shows such as "Up She Goes" in 1924, and more often than not, as a well received single act simply billed as "Miss Nancy Welford in 'A Song Cycle'" that played up her success in "No, No, Nanette."

Following the closing of the circus themed Joe Cook production "Rain or Shine" in late 1928, Welford joined the throng of Broadway performers cautiously starting to trickle out West. Amidst production for "The Gold Diggers," (during which it was announced that Charlotte Greenwood would have the role eventually enacted by Winnie Lightner --- imagine that for a moment!) audiences first caught a Technicolor glimpse of Nancy Welford in an advertising film for the Pettibone-Peabody Company, which displayed actresses such as Welford, Mary Eaton and Shirley Mason in various hat creations --- cheap copies of which could then be bought locally.

"The Gold Diggers of Broadway" came next, and despite the mammoth success of the Technicolor film (such as being held over for six weeks in it's New York run) it doesn't seem as though Welford was considered for the lead in Warners' film rendition of "No, No, Nanette" despite her being the only logical choice. Whether or not there was some discontent between Welford and her studio is unknown, but a curious blind item from late 1929 announces --- with a straight face --- that Alice White had been signed for the lead role in the film. A make-do dancer at best, and a singer not-at-all, the news placement could have easily been a bit of whatever game was being played between Welford and Warners at the time, or merely a bizarre concoction of an overworked publicist's mind.

Conjecture aside, we do know that Welford wouldn't appear in the film version of "No, No, Nanette" nor any other film for Warners thereafter. A string of decidedly lesser features followed instead, including the first release for Nat Carr's Continental Pictures, "The Phantom in the House" (late 1929, with Ricardo Cortez and Henry B. Walthall) in which Welford sang "You'll Never Be Forgotten," "The Jazz Cinderella," a 1930 Chesterfield production with Myrna Loy (Welford's songs included "True Love" and "Hot and Bothered Baby") and finally "A Safe Affair" (1931) and "Yours Sincerely" (1933.) A 1931 announcement of a British remake of Mabel Normand's silent comedy "Mickey"with Welford in the title role would never materialize.

Details hereafter are vague and scattered at best, but as World War II was underway, Welford frequently worked with Ina Claire (who originated her "Gold Diggers" role in the first stage production of the property) and Lois Moran at the San Francisco branch of the Stage Door Canteen, and by the end of the War she had met and married one Henry Morris, prompting her retirement from a largely non-existent performing career at that point.


Thereafter, newspaper mentions of Welford are infrequent, save for those that associate her with various charity affairs and functions (always as Mrs. Henry Morris,) but every now and again she could be seen in news items detailing the guests at a party, or the guest judges of a beauty contest, or as in early 1954 when Welford consented to sing for an audience at a tea for the League of Service of St. Matthew's Episcopal Church in San Mateo.

Once a performer, always a performer. It can be supposed then, that when Nancy Welford took the arm of Nick Lucas to step out on the stage of the San Mateo County Fair (and Floral Fiesta) in August of 1954 to the sound of applause and melodies still with us today, in addition to feeling as though the past had rushed up to meet with the present, she must have also felt a wonderful sense of completion --- not of sorrow, but of having traveled full-circle on the "song cycle" she had begun so many years before.

Nancy Welford passed on in San Fransisco in 1991, aged 87.

A selection of three audio excerpts from "The Gold Diggers of Broadway."

In the first, in an attempt to aid her lovelorn friend's stalled romance, Nancy Welford sings an off-color tune at the piano to impress lawyer Conway Tearle as to just how an unsuitable young lady she is --- hoping her friend (Helen Foster) will seem a far more likely prospect by comparison.

Nancy Welford - Excerpt 1

From much later in the film, Welford declares herself fed-up with Tearle, despite her growing feelings for him. Seeking to once and for all pull the gold-digging routines to end them all, she fills Tearle up to the gills with hooch and then unravels an incredibly lurid, inane and colorful life story which, to her dismay, has quite the opposite intended effect.

Nancy Welford - Excerpt 2

Lastly, here's an excerpt from the film's lengthy finale reel --- Nancy Welford performing "Song of the Gold Diggers."

Nancy Welford - Excerpt 3

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Between the Acts

A bit of fun while the next post is in preparation.

As noted in an earlier post ("Divertimento" 6 December 2006), actress and dancer Ann Pennington was a featured dancer at the 1939 New York World's Fair, appearing regularly as part of "George Jessel's Old New York" exhibition at the Fair's amusement area.

Here, looking much as she did ten years earlier when performing similar dance routines in "Gold Diggers of Broadway" and "Happy Days," is Ann Pennington --- excerpted from Kodachrome home movie footage taken at the Fair, with a bit of 1930 music attached for effect and added illusion.

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The Snows of Yesteryear

The "snows of yesteryear," however curiously absent of late --- and however lamented and longed for, likely only ever really existed within the apocryphal garden of one's memory.

Just as the past grows dimmer with each passing year, it also encases itself --- pearl like, within another layer of solitude that's translucent enough to allow us to barely see, feel and yearn for the contents, yet also murky enough to mask, disguise and cloud the plain truths of an earlier day.

First up, a 1930 recording entitled "20th Century Blues," from the Noel Coward stage production "Cavalcade,"which would become the magnificent film that earned the Academy Award for "Best Picture" of 1933. Vastly under appreciated, this sweeping panorama explores the onrush of social and technological change that occurred between 1900 and 1932 as mirrored through the eyes of one British family. Any reader of these pages who hasn't seen the film is urged to do so! (Incredibly, it remains one of the very few "Best Picture" films not yet commercially available on DVD, but it turns up now and again on cable.)

Performed by Henry Hall and His Gleneagles Band, the lyrics are as fitting today as they were in 1930.

"20th Century Blues" (1930)








For an aural glimpse of a New Year's Eve in the New York of 1904, quite free of cynicism yet firmly rooted in unreality, look no further than "New Year's at Old Trinity," recorded for Berliner by the Haydn Quartet. Street revelers, passing traffic, and the chimes of Old Trinity form an audible backdrop for what amounts to a miniature vaudeville sketch.

"New Years at Old Trinity" (1904)



Popular songs of the early 20th century are pocked with countless melancholy songs yearning for an earlier place and time. One of the more interesting examples, at least to a resident New Yorker such as myself, is 1925's "New York Ain't New York Any More," by vocalist Al Bernard. A rather touching homage to performance and social whirlwind George M. Cohan, the recording strikes me as not only a eulogy to a figure that ceased to be important and influential by 1925, but also an wistful acknowledgement of the fact that the audiences of Cohan's heyday were also fading, pushed aside by a culture of youth that has yet to wane, and with them the names, places and voices that once loomed so large within popular culture as the last century turned. (Vocalist Al Bernard, below left.)



"New York Ain't New York Anymore" (1925)

Even George M. Cohan himself found it increasingly difficult to recapture past glory as the 1920's dawned, innocently incapable of speaking and relating to a younger generation that had been wizened and hardened by the Great War, and who had turned their backs --- justifiably, on an earlier day they saw no point in mourning, much less preserving. One of Cohan's last noble gasps on Broadway, the musical production "Billie" of 1928, had a shamefully brief run by Cohan standards and was quickly forgotten. A recording of the title tune survives, and incredibly charming though it is, the melody is distinctly of a time other than 1928 --- infused with Heliotrope Cologne, crystallized violets, oyster stew and the waltz clog --- a bilious mixture to the bright young things Cohan tried, in vain, to attract. Listened to today, this rendition by the shows star, Polly Walker (who'd soon answer Hollywood's call), is as lovely as it is sad, somehow... a gentle and tender voice trying to be heard above the din of the late 1920's, doomed to failure. (A youthful George M. Cohan and sister Josie, pictured below.)

"Billie" (1928)

Unlike George M. Cohan, composer Joseph E. Howard wisely chose to not only acknowledge the passage of time, but to embrace and exploit it also, by forming a rather successful vaudeville act that successfully helped to nurture an embryonic form of nostalgia for the late 1800's and early 1900's that was just taking root as the 20's ended and which would fully blossom by the early 1930's, glorified in such films as "She Done Him Wrong, " "The Bowery," "From Broadway to Hollywood" and others.

Joseph Eugene Howard, composer of a myriad of tunes which have long passed into the Hall of Legends within popular music culture, "Good Bye, My Lady Love," and "I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now?" to name but a few, lived long enough (1961!) to not only partake in the revival of his own career and music numerous times (most notably in a 1940's radio series) but to also participate in that queer moment in time in which the faces and voices of early vaudeville --- most about to be lost to time and memory, would be captured (seemingly forever) by the Vitaphone process. While many of Joseph E. Howard's contemporaries who ventured before the sound camera exist today only in fragmented form, lacking voice or (more often) image, the gentleman in question is still very much with us --- as vibrant a figure in 1929 as he was in 1909, and will be in 2009.

In this Vitaphone disc audio transcription, we hear the melody "(The Waning) Honeymoon" behind the opening titles, which was written for the artist's 1907 stage production "The Time, the Place and the Girl," and then Mr. Howard ("I'm awfully glad I'm not forgotten," he plaintively comments) re-creates spot-on period authentic performances of "Good Bye, My Lady Love" (1904), "What's the Use of Dreaming?" (from the 1908 production "The Flower of the Ranch,") "Oh Gee, Be Sweet to Me Kid," (from another 1908 musical, "The Girl Question") and finally "I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now?" which was featured in both "The Prince of To Night" (1909) and "The Goddess of Liberty" (1910.)

In addition to being an unusual thrill to hear these songs of musical lore performed by their original composer, note that Mr. Howard quite literally transforms himself from composer into the original stage performer as well --- changing his vocal infliction, style, and in the case of "What's the Use of Dreaming?," there's a momentary pause between his spoken introduction and the start of his vocal in which he simply becomes the Asian-type character that first performed the song in 1908. Remarkable, really. Listen for it.

"Songwriter Joseph E. Howard" (1929)

By the time "The Time, the Place and the Girl" appeared as a Warner Bros. Vitaphone film in 1929, little was left of the original production save for the title. Difficult to evaluate today (it's a lost film despite invented database reviews claiming otherwise) via the surviving disc soundtrack, the film starts out as a college football story that then swiftly changes gears as the sports hero (Grant Withers) joins up with a corrupt Wall Street brokerage firm and uses his ape-like charm to entice wealthy society matrons into buying worthless stock.

Although often thought of as a musical film, the only melody to be heard is within the film's intricate incidental scoring that extends throughout much of the film's length, and in one curious moment --- at a society party, in which Betty Compson is seen singing (her voice is dubbed) a melody ("Honeymoon") from the 1907 Joseph E. Howard stage production of "Time, Place, Girl" which served as the opening theme of the 1929 Vitaphone Howard short. An extract of this sequence from the film is offered here, as are three period recordings of the composer's most notable (and in one case, most amusing) efforts.

"The Time, the Place and the Girl" (1929) Vitaphone Disc Excerpt

"I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now" (1909)

"I Think I Hear A Woodpecker Knocking" (1909)

"Good Bye My Lady Love" (1904)

To round out this New Year's post --- and to bring us to the period of usual focus here, let's look in on the Grand Opening of the Palace Theater in Ohio ("Lancaster's Finest Theater") in mid-March of 1929.

The film selected for this well publicized and presumably highly attended event (detailed in full page reproductions below) was the First National & Vitaphone production "Why Be Good?," which featured Colleen Moore and Neill Hamilton, and which would be Moore's final silent film --- despite the fact that the title was available to exhibitors in an elaborately synchronized version as well. (Interestingly, it isn't made quite clear which version was to be offered at The Palace theater!)

Tricked up with vocal and sound effects in addition to a wall-to-wall musical score performed by musicians that included the likes of Eddie Lang, Joe Venuti, JimmyDorsey and Phil Napoleon, the Vitaphone score for "Why Be Good?" is a late Jazz Age delight --- a sample of which can be experienced here.

The setting is a 1920's wild party to end all wild parties, and the score runs wild too --- incorporating the tunes "Who Wouldn't Be Jealous of You?," "Sweet Georgia Brown," "That's Him Now," "If You Want the Rainbow, You Must Have the Rain," "Tall, Dark and Handsome," "Give Your Little Baby Lots of Loving," and then --- after a bit of quiet repose, an explosive and perhaps ultimate rendition of "Tiger Rag" that's capped by a vocal refrain of "Doin' the Raccoon!"

"Why Be Good?" (1929) Jazz Party Sequence

In an all too rare and infrequent case of all the appropriate gears (meaning people) being in place to result in positive and relatively swift motion, word that picture elements for "Why Be Good" were languishing in an Italian archive was relayed to the folks at The Vitaphone Project (see blog sidebar) and ultimately to Warner Bros., with the end result being a scheduled sound and image restoration scheduled for 2007.

Let's hope that, when all is said and done, "Why Be Good?"--- virtually unseen and unheard since 1929, will fare better than many other similar restorations, all which invariably seem to end with the merest handful of screenings at widely scattered, poorly publicized archive and museum "events" before the film finds itself being returned to the dark isolation of a vault yet again --- awaiting what? Rediscovery in 2097?

No, there must be a level of commitment in place from the start that will ensure these films, rescued from oblivion at the last possible moment, won't die a second and, I believe, far more cruel death --- one attributed to indifference, litigation, finance and apparent ignorance of the fact that people want to see these films. Easily and often.

A single screening, on a Tuesday afternoon, at a special screening room located a vast distance away, by advance ticket purchase only, does little for the average person and even less for the film being trotted out for the first time in more than seventy-five years.

"The film looked beautiful, but the turn out was kind of small."

"Yeah --- I wonder why?"

"Well, I won't schedule this again any time soon."

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