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Victor Arden was born, in theory and in name, a lot later than the man who actually created him as a pseudonym, Lewis John Fuiks. The only son of Samuel and Vallie Fuiks, both Illinois natives, Lewis was born and raised, for a time, in Wenona, Illinois, not far from Peoria. His father is listed in 1900 as working in "general merchandise," likely managing or owning a general store of some kind. Not much has been reported about Lewis' early musical training, but there was probably some piano instruction involved, along with harmony and theory. As evidence of this, Fuiks was able to publish a rag at age 16 in Chicago with the unusual title of Safety Pin Catch. By the time of the 1910 census the family had moved to Chicago, where they were erroneously enumerated as the "Fox" family. Samuel was shown to be working in a clothing store as an assistant buyer.
In the fall of 1910 Lewis was enrolled in the University of Chicago, and he emerged with a degree in music in short order. This was followed by training at the American Conservatory of Music, also in the "windy city." There is some possibility that Fuiks was producing piano rolls as early as 1915, likely in Chicago. There are some roll titles that were released by Imperial, a Chicago company, in the mid to late 1910s. In their advertisements of 1916 they promote Fuiks as "the Chicago University Musical Wonder." He and fellow dynamo performer Zema Randale were considered the primary "raggists" of the Imperial label. In a Music Trade Review notice in the October 7, 1916 edition, it was noted that: "...the Jazz-Ragger Fuiks and the inimitable syncopating star, Zema Randale, are coming under the protection of insurance companies. The Imperial Co. sells its high-grade products at such fair prices that it will not subject itself to loss through the inability of any of its staff to play."Yet Imperial did suffer that very loss shortly thereafter as Lewis moved on to greener pastures. To compound things, their other star, Miss Randale, tragically died in 1918. It is not known for certain when Fuiks moved to New York City, but given that his first output from there came in 1917, and he is known to have contributed at least four "operas" to the Chicago Blackfriars, the last presented at annual musical in May of 1916, he likely left for Manhattan late in 1916, along with his new wife Ilse Fuiks. One of Fuiks' first jobs in New York may have been as an accompanist for the movies and, given his training, for hire by singers as well. However by February 1917 he was arranging and recording piano rolls as his primary career. There was some output from the Rythmodik roll company in 1917 through 1919, including his own Honeymoon Waltz which was considered somewhat of a hit. However, the bulk of Fuiks' early works were on the Ampico label, the parent company of Rythmodik, turning out "hand-played" expression rolls of popular dance tunes, tangos, and operettas. When the Rythmodik label was finally abandoned many of his cut were re-released on Ampico rolls. Early advertisements for both labels touted him as a jazz artist. While about two dozen of these were printed under his given name of Lewis J. Fuiks, this may have proved problematic to either Lewis or Ampico management for obvious linguistic reasons (this has not been officially established in fact but has been discussed), and he was soon rechristened as Victor Arden on his popular jazz rolls as early as February, 1917.
Starting around 1918, Victor formed a group called the All Star Trio, with George Hamilton Green on saxophone and F. Wheeler Wadsworth on the newly-minted vibraphone and other tuned percussion. They recorded for the next two years on the Edison label initially, turning out recordings for Victor, Brunswick, Pathé, Okeh, Paramount, Emerson, and for the Vocalian label of Aeolian, a subsidiary of the American Piano Company. Fellow pianist and roll arranger Max Kortlander stepped in for Arden on occasion. Arden also continued to turn out great rolls of popular tunes during this time, earning him the title of King of the Piano Roll. The bulk of Victor's compositions were from this period. In either June or July of 1918 Arden shifted gears and labels as he started arranging and playing for QRS, the dominant standard roll manufacturer. It was at QRS that Victor first met pianist Fillmore (Phil) Ohman, who had been there for a couple of years. They found they had similar backgrounds, abilities and points of view concerning performance, and neither lacked the energy to explore new ways to play things. The duo quickly found they could produce some amazing roll arrangements with little effort, and were soon inseparable. Their first QRS rolls started to appear within weeks off Arden joining the firm. Ohman sketched out the general direction of what they would play without full notation, then they would record with Arden in the bass and Ohman in the treble. One critic who observed them up close found Ohman to be the "wag and clown of the pair," calling Arden the "serious minded, painstaking musician." While a slightly imbalanced point of view, Ohman's humor was more likely to come out in his playing, even during serious classical recitals that he accompanied. Both quickly became celebrities both in and outside the circle of jazz performers, and the public proved to be thirsty for their duet piano rolls. Lewis is listed in the 1920 census as a "musician recorder" living in Yonkers with Ilse, and a new addition, Lewis John Fuiks Jr., born in July of 1919. Son Robert Spindler Fuiks would follow in 1921. While Arden and Ohman continued to make rolls both together and separately, Phil, through praise brought for his public performances, was offered a job in the fast-rising orchestra of Paul Whiteman, the so-called "King of Jazz." Not able to keep all his various positions, Ohman had to quit QRS and break up the duo for a while. Victor would continue to do duets through the mid 1920s, but with Kortlander, who he had been playing with since joining QRS, filling in for Ohman. Victor also kept busy with outside obligations. The All Star Trio expanded from 1921 to 1922 as the All Star Trio with Orchestra, featuring the distinctive Billy Murray on vocals. They signed a contract with the B.F. Keith Vaudeville Circuit for a 1922 tour. While the job with Whiteman was both good for his exposure as well as making connections, Ohman realized, as did Arden, that it was less fulfilling than their duo performances. So after a year or so he quite Whiteman's orchestra and concentrated on local gigs with Arden. They built their repertoire playing in clubs in midtown Manhattan, particularly on 52nd Street, and finally went into the studio late in 1923 to record live as a duo. Among their eclectic choices were the 1888 galop Dance of the Demons by multi-piano composer Eduard Holst and the popular rag turned song Canadian Capers. They were also one of the earliest piano duos to appear on radio as early as 1922, and were featured in one notable broadcast on wireless Chicago station KYW on April 11, 1925, for an estimated audience of 300,000 listeners. Phil had further exposure on the popular Roxy and His Gang Show which was broadcast from the Capitol theater where Ohman had worked. He brought Arden on for occasional appearances on the show.The performances were a sensation, and Broadway soon discovered them as well, knowing that they would be an additional draw to certain shows. The use of dual pianists or pianos was not new on Broadway, but their reputation was about as solid as their first Broadway employer/collaborator, Gershwin himself. So it was that they co-led the pit orchestra for Lady Be Good in 1924. According to the January 3, 1925 edition of The Music Trade Review: "An interesting anecdote relative to the two Story & Clark small grands being used by Phil Ohman and Victor Arden in the musical show 'Lady Be Good,'... was told this week by L. Schoenewald, New York district manager of the Story & Clark Piano Co. 'The original arrangement was that two of our pianos were to be used by the show when it opened in Philadelphia... but an error on the part of the stage carpenters resulted in building of the special moving platform too small to hold them. Although they had requested Story & Clark grands, Ohman and Arden were compelled to play their duet numbers on two 4 feet 8 grands of different make during the Philadelphia engagement. They were not satisfied with the tone of these pianos, so on coming to New York Victor Arden prevailed on the management to enlarge the platform to hold our 5 feet 2 inch grands. It has afforded the Story & Clark Piano Co. much pleasure to realize that our pianos are held in such esteem by two such talented pianists as Phil Ohman and Victor Arden.' Gershwin started what would become a popular trend throughout the remainder of the 1920s and into the 1930s, supported in the end by the economy of having two pianists and requiring less orchestra personnel. This trend was noted in The Music Trade Review of July 16, 1927, in the following excerpt: Piano Duos Featured in Both Productions and Over the Radio as Well as in Moving Picture Theatres—Wide Variety of Effects Obtainable
A FORM of presentation of popular numbers which during the past season has reached a new point of popularity is the piano duo as exemplified by nearly half a dozen teams of pianists featured in the orchestra pits of the leading musical comedy successes. The use of specially arranged numbers for four hands is a practice older than jazz itself and originated many years ago in the recording studios of the pioneers in music roll making. Since that time, with the development of the augmented dance orchestra, the employment of two pianos has followed the trend of the day and the sparkle of special choruses for the pianists in skillful teamwork has become one of the bright spots of an evening at the dance floor or cabaret. About three years ago Phil Ohman and Victor Arden, seasoned recording pianists, were featured in a specialty in "Lady, Be Good," a George Gershwin musical show. This started things for the theatrical presentation of piano duos and the same team appeared the following year in the pit of the Gershwin show, "Tip Toes." Here the effect was more impressive than in the previous engagement, where they had appeared on the stage but only for a short time. In the second show the two pianos were an integral part of the orchestra during the entire evening. Anyone susceptible at all to rhythmic and harmonic effects in popular music will not soon forget the thrill of hearing the arpeggio passages of Phil Ohman on the upper register of his piano in the number, "That Certain Feeling," of Gershwin. The pianists had carefully gone over the entire score with the composer in rehearsals and every place that afforded a pianistic "break" or embellishment was so treated. The result was a score far more brilliant and individual than is customarily heard from the orchestra pit and a new custom was started... But the spread of popularity of the piano due has not ended in the theatre. The radio, too, has developed favorites in four-hand interpretation of the latest hits. Phil Ohman moved from QRS to Aeolian in July, 1925, to cut Duo-Art rolls, effectively ending the six year run of QRS duets he had done with Arden. However, it was not the end of their partnership by any means. Their first Broadway success would be followed by more Gershwin shows such as Tip Toes in 1925, Oh, Kay in 1926, and Funny Face in 1927. Other shows included Treasure Girl in 1928, both Spring is Here and Heads Up in 1929.
It should be noted that when they were billed in any venue that the order of their names did not matter to them, the sign of a solid partnership. They were also sought out in the late 1920s, as many New York acts were, by Warner Brothers for a few Vitaphone sound shorts, one of the first being The Piano Dualists in 1927. They were later seen and heard playing Dancing the Devil Away in the 1930 RKO musical The Cuckoos. Arden turned out many interesting arrangements during the 1920s of dance tunes on record, many sold very cheaply in Woolworths and similar outlets, making his name perhaps even better known than Ohman's. One of their contemporary critics, Gay Stevens, said the following concerning this formidable duo: "There is not a piano player in the land who, after hearing Ohman and Arden interpret a piece of jazz music on their two pianos, has not wanted to throw his piano out of the window. The keyboard magic of this duo-team has been the inspiration and despair of every real American youngster who sedulously practiced his Czerny with a secret desire to win excited gasps of admiration from the fair young things in his circle by his jazz piano playing." Arden, Ohman and Kortlander appeared together often for QRS promotions in the mid 1920s, playing live performances of their collective solo and duet piano rolls in addition the occasional trio. While Victor and Phil often performed just with the piano, the Arden-Ohman orchestra was started in 1925, initially for recording but later for both live performance and radio work. It was the latter that gave them their best overall exposure in the late 1920s through the first part of the Great Depression. In addition to this live duo, Arden went back to work for Ampico in the spring of 1928, turning out new popular roll arrangements. As announced in The Music Trade Review of February 11, 1928: "J. Milton Delcamp, vice-president of the Ampico Corp., announces that arrangements have been made with Victor Arden, the well known young American pianist and devotee of popular music to record his playing exclusively for Ampico records [rolls] in the future. Mr. Arden, a graduate of the University of Chicago and of the American Conservatory of Music of that city, came to New York several years ago, and in company with Phil Ohman has played in a number of musical comedy successes and has also been a member of Roxy's Gang." This job soon expanded into a series of duets with Ampico roll artist Adam Carroll. Carroll subsequently briefly joined Arden and Ohman to create a piano trio for a few performances on radio and for special functions. From 1928 to the mid 1930s, Arden and Carroll turned out over 60 rolls with their names on them. However, while some may have been arranged initially by Arden, many were filled in (and some created) by Frank Milne at the factory (often edited with colored pencils on Milne's kitchen table). They are still often considered to at least be in the style of Arden and Carroll, even if not entirely played by them. Both turned out rolls separately as well, but the player piano business faded fairly quickly as the Great Depression set in and free entertainment was available via radio.
Realizing that the best possible future for success was on the radio, the most effective medium of the 1930s, the dynamic piano duo re-teamed and hit the airwaves. Arden and Ohman had no issue finding good sponsorship, playing for everything from news programs to two or three numbers advertising toothpaste or fine watches. Some of their musical shows included The Bayer Music Review, The Buick Program, and the landmark American Album of Familiar Music. But the stresses of performance partnership eventually interfered, more on the professional level than on the personal level, and in 1934 Arden and Ohman split to go different directions, remaining friends. The duo reunited for one more recording session on Brunswick in 1935. Ilse Fuiks had her own hobby as well, dabbling in the world of equestrian competitions. She owned a few different horses during the 1930s, including one fine jumper named Happy Days. While Ohman went on to some fame in Hollywood, Arden chose to stay back east where radio was still the predominant form of entertainment during the waning days of the Great Depression. He was able to secure work as both pianist and conductor on NBC (National Broadcasting System), including such shows as Kings of Melody, Sweetest Love Songs Ever and Broadway Varieties. Arden also worked and recorded with his own dance band, but with all the other engagements he had to keep it fizzled out before too long. He also filled in for leader Abe Lyman on many occasions, conducting for his popular Waltz Time shows. Arden enjoyed one last stretch on Broadway playing for the revue George White's Scandals of 1939. Lewis and Ilse and their sons were still living in Yonkers in 1940 for the census, along with one servant, although father and oldest son listed themselves as John L. instead of Lewis J. For his "Victor" side he listed himself as a musician for "own orchestra & for others." In 1944 their younger son, Lieutenant Robert Fuiks, USNR, was first engaged to Thirsa Burr Sands that October. In the 1940s during World War II, Lewis continued to make records with various orchestras as Victor Arden, and was featured on the Manhattan Merry-Go-Round for a while in 1947, eventually landing steady spot on The American Melody Hour near the end of the decade. In the 1950s Arden again led an orchestra, this time behind the charismatic Dick Powell, the singing star of many MGM movies. One of his last projects was a reincarnation of his first group, the All Star Trio, after which he went into retirement. He had moved from Yonkers in 1951, buying an apartment at Douglas Park, located at W. 236th Street and Henry Hudson Parkway in Riverdale. Lewis was remarried in the 1950s to Frances Newsom. During his last few years the couple lived at 77 Park Avenue in Manhattan. His former partner Phil Ohman died in the summer of 1954. Lewis Fuiks a.k.a. Victor Arden died almost exactly eight years later in 1962 at age 69 leaving behind a wealth of recordings allowing us a look into some of the most exciting music of the 1920s and 1930s. His work both alone and with Ohman brought a vitality to the driving rhythms and languid ballads of the 1920s and beyond, making the player piano a glamorous instrument, and its listeners always wanting more. Thanks to New Zealand piano roll historian Robert Perry for additional information and clarification on Arden's career with various piano roll companies, and for the Gay Stevens quote. For more on piano roll artists, please visit him at www.pianola.co.nz. The remaining information was researched by the author in public records, periodicals and recorded media. |
Felix Arndt, regarded by some as the earliest proponent of the novelty piano style, was born to royalty, at least in a sense. His mother, Charlotte [Harpeur] Arndt (5/1851), was born in Spain to a French father and Spanish mother. Charlotte was known as the Countess Fevrier of France, and was reportedly related to Napoleon III. (She was mistakenly listed as Carolyn in the 1910 Census.) Felix's father, Andreas W. Hugo Arndt (2/1853), was a carpenter born in Switzerland. The couple married in Manhattan in 1888. Felix also had a younger sister, Charlotte A. Arndt (12/1890). Born in New York, Felix was educated in the New York City public school system, greatly improved as the influence of Tammany Hall was waning,
and usually fostering those who wanted to play instruments in the requisite school band. He took up the piano on his own, but later sought out advanced training in harmony and theory. One of his professors was pianist Carl Lachmund, who was a follower of Franz Liszt. Carl's son Arno F. Lachmund would one day work indirectly with Felix while employed by Duo-Art. Once out of school, Arndt's talent for arranging was quickly recognized by publishers, and he got a job composing special material on demand for several years, including for vaudeville stars such as the husband and wife team of Nora Bayes and Jack Norworth, and often with fellow composer Gus Edwards (although specific titles have not surfaced to date and may have been disposed of after use). His steady gig for a time was as the organist for New York’s famed Trinity Church, right on Wall Street and a focal point in the days following the WTC disaster of 2001. He was shown in 1910 as still living with his family, and as a musician working for a publisher. Charlotte is shown as a stenographer working for a publisher, possibly the same one. One of his more fortuitous breaks came in 1912 when Felix joined banjoist Fred Van Eps and his brother Bill Van Eps on a second banjo to form the Van Eps Trio, the first of many such groups led by Fred. Van Eps had already been recording for Victor Records, so had no problem bringing Felix into the fold. They also accepted him as a soloist, and this started a flurry of recording activity over the next several years. Felix would cut at least 30 keyboard solo sides in addition to his recordings of the trio, and 5 with mandolin player Dr. Clarence Penny. Many of the sides also featured Felix playing the delicate keyboard celesta. He also debuted many of his own compositions simultaneously on record and piano roll over the next few years. After several cuts in 1912 there were curiously no sides from 1913, but as it turns out, Felix was pretty busy. Another bit of good fortune came in 1913 when Arndt started at Universal Music Company during the advent of "hand-played" piano rolls. As announced in the Music Trade Review of March 15, 1913: "The Universal Music Co., 29 West Forty-second street, New York, is calling the attention of the trade to. the fact that Felix Arndt has just signed a contract to compose, arrange and play for the Uni-Record. Felix Arndt needs no introduction to lovers of popular music, either as a player or composer, as his renditions are known from one end of the country to the other." Even though he was signed at first as an "exclusive" artists, Arndt soon managed to get work with other concerns as well. Being a fine arranger and pianist, the position with Universal allowed him the opportunity to advance his skills when applied to other composer's works, and helped him in his compositions as well. The following year, Arndt also became a staff musician for Aeolian Hall, creating Duo-Art reproducing rolls in the Popular Music genre. In his nearly five years for the two companies he reportedly created over 3,000 rolls, which would equate to three or four on an average work day. It should be noted that he was not confined to popular works only, taking on many well-known classics, operas, and even contemporary composers such as Claude Debussy in his own inimitable style. However, many of these rolls were sometimes re-released under multiple sub-labels, so that number was likely substantially smaller, yet still astonishing given the time frame. It was during this period that he penned the first of a series of compositions that are now considered to be classic novelties, A Symphonic Nightmare: Desecration Rag (#1). It is an amusing send up of well known symphonic pieces in a complex syncopated format. This was followed by the unusual From Soup to Nuts, and a piece that would be the harbinger of genius yet to come, Marionette, although the latter would not be fully released until 1917. Felix was a charter member of ASCAP, founded by several musicians in 1914 in an effort to provide a focal registration point for protecting copyrights and distributing royalties. In late 1914 or early 1915 Felix met his famous muse, Nola B. Locke, a professional singer with the St. Louis symphony, and a vocal teacher and capable pianist as well. She was born in DeQueen, Arkansas, near Monroe, on July 11, 1889 to real-estate agent George Todd Locke and his wife Callie Blanche (Dooley) Locke. She was in the middle of six children in the family of three girls and three boys, the youngest boy dying in infancy in 1900. George died a year later in 1901. Nola was on her own as of the 1910 Census, living in St. Louis and likely working as a teacher at that time, having not yet been engaged by the Symphony. The circumstances of how she met Felix are unclear, but in her obituary it was stated that Nola had traveled to New York to find a better situation for her vocal talents. Soon after they met the couple was engaged, and Felix wrote his signature piece in honor of the occasion, Nola - A Silhouette for the Piano. A lilting tune made up largely of interesting patterns, and melodic lines that utilize both hands and span pretty much the entire keyboard, it was a much admired template for what would become the genre of novelty piano in the 1920s. Written and copyrighted in late 1915 it was first published and recorded early in 1916. Several months after the piece was composed they were happily wed. A later attempt to turn it into a relatively unsingable song version with lyrics by added by James F. Burns was met with lukewarm response, the difficult pairing proven by a vocal recording of the piece. Felix performed both on record and live with variations of the Van Eps group, but at some point pianist Frank Edgar Banta started to fill in from time to time. Banta would eventually take over the piano spot in the group by 1916, partially at the insistence of Victor management who liked that particular combination. However, it was over the next two years from 1916 to 1918 that Felix really started to find his niche as a composer as well as a performer. There was a second Desecration, An Operatic Nightmare: Desecration Rag #2 (the first was renumbered at this time), and a nice dance piece titled Clover Club. On some of the many rolls for which Felix applied his flying fingers, Nola also accompanied him and got credit for their duets.Right around the time of World War I was when young George Gershwin looked briefly to Arndt as a mentor of sorts. Felix likely got George his job with Aeolian Hall on 42nd Street in Manhattan in early 1916, potentially inspiring or even contributing a bit to the single rag that Gershwin wrote, Rialto Ripples. It has been suggested that Felix may have introduced George to his friend Irving Caesar, with which Gershwin would later pen his first and biggest hit, Swanee. Felix's 1917 draft card shows him as an employee of Aeolian, and the sole support for Nola and her mother. His parents were still in Manhattan, and his sister Charlotte had recently married Alex Alexander. They subsequently had a daughter in 1918 named Elaine, and continued to live with Hugo and Charlotte for some time. On January 1, 1918, Felix added yet another notch on the ladder of success when he started with the now-dominant QRS piano roll company. They were also fortunate to have signed him exclusively to their label. He put his own full page announcement under his portrait in the trades in February, 1918: To the Music Industry:
Throughout 1918 Arndt turned out a torrent of rolls with dynamic arrangements. There were some issues of the trade papers in which his name might be seen associated with four different companies on the same page. Overall, he had recorded hits for Universal (including their Uni-Record line), Aeolian (including their Duo-Art, Metro-Style Themodist and Metro-Art lines), the Wilcox and White Company (including their Angelus line), the A.B. Chase Reproducing Piano Company,After six years' experience recording for different roll cutters, I have come to the conclusion that there is a wonderful field for this line of work and owing to the Q R S Company's various line of rolls and complete organization, my best interests lie in recording for them exclusively, except, of course, that I shall continue to play for the Victor Talking Machine Company. I wish to take this opportunity of thanking you, my friends, who have been so kind as to express your appreciation of my work and believe that this new arrangement will offer greater possibilities for us both. Sincerely, Felix Arndt. Perfection and QRS. Other companies featuring his work would tout him as the well-known player of rolls, even though he was working for the competition.Then the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic struck the world, and New York City was hit hard. According to the account in the Music Trade Review of October 26, 1918: "Mr. Arndt contracted cold on October 8, which developed into pneumonia, causing his death on October 16." The final analysis was that his system was weakened, and the influenza quickly overtook him at that point. This deadly sickness deprived the world of Felix Arndt shortly before WWI had ended. Arndt was interred at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Tarrytown, New York. Nola went on with her life, and interestingly enough was known to have lived for a time with their mutual friend Caesar. Following her late husband's lead in the music business, she contributed the lyrics to Nobody Loves Me Now by Billy Tracey in 1922. While not readily found in the 1920 Census, she was located in 1930 married to a Russian immigrant construction company president, Henry Mandel, working as a musician doing private concerts. Another song with lyrics by Nola appeared in 1938, Mia Cara (My Dear) with Oscar Malanga. From the late 1940s into the 1950s Nola worked as a music and drama coach in New York City. Little is known about the remainder of her life. Nola died in Manhattan on July 19, 1977. She was buried with her first love in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Tarrytown. As for her namesake composition, it continued to grow in popularity for decades after Felix's death. As noted in the February 28, 1925 edition of the Music Trade Review: The popularity of the number was immediate, demonstrating that the public, while favoring popular music, appreciates compositions of the better type. The original sales on this number were also produced by the renditions of pianists who gave it its initial popularity and who successfully presented it in the same manner as that of the composer. In 1922 Vincent Lopez and His Hotel Pennsylvania Orchestra rendered "Nola" as a fox-trot for the first time and later it was one of their features by radio. This quickly established "Nola" as a dance number and the publisher immediately forwarded orchestrations in fox-trot time to the leading orchestra leaders in all parts of the country. It undoubedly became the outstanding instrumental hit of 1922 and the early part of 1923 and, of course, continues to maintain much of its popularity. In 1923 Adelaide and Hughes, Florence Walton and Maurice and Lenora Hughes took up "Nola" as a special feature dance number. This brought further popularity to this offering. Bill Baker used it in the Music Box Revue for a full season. George Carey, xylophone soloist of Sousa's band, and the popular pianists, Roy Bargy, Frank Banta, Joseph Daily, as well as Frederick Fradkin, the solo violinist, played the number with unusual success. The latter also recorded the number with his own original arrangement for Brunswick records. Jascha Gurewich, the saxophone virtuoso, has proclaimed this number the greatest instrumental novelty ever written and many other outstanding artists seem to have a similar opinion. The publisher is firmly of the belief that 'Nola' has not reached its peak and is anticipating that before the year is over the demand and sales for this charming composition will have increased double to what they are at the present time. Nola managed to remain in print throughout the 20th century, selling millions of copies to hopeful pianists who wanted to try and catch that unique style. It was available as a popular piano duet as well. Overall the piece became perhaps the best seller in the catalog of Sam Fox who also had acquired many other Arndt compositions. By the late 1920s, Lopez had made it his theme song, preserving his arrangement on film in 1932 in the first of the Big Broadcast films and giving it constant radio exposure as well. A quickly rendered performance of it was heard in the orchestra introduction in the 1930 two-strip Technicolor film King of Jazz, starring Paul Whiteman and his orchestra. Guitarist Les Paul even had a top-ten with it in the 1950s using his revolutionary multi-tracking guitar recording technique. In the 21st century pianist Sue Keller has become associated with the tune, which was a favorite of her mother.
Arndt's music and style were most certainly influential on a number of composers of the 1920s, and they help provide us a continuation of his legacy and the amazing potential he possessed. | ||||||||||||||
Burt Bales is not a widely known name outside of ragtime playing circles, and he rightfully should have been. He was just born in that niche where he was too late for the original ragtime era, too sophisticated in many ways for the honky-tonk era, and too obscure for some in the ragtime revival. Bales was also sometimes overshadowed by other pianists in the San Francisco Bay Area, largely due to circumstance more than anything else, and sometimes of his own doing. Yet he was highly regarded by all who knew him, and much sought after as a band musician. Here is his story.
Burton was born in Stevensville, Montana, to Montana native father Benjamin Franklin Bales and his wife Elizabeth D. (Johnson) Bales. Stevensville is located around 20 miles south of Missoula, the county seat, on the Bitter Root River. By 1920, the family had moved north about 60 miles to Pablo on the Flathead Indian Reservation. Benjamin (who later went by Frank B. Bales) was listed as a newspaper editor, but was a printer by trade. Burton would be joined by his younger brother Jack W. in 1919, and Robert S. in 1921. In 1925, Frank moved the family west to Marin County, California. By 1927 they were living at 322 Richardson Street in Sausalito, and Frank was listed as a printer. In 1930, the family was still in Sausalito, but now at 11 Princess Street, with Frank listed more specifically as a newspaper printer. By 1933, the Bales family had settled at 108A Sycamore Avenue in San Anselmo where they would remain for many years. Burt came to Northern California right in the middle of jazz age, although most of the jazz in San Francisco, which was a bit of a trip for the family before any bridges spanned the bay, was more often performed by visiting groups. Later in the 1930s a few performers started making their home in the Bay area, most notably pianist Paul Lingle who would become a friend and colleague of Burt's. While there are reports that he had actually been performing in public at hotels and nightclubs since the age of 12 (around 1928), confirmation of any appearances before the mid 1930s is difficult to come by, so this might have been a slight exaggeration. However, while he was attending Tamalpais High School in his mid to late teens, Bales had already begun playing piano professionally in the Bay Area, focusing his efforts on traditional jazz works by Jelly Roll Morton, and contemporary artists like Fats Waller.
A frequent performer with bands at the iconic Dawn Club in San Francisco, Bales became known to bandleader Lu Watters, who had been working on a revival of the tunes first laid down by Joseph "King" Oliver and Louis Armstrong nearly two decades before. Wally Rose was Watters' primary pianist, and a cornerstone of Watters' pioneering Yerba Buena Jazz Band, but Bales also started working with the group from time to time as a backup. Wally's style was much more traditional, based largely on ragtime, but he also did fine work in the Jelly Roll Morton idiom. Bales was adept at either but leaned much more in the Morton direction. Both made invaluable contributions to the early years of the revival, helping to keep it alive until it exploded nationwide around 1950. From the late 1930s into the 1940s, Burt became known as a solid club pianist who was flexible for use with a variety of jazz musicians. As it was, he played with noted musicians such as Jack Teagarden, Earl "Fatha" Hines, Huddie "Leadbelly" Ledbetter and Bunk Johnson, a rarity in an era where integrated bands were not always welcome in any number of public venues. He also appeared on radio with banjo player Clancy Hayes in the late 1930s, a bit ahead of the coming revival. Having already recorded with Benny Strickler's group in 1942 on a KYA broadcast from the Dawn Club, Bales, along with Bunk Johnson, made one of his only studio recordings with the Yerba Buena Jazz Band in 1944 after Rose had been drafted into service. Burt himself had enlisted in the Army on January 23, 1943, but his service was short-lived, not even lasting through basic training due to poor vision issues from his myopia. This left Bales, along with Paul Lingle, as a viable Bay Area commodity during the war years, as many other musicians were fighting the battle overseas. Bales also led his own band from 1943 to 1946 before taking an extended residency at San Francisco's 1018 Club after the war. One of Bales' first studio recording sessions was in 1947, courtesy of Lester Koenig and his Good Time Jazz label.
Following the success of Koenig's release of Lingle's famous 1952 studio recording for Good Time Jazz, and similar good response to Wally Rose's classic piano rag album, Lester saw fit to also release the Bales solo piano cuts, giving Bales more import in the national jazz press. It kept him dutifully employed throughout the 1950s, but mostly in the Bay Area which he preferred. Bales had the central theme of the influence of Jelly Roll Morton in common with Lingle, and while there was no overlap in their cuts, there was certainly a lot of variety between the two. This served Koenig well when he converted the entire Good Time Jazz line to 12" LPs in the mid to late 195os. While some were not re-released in the lengthier format, Bales and Lingle were combined on one of the most famous releases the company ever issued, They Tore My Playhouse Down, from 1958. The title and the cover referred to, in a thinly veiled manner, the "playhouses" of the Storyville district of New Orleans, or even of the notorious Barbary Coast area of San Francisco. Even as it caused some minor controversy among some concerning taste, the compilation sold briskly. It is still available on CD and via digital download some six decades after the original analog cuts were recorded. In spite of his brief national fame, and slightly higher local favoritism, from the mid 1950s forward, Bales worked largely as a solo pianist in various clubs around the Bay Area, most frequently at Pier 23. Several tracks were recorded there during his tenure, but not all were as well received as his Good Time Jazz releases. In a Saturday Review mention of the 1958 release of the album Jazz from the San Francisco Waterfront released on the ABC Paramount label, author wrote that "Burt Bales sounds as if he'd spent a lot of time listening to [Joe] Sullivan, Fats [Waller] and Earl [Hines], but no one else. The ensembles are meaningless except for spots on 'Tin Roof' and 'Save it Pretty Momma,' when Matty [Masala] band saves them. This record, with all its faults, is still more enjoyable than the performances of people who never listened to music before 1958."
3/21/1958 The boys at Pier 23 Tavern on the San Francisco Embarcadero had planned a little birthday party(?) for player Burt Bales last night. It was to be a real high class affair.
Then along came Fred A. Cellarius Jr., 26, a typesetter of 121 South St., Sausalito. He was acting up and this was not in keeping with the way owner Havelock Jerome and the boys had planned the evening. Jerome refused Cellarius a drink and told him to leave. Sellarius seized a chair and started swinging and after the melee four persons were treated for injuries. Police arrived and chased Cellarius across the Embarcadero into a warehouse at 1250 Sansome str., where he climbed 18 feet onto stored packing cases. It took a fork lift to get him down. He was booked on suspicion of felony assault, drunk, battery and malicious mischief. His companion, Paul Johannes, 24, of 902 California St., was released as a drunk under $0 bail. Jerome suffered cuts on the scap, lip and a black eye; Heber C. Galloway, 56, of 806 Page St., concussion and lacerations of the head, one finger nearly bitten off and a possible fractured arm; and Charles J. Ooghe of 209 Amhurst Ave., San Mateo, cuts on the head. In the fight all the tavern's windows on the Bay side were broken out and the place was pretty much a shambles. However, when Bales arrived for the party, Jerome, his head bandaged, his tavern littered and his cusomers battered, said the party would go on just the same. Everybody wished Bales a happy birthday, there was fun and revelry and they forgot about that fellow who tried to break it up. In 1959 Burt was included in A Survey of 60 Years of Piano Jazz held at the University of California, San Francisco on May 13 and 14. He appeared along with Wally Rose, Tiny Crump, stride pianist Ralph Sutton and modernist Richie Crabtree. Later that year he appeared with singer Lizzie Miles, whom he frequently backed, at the Montery Jazz Festival down the coast, but may have been off his game as he received a scathing review in the San Mateo Times on October 10, 1959. The critic stated that "Burt Bales threw away a good chance too. Lizzie Miles couldn't even cover for him when he lost beat, tempo, focus and hearing through most of the numbers together."
Then came the crushing blow that caused Burt to take a mandatory pause in his life, and perhaps refresh his resolve as a performer. On February 26, 1960, Bales was crossing Seventh Street near the Greyhound Bus Depot in San Francisco when he was struck by a car. There was the possibility that he was going to lose his left leg.
Burt spent the rest of the decade playing rather uneventfully at Pier 23 and other venues with a dedicated crowd following him around. By the 1970s he was starting to slow down a bit, but still kept a regular Monday Night gig at the Washington Square Bar & Grill into the 1980s. There was a brief flirtation with another jazz band from 1979 to 1980, but Bales preferred his solo work. In 1989, in failing health, he finally visited New Orleans and felt a kinship with the musicians there that greeted him warmly. Bales was ailing from cancer, diabetes, and cardio-vascular complications, having stopped playing regularly just a year prior. On October 26, 1989, Bales died of complications from heart surgery at St. Mary's hospital, survived by his wife Yvonne, brother Jack, and mother Elizabeth. Around the same time his historic works were finding their way into the digital medium, and remain with us today. Even though he was under-recorded, sometimes under-regarded, and at times somewhat eccentric, Bales believed in his music and breathed joy into whatever he played for whoever would listen. | |||||||||
Roy Bargy was born in Newaygo, Michigan, to Frederich H. Bargy and Jessie E. Bennett McKee, the youngest of two children including his sister Myrtle (8/1888). However, he grew up mostly in Toledo, Ohio. Roy began to study piano at age five and proved to be a child prodigy at the instrument. Fred Bargy was listed as a musician in the 1900 census, so likely had some direct influence on his son's talent and musical direction.
Roy continued taking lessons for 12 years and developed as a very competent classical pianist. He had aspirations of becoming a concert artist, but the thinking of the time was that serious pianists needed to study in Europe in order to be seriously regarded within classical music circles, a practice that continued into the 1940s. Family economics made this dream impossible to achieve at that time, as by 1910 his father was no longer working as a musician, but instead was listed as a market superintendent.Discouraged but not daunted, Roy began to hang around the growing Toledo jazz community and, still in his teens, found work playing piano and organ in silent movie houses. He also organized his own pickup orchestra, which played for school dances. Roy took lessons in both organ and piano with C. Max Ecker of Toledo for as long as seven years. He often cited Ecker as the person responsible for the development of his dazzling technique. He claimed to have attended no music conservatory, and beyond his time with Ecker to have never studied composition, harmony, theory, or similar courses that most arrangers and composers were taking at that time. His knowledge in these fields was mostly self-taught, and came from his observation of how the instruments in an orchestra complimented or interplayed with each other. Roy's 1917 draft card shows him listed as a musician playing for a Toledo country club. He ended up being enlisted for five months of 1918, serving in the Army in Central Officer's Training School in Georgia, and was honorably discharged at the end of November. In a Music Trade Review article of September 13, 1919, it was noted that: "Mr. Bargy was in an officers' training camp when the Germans resigned, and while in the service was a great organizer of bands and orchestras among the soldiers. He has played in many parts of the country and wherever he has appeared his true musicianship has been appreciated." In the summer of 1919, Bargy auditioned for pianist Charley Straight, manager of the Imperial Player Rolls company. He was asked to arrange a pop tune for roll. The initial cut was so good that Bargy was quickly hired and the tune was put into their catalog. Straight cultivated Roy's arranging abilities as he was assigned to record novelties and popular songs. He soon challenged Bargy to compose some of his own novelties in an effort to compete with rising star Zez Confrey of QRS. Bargy came back with six of the Eight Piano Syncopations that were every bit as innovative as Confrey's (with whom he became a long-time friend), but his pieces were not quite as accessible to the average pianist.
It was Straight that introduced Bargy to booking agent Edgar Benson who had just formed a dance orchestra which was slated to record for Victor Records. Benson was impressed by Bargy's skills and took him on as both pianist and musical director. The Victor recordings of The Benson Orchestra, which were very progressive for the time, helped secure many other bookings for Bargy as a pianist and arranger for other recording bands such as Isham Jones. Roy married to his first wife Gretchen Butler, also from Toledo, around this time. Their daughter Jeanne Phyllis was born in 1922. Patricia followed in 1924. After creative conflicts with Benson in late 1921, Bargy left to launch his own orchestra, taking many members of Benson's group with him. He was helped by music entrepreneur Ernie Young, who managed not only to get Bargy's group booked for a solid year at the Trianon Ballroom in Chicago, but made certain that the group was the highest paid dance orchestra in the country in 1923. But the group disbanded after only a couple of years, after which Bargy joined the Isham Jones organization for a while. Roy traveled with that group to England and Europe in 1925, shown arriving back in the United States on the Mauretania on December 8, 1925. He had also done a couple of recordings with Arthur Pryor's band earlier in the year. In 1926 Bargy continued again with his own orchestra, this time playing at the Hotel Stevens in Chicago. In May 1927 Roy was signed by Ampico as a roll recording artist. Bargy then migrated to Paul Whiteman's orchestra 0n February 1, 1928, quickly becoming Whiteman's musical assistant. Whiteman had been looking for a sound beyond the conventional dance band, and Bargy's arrangements provided much of that sound, some of them commissioned even before he joined the orchestra. Bargy claimed he joined Whiteman's organization so he could go to Europe with the group, which did happen in short order. Roy's piano was the featured attraction in Whiteman's film debut of George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue in King of Jazz, released in 1930. Bargy was partially responsible for the symphonic arrangement of Rhapsody in Blue, which varied in many ways from the original jazz band arrangement by his colleague Ferdé Grofé. It was played at the Hollywood Bowl in the summer or fall of 1929 while the band was staying in Los Angeles waiting for King of Jazz filming to start. His pianistic skills were also utilized on some of the early recordings made by Whiteman's star singer, Bing Crosby and the famous Rhythm Boys. For the 1930 enumeration Roy was difficult to locate as he was on tour, although Gretchen and their two daughters were living in his home base of Toledo. During the 1930s when Bargy wasn't playing with Whiteman during the occasional hiatus of the group, he would again assemble his own orchestra to work during the tour breaks. He and his groups continued to record for Victor Records, and were frequently heard on national radio broadcasts, mostly on NBC stations. As a member of the Whiteman Orchestra Roy became one of the premier interpreters of Rhapsody in Blue, and as of 1938 likely held the record for the number of performances of the work by one pianist. Soon after it was premiered, he was also featured in many performances of Gershwin's highly challenging Concerto in F. Bargy was also the assistant conductor, put in charge whenever Whiteman left the podium. By 1936 Roy and Gretchen had divorced. On June 15, 1937 he was remarried to Virginia MacLean, two decades his junior, who he had met in Zanesville, Ohio, while on tour with Whiteman.In 1940, Bargy left Whiteman after a twelve year stint to arrange and conduct radio orchestras and bands. These included gigs with Lanny Ross (with whom he recorded some Irish tunes), Garry Moore, and famed Latin bandleader Xavier Cugat. As of the 1940 Census, taken in North Hempstead, Long Island, New York, Roy and Virginia had his daughter Patty was living with him, and he was listed as a musician in broadcasting. (Gretchen died in Ohio in 1946.) In a 1937 article published in Amarillo, Texas in September, 1937, Roy looked back on his fortunes and success. In spite of his lack of formal music education, Bargy said: "I certainly don't wish to discourage people from going to the conservatory and studying those courses which I did not have... Nevertheless, I believe the method I followed of studying privately with one excellent piano teacher for some seven or eight years, and the way I had to dig out my extra musical knowledge alone, was the best thing for me." When asked if his former instructor, Max Ecker, was proud of his achievements, he continued: "Proud of me? Oh no, he's disappointed! He thinks it's been very fine for me to be with a great orchestra like Whiteman's, but he doesn't think that is my field. He accepts the concert stage for me and nothing else." Bargy also made it clear that he liked his work on the radio more than anything else at that time. Comedian Jimmy Durante, himself a competent pianist who got his start playing at Coney Island during the ragtime era, hired Bargy as musical director in 1943, and it was in this capacity that he remained until both of them retired from show business two decades later. Bargy and his orchestra were featured on the radio weekly on the show that originally starred both Durante and Moore on NBC radio. When Moore went to TV, Durante re-teamed with Alan Young, and retained Bargy for radio and live appearances. Roy's daughter Jeanne had debuted at age 13 on WPSD radio in Toledo in the mid 1930s as "the Voice of the Blues." She started to make a name for herself as a pianist and singer in the mid 1940s, appearing at various venues around the country, and favoring the style of her mother's good friend, singer Mildred Bailey. Jeanne also had a stint on CBS radio from 1948 to 1949. While the circumstances are not fully clear yet, Roy and Virginia acquired two more children by adoption, who appear to be a brother and sister born in South Dakota. Roger Michael (MacLean) Bargy (03/08/1941) and Susan M. (MacLean) Bargy (c.1945), possibly the children of one of Virginia’s siblings, became members of the Bargy clan in the mid 1940s. An unfortunate accident involving a soda pop bottle exploding resulted in Roger losing his left eye in 1948, to which Roy sued the company (unnamed in the news reports) on Roger's behalf for $25,486. There were two bits of nostalgic resurgence involving Roy in the early 1950s. The first was a series of brilliant interpretations of his early piano novelties by performer Ray Turner, who was known as "The Hollywood Pianist" due to his soundtrack work that made actors sound like accomplished musicians. Turner's recordings for Capitol Records appeared both as solos on a 16" radio transcription and on two albums as well, the pioneering Honky Tonk Piano and Turner's own Kitten on the Keys. There was also a brief reunion of Roy with Paul Whiteman in 1953 when the two played along with others in a traveling revue. An ad for them in Reno in July, 1953, shows the "King of Jazz" on the same bill as the "Piano Extraordinary" of Bargy along with some teen-aged musical acts from Whiteman's television show. Unfortunately, performing became more difficult for Roy in the mid to late 1950s due to the onset of arthritis, so appearances by Bargy with Whiteman or Durante diminished throughout the decade. One of their last performances together was for Durante's Fiftieth Anniversary in Show Business special, broadcast in full color on NBC Television on August 9, 1961. Roy spent the remainder of his years in the California sunshine playing golf for enjoyment, but also helping his second wife Virginia with the Country Day School she founded in Vista, CA. Students have memories of him as both the cook for lunch time, as well as the entertainer from time to time for assemblies or casual afternoons. Their daughter, Jeanne, composed lyrics and some music for several stage productions throughout the 1960s with composer Jim Eiler, including some that were broadcast on NBC Television. Novelty pianist extraordinaire Roy Bargy died in his home in early 1974 after a fruitful career in music and helping with the Country Day School. It is reported that Virginia, who moved in with one of their daughters (likely Patricia) after his death, likely disposed of some additional compositions or arrangements that he had kept around their house. Roger (a.k.a. Michael) died in 1981 on Roy's birthday in San Diego. Virginia Bargy survived Roy until April, 2005, and Susan is still around as of this writing, as is Patricia. Although Bargy left behind only a few compositions, his contributions to recorded jazz are considerable but hard to measure because he left his imprint in so many places. Thanks to to ragtime researcher Robert Bradford, a friend of Susan Bargy, who was able to provide a few pieces of information on Bargy and his later years. The remaining information was culled by the author from public records, periodicals and collective writings on novelty piano, including piano roll catalogs. | |||||||||||
Jimmy Blythe represents another case of a working musician/composer who had some moderate success, yet very little is known about him outside of ragtime and boogie piano circles. He was born to former slaves turned sharecroppers Richard D. Blythe and Rena (Stovall) Blythe in South Keene, Kentucky, just southwest of Lexington. James was the youngest of five surviving siblings out of a total of eleven born to the couple. Others included Dovie (4/1880) who died in childhood, Bessie (7/1882), Effie (2/1886), Mary M. (11/1889), and Aubrey (7/1897). At least one sibling born after James had died by 1910.
The Blythe family was living together when the 1900 Census was taken before Jimmy's birth. However, by 1910 their situation had changed. They had moved to Lexington, and may have fallen on hard times in the process. Rena was working as a servant in the home of Florent Wilson. Effie and Mary were working as cooks and boarding with widow Emma Ross as well as a cousin, Lana Stovall. Richard and Jimmy were difficult to locate in that record or the 1910 Miracord, but it is known they were still living in Lexington with James working as a janitor or day laborer. The extent of Jimmy's early involvement with the piano is not well known, nor if he received any type of training in Lexington. Given the situation it seems that he may have learned simply by observing other ragtime performers and imitating their style. Not being found in the Census also suggests living conditions that probably precluded regular schooling.In the mid 1910s Effie married C.V. Merritt of Illinois and subsequently moved to south side of Chicago. Mary and her new husband Mario Slaughter were not far behind and moved in with the couple, as did Bessie. She also shows as having been married to a Mr. Clark, but her husband was not living with the rest of the group in 1920. Jimmy came to Chicago in the late 1910s (reports vary, but 1917 to 1918 seems most likely). In the January 1920 Census Jimmy is difficult to locate. He had been living with Effie, but was not present for the Census or had moved out of the Wabash Avenue home of his sisters. Once in Chicago Blythe hooked up with transplanted Ohio ragtime/blues pianist Clarence M. Jones, who was classically trained, but already had some ragtime song successes to his name. Jones ran his own studio in Chicago's south side. As jazz started to enter the musical lexicon he quickly adapted to it and was able to teach some of the art of performance to Jimmy. While little else is known of his time in Chicago from 1919 to 1922, it is likely Jimmy was also exposed to a number of fine pianists and band musicians, and had played in a few public venues. His break came in 1922 when Jimmy was hired by the Columbia Music Roll Company. He set to work recording popular songs and instrumentals of the day at a breakneck pace with increasing originality. Modeling some of his style on what he learned from Jones, Jimmy took the increasingly popular moving octave and boogie bass and applied them to some of the recordings, both for standard home use and multi-song commercial rolls. While not all of them are properly attributed, it has been estimated that Blythe recorded as many as three hundred rolls for Columbia, and then for Capital when the company was reorganized in 1924.In spite of the limitations of paper rolls which had varying note resolutions, no dynamics, and often only edited sustain pedal punchings, Blythe's excellent performance skills still cut through and his rolls became quite popular. He was able to take simple popular songs and create an engaging performance from them in short order. Many of these were taken from the simple sheet music and expanded to include blues riffs, stride or boogie-woogie bass, and even pseudo-novelty figures. Musicians around Chicago and beyond worked to emulate his engaging style as his fame grew. In April 1924 Blythe entered the recording studio and started to cut sides for Paramount Records (no affiliation with the film company of the same name). Some of his material, including songs written with his friend Alex J. Robinson, had already been covered by other artists on that label, so he had a head start. His first tracks, Armour Avenue Struggle and Chicago Stomp, had the rolling boogie-woogie blues bass pattern throughout. This ostensibly made him the first boogie-woogie pianist to be recorded on record, but verification or agreement of this fact is a matter of semantics on this point. It has also been suggested that his recording of Jimmie Blues from 1925 influenced Pine Top's Boogie Woogie recorded by Clarence "Pine Top" Smith in 1928, and some of the work of boogie-woogie player Albert Ammons. Over the next few years, Blythe recorded with a variety of his own ensembles, some assembled just for recording. These included in approximate order Blythe's Sinful Five, Jimmy Blythe and his Ragamuffins, Blythe's Washboard Band, Blythe's Washboard Ragamuffins, Blythe's Owls, The State Street Ramblers, The Dixie Four and The Midnight Rounders. Many of these ensembles featured clarinetist Jimmy O'Bryant who Blythe apparently favored. Jimmy also played on sessions with Jimmy Bertrand's Washboard Wizards, and two fine piano duets each with Jim "Buddy" Burton and Charlie Clark, who was the son of his sister Bessie, working at that time as a barber. Their single piano recording of Bow to Your Papa, reproduced on piano roll as Regal Stomp, has become a blues and stride classic. Paramount was not the only company looking to use Blythe. With his groups or other artists he also cut sides for Vocalion Records, Okeh Records, and Gennett and their subsidiary Champion Records. In addition, he worked with musicians like reed player Johnny Dodds and accompanied a number of singers such as Sodarisa Miller and Gertrude "Ma" Rainey, though not always properly credited. Collectively between his solo and ensemble records and his piano rolls, Jimmy accumulated a wealth of approximately five hundred recordings in just nine years, a feat that has rarely been paralleled, and for that time in society only approached by a couple of other African-American artists.While many of the left hand lines of Blythe's compositions and recordings have a similar theme or style, he still did manage some distinction in many of his original works. Some were recorded by other artists, and he even co-wrote some on the spot with performers, including Priscilla Stewart and Trixie Smith. The family was also in on the act as his sister Mary contributed to Have Mercy. Another contributor he met around 1924, an amateur pianist named Janice (sometimes Jannie) from Louisiana, became his wife near the end of the year. Together they composed Midnight Strutters. Jimmy's most frequent partner was singer Alex Robinson who was married to Aletha Dickerson of Paramount Records. Listings in the pioneering black newspaper The Chicago Defender, and occasionally in other Chicago papers, show Jimmy and Alex playing from time to time on Chicago radio station KYW in 1926 and 1927. Aletha's role should not be downplayed in the life of Jimmy or many black musicians. Starting as a secretary with Paramount she eventually helped to cultivate the talent and get their works published. In the case of Jimmy she got co-credit on at least two of his pieces. One of them, Fat Meat and Greens, was covered by no less than "Jelly Roll" Morton. Most of his compositions remained on record or piano roll. However, at least a couple were published by Chicago music school czar Axel Christensen, who also may have inadvertently taken credit for a couple more Blythe originals. His biggest hit, at least amongst performers, was Mecca Flat Blues, the title referencing a large and sometimes controversial apartment complex built in the 1890s. It also found its way into print in a Paramount produced folio arranged in part by Aletha Dickerson.
As of the 1930 Census Jimmy was living on South Michigan Avenue with Mary and her husband Mario, Bessie who had been recently widowed, and her son Charlie. He listed himself as a musician, while Mario was a janitor and Charlie was working for a barber. It appears that Janice, who very little is known about, was separated from Jimmy and living on East 44th Street. Both of them indicated that they were still married, however, so the circumstances are unclear. The couple never had children. Not quite a month after he turned 30, Blythe contracted meningitis and within a few days was gone. Fortunately a great deal of his piano work was left behind to be discovered by future generations of boogie-woogie and stride pianists, and is still performed decades later in the 21st century. His role in fostering the growth of boogie or boogie-woogie piano has been challenged over time. It was a style that evolved from barrelhouses, largely in the Chicago area, but boogie-woogie was also heard in Kansas City and even Texas concurrently with early Chicago boogie blues. What Blythe did was to use his talent and musical charisma to get the style heard, showing it could be applied to popular music, not just blues. While Clarence "Pine Top" Smith is known as the guy to set the template and helped to provide the name for boogie-woogie blues with his early recordings, Blythe preceded him in utilzing the same left-hand style both on piano rolls and records, and would undoubtedly have been a major player in that genre in the 1930s had he lived. | |||||||||||||
Rube Bloom was the third of five children born in New York City to Russian immigrants Abraham M. Bloom and Fannie J. Bloom. His siblings included Sidney Joseph (9/4/1898 - listed as Joseph in the 1900 Census), Helen Ann (3/1900 - listed as Annie in the 1900 Census), Harry (c.1905) and Milton (1906). Abraham came to the United States in 1888, followed by Fannie in 1895, and they were married in 1896. He was listed as a painter in a factory in the 1900 and 1910 Federal Census.
There has been some confusion over Rube's true birth name. While sometimes cited as Rueben, it is more consistently spelled Rubin or Ruben in early public records, not an uncommon spelling among Russian Jews.Details of Rube's years growing up are scant, including whether or not there was a piano in the family's home on Stockton Street. Whatever the circumstance, he quickly latched on to the piano, and it has been said that with virtually no formal training managed not only to learn to play, but to tackle the difficult concepts of harmony and theory on his own. A couple of later articles claimed that he had been, in fact, privately trained in composition and piano performance at some point, so the "no training" story is somewhat suspect, given his level of talent. It is unclear as to whether he eventually learned to transcribe his pieces or just used an arranger to do it for him. His obituary insisted that he composed directly on the piano and worked with arrangers to create both piano scores and orchestrations. By the age of 17 Rube was out working the vaudeville houses of Manhattan, sometimes touring a bit beyond, as a rock solid staple of any company he was in, usually working as an accompanist during this period. The 1920 Census shows Rube as a pianist in vaudeville. His father was now a shoemaker. Note that many historians insist his name was pronounced "Ruby" but at least one recording held by pianist Peter Mintun has it pronounced as "Rube" in his own voice. The music press helps confirm the former as they often used "Ruby" in print. While he was making his way from the vaudeville stage to the band stage, Bloom started concocting his own compositions. The first one, Indiana Moon, was a simple song, but it was followed by That Futuristic Rag, which was a launching point for his career as a composer. It shows a penchant for moving whole note harmonies that somehow remain congruous with the key signature. While the term "rag" was quickly become stale in the early 1920s, the format was actually advancing, relabeled as novelty piano. Bloom did not move in the same dynamic direction as Zez Confrey or Frank Banta, but this work stood up to them rather well. He would not record it until six years after its initial publication. That Futuristic Rag is still played nearly a century later, quite notably by the brilliant Frederick Hodges. Rube's reputation quickly grew, and as the jazz age began he found more work as a band pianist.
In addition, Rube was frequently tapped as an accompanist, a skill he refined during his vaudeville days. In the recording world breaking color barriers did not have the same impact as it did for live performances, so he got to work with some very fine black musicians, which further helped develop his playing and composition style in more of an African-American direction. Among the singers or instrumental soloists he backed, both jazz and classical, were Ruth Etting, Annette Hanshaw, Ethel Waters, Martha Copeland, guitarist Eddie Lang, Arthur Fields, Peggy English and The Kelly Sisters. The selected discography included here focuses on his feature and solo work, but his total easily tops sixty sides. For his first studio session at Gennet Records in 1924, Rube backed Beiderbecke, trombonist Miff Mole, and saxophonist Frankie Trumbauer for two tracks. One of them, Flock O' Blues, was his own composition, which later became known as the Carolina Stomp. It was said that Bix wanted to call the group the Davenport Six, honoring his home town in southeastern Iowa. However, Miff got the engineer to write down Sioux City Six because it was located at the extreme opposite end of the state. The band only recorded those two sides, but those takes still resonate with their obvious collective talent today. As for the Carolina Stomp version, upon its publication in 1925 it received some good press in The Music Trade Review of October 31: Rube Bloom, who plays a wicked piano, has just placed with the Triangle Music Co. his latest effort entitled "Carolina Stomp." Joe Davis, who does all the angling for the Triangle, says that twenty-four hours after he took the tune he set the number for a Victor and Columbia recording. The Charleston Trio is making it next week for the Victor, and Fletcher Henderson and His Band is making it for the Columbia. A special dance orchestration by Elmer Schoebel will be ready within the next ten days. This number looks like a Triangle success.
From late 1925 to early 1926, Rube further made a name for himself recording with the Hottentots (one of many groups using that name). Along with Mole, the group featured trumpeter Red Nichols who was headed for his own fame in the jazz world. One of their finer takes was on the Chinese Blues, penned by yet another future piano jazz star, Thomas "Fats" Waller. He also made a brief entry into the world of piano rolls, cutting a number of popular pieces in his own style for the Aeolian company on their Aeolian and Mel-O-Dee lines from late 1925 through late 1927. But there were two other pieces he wrote and recorded in early 1926 that helped to define who Rube Bloom was to the music world.Encouraged by the response to his playing and his earlier works and by Triangle Music publisher Joe Davis, Rube created two more fine progressive novelties in 1926. Spring Fever was an ambitious foray into that world, and was soon covered by a number of artists, including Bloom himself, and an early recording by Ray Turner who would help revive the genre in the 1950s. But it was Soliloquy: A Musical Thought that would stand as one of Rube's finest and most introspective piano solos, both in print and on record. It echoes some of the fine work he was doing as an accompanist for singer Ruth Etting, capturing elements of popular song (a paraphrase of My Mammy in one section) with the delicacy of parlor intermezzos. He would record the piece on a piano roll and at least three times on record over the next year along with Spring Fever. They were initially published by Davis through Triangle Music, but even after that catalog was acquired by publisher Jack Mills, both remained good sellers in the Mills catalog for many years. Many publishers also encouraged many novelty piano stars to create method books to engage the public. Bloom's first, published by Alfred Music in 1926, was 100 Jazz Breaks for Piano, giving the consumer a glimpse into the methods used by many jazz pianists to creatively "fill in the gaps" in the middle of a repeated chorus. Soliloquy also was published in a popular orchestral version, and was performed frequently over the next few years. Rube was called on to present it, with the orchestration, at a Modern Jazz Concert on February 19, 1926 at Symphony Hall in Boston, Massachusetts. The program was hosted by Columbia Records artist and orchestra leader Leo Reisman, and featured composer Ferde Grofé, plus black trumpeter Johnny Dunn playing some blues numbers. A follow-up to his two fine novelties was called for, and Bloom did not disappoint. In 1927 he crafted two more, Sapphire: A Musical Gem and Silhouette: A Musical Outline. The hype presented by publisher Joe Davis in the trades that April, he said "that these two numbers have unusual possibilities, and are great follows-ups for the previous novelties by the same writer, called 'Spring Fever' and 'Soliloquy.'" All four would play an unusual but important role in copyright law in years to come.With a busy recording and performance schedule throughout 1927, Bloom had little time for writing much more. His piano career was soaring, yet his personal life was a mystery. Rube was still living with his now-widowed mother and three brothers, although now they were now across the river from Manhattan in Brooklyn on Brooklyn Avenue in a larger home. Even though their sister had married, the brothers remained bachelors into the 1930s. Harry had become a lawyer, and Sidney was in the advertising business. Milton, on the other hand, followed his big brother into music as a trumpeter. No specific information was located to link them playing together in the same group or on a recording, but given the jazz world in New York City, there remains that possibility. Milton eventually moved to Los Angeles where he played and taught music for many years. In 1928 there was a new group of Bloom compositions to delight fans and vex amateur pianists. His three solo novelties for the year included Fannette, Serenata and Fleur De Lis published by Triangle. In the middle of the year he jumped to two other publishers, one in part because his novelty work was co-composed with two other writers. First was his Modern Jazz Piano Course published by the Robbins firm, a formidable rival to Jack Mills in the piano novelty genre. Then there was a new tune that was noteworthy enough to garner an announcement in the Music Trade Review of August 4, 1928: The Irving Berlin Standard Music Corp., New York, has recently released its first popular novelty tune, entitled "Jumping Jack," which is showing up well professionally and commercially. This number, written by Rube Bloom in collaboration with Bernie Seaman and Marvin Smolev, has been issued as a piano solo and also in dance orchestration form. "Jumping Jack" has been featured on several coast-to-coast radio hook-ups, and appears to be the type of novelty number which will be long lived. A new edition with lyrics will be off the press shortly and should open an additional field for the song.
It would go on to be included in the 1929 film The Show of Shows.
Rube went to England and Europe late in the summer for a brief performance tour, returning in September 1928. In an interview from that time he predicted that "a distinctive national schoool of music was being born in this country." Rube was certain that the United States would some day be the "musical center of the world. In the years to come there will arise a distinctive American music. Now it is in the embryonic stage. Music in the truly American idiom is 'blues,' which, of course, is Negroid in origin. Negro spirituals and 'blues' are practivally all our worthwhile folk music... But I think of music that is American in the future without being Negroid, but individual, expressive and representative of this country as a unit." Then another important event helped to increased Bloom's exposure as a composer, assuring him a bright future in that regard. The Victor Talking Machine Company held an open "$10,000 prize competition for the best concert composition within the playing scope of the American dance or jazz orchestra." Before the closing on October 29th, 1928, hundreds of entries were submitted. At the same time they were also offering a $25,000 prize for the best symphonic composition, a first in the music industry. The results were announced on December 28, 1928, and reported the next day in The Music Trade Review: ![]() ON Friday evening of this week the Victor Talking Machine Co. announced the winners of the prizes offered for short jazz compositions within the scope of the small American jazz or dance orchestra, the prizes being the largest ever offered for compositions of that character. The official announcement was made at a dinner given at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel at which John Philip Sousa presided, and the prizes were presented by Edward E. Shumaker, president of the Victor Talking Machine Co., after S. L. Rothafel, chairman of the Judges' Committee, had described the contest and the manner in which it was conducted. Thomas Griselle of Mount Vernon, N. Y., was awarded the first prize of $10,000 for his "Two American Sketches," and Rube Bloom of Brooklyn, N. Y., was named ,as winner of the second prize of $5,000 for his composition, "Song of the Bayou." The playing time of each number is less than five minutes.
The contest, which was announced last May, was open only to American citizens, and was designed by the Victor Co. to encourage the art of musical composition in America. Prizes were offered for the two best compositions "within the playing scope of the American dance, jazz, or popular concert orchestra, not hitherto published or performed in public." Hundreds of manuscripts were received from every section of the country, many of them being of such excellence that the judges' committee required two months to reach their final decision... Rube Bloom, winner of the second prize, is a native of New York. His study has been almost entirely with private teachers. During the past three years he has published several compositions, best known of which is "Soliloquy," a number that has been successfully played by several concert jazz orchestras. Other published works are "Sapphire," "Silhouette," "Serenata," and "'Fleur de Lis." Both prize compositions were broadcast over a large network of stations by a Victor orchestra under the direction of Nathaniel Shilkret... A Victor record with both compositions performed by Shilkret was also offered to the public on December 29th. Both winners were able to choose the publisher they wanted to release the work, and Rube picked the firm of Leo Feist. In short order, Song of the Bayou became a minor hit, and Rube was kept busy with appearances in both the US and Europe during this period. There were apparently no recordings made of him as a soloist or accompanist in 1929, with the exception of a few minor band sides. In the 1930 Census he is shown living in Brooklyn with his mother and three brothers, listed as a musician/pianist. Within a year or two he would move out and live on his own at 1025 St. John's Place, still in Brooklyn.
In spite of the exposure for his earlier novelties, now being published by the combined Triangle/Jack Mills Company, Rube was still riding on the fame from his Song of the Bayou win. To that end, at the close of 1929 he formed a band that was destined for recording gigs only, Rube Bloom and His Bayou Boys. Starting in January they recorded a total of six released sides by May, and some jazz historians regard these as some of the hottest records from the early part of the Great Depression. When you consider the lineup, that is no accident or understatement. Along with Rube on the piano, he engaged Manny Klein on trumpet, Tommy Dorsey on trombone, Benny Goodman on clarinet, Adrian Rollini on bass saxophone, Stan King on drums and vocalist Roy Evans at the microphone. They never performed live or on the radio.Unfortunately, the unfolding fiscal crisis triggered by the Wall Street failure created a substantial dent in the recording industry, and the public was migrating to radio, which was a much less expensive and more current form of entertainment. Revenue from radio appearances evidently became necessary for Rube because an early 1929 Broadway gossip column noted that he had dropped his $5,000 winning into Wall Street, obviously not knowing what would transpire in October. Victor tried made the most of Bloom's radio appearances, but it was not enough to stave off the collective woes of the country's financial crisis which quickly put many record and piano roll companies out of business. Fortunately Bloom had been working in radio since 1927, and was becoming increasingly familiar to listeners who could receive the New York stations, including WNAC and WABC. There were frequent advertisements in the papers throughout 1929 of his performances of Song of the Bayou and his other novelty works, so he was able to weather the storm relatively well. There was also a minor 1930 hit which really helped to launch his career as a songwriter. Rube had collaborated on a few tunes before, but The Man From the South (With a Big Cigar in His Mouth) penned with Harry Woods was the first that had life in the world of popular music. He also started a long collaboration with lyricist Ted Koehler with Puttin' It On For Baby that same year. They would improve on their skills and titles in short order. While recordings all but shut down for groups like Rube's and radio even let up a little, Bloom was still highly regarded, and was commissioned at the suggestion of Shilkret to complete a special composition for the somewhat ill-timed 1931 opening of the ostentatious new Empire State Building. A passage concerning this was reprinted in Joun Tauranac's 1997 book The Empire State Building: The Making of a Landmark: The contribution of the oil industry to the erection of the Empire State Building was 'strikingly dramatized' when a Mobiloil Concert hour was broadcast from the Empire State Building over NBC soon after the building opened, in June 1931. The drama hinged around the part played by Mobil in furnishing the oil that kept the machinery for building the great structure running smoothly.
The keynote of the program was the orchestra's rendition of Rube Bloom's "Manhattan Skyscraper," a composition said to have been inspired by the rising tower of the Empire State Building. Nathaniel Shilkret led the orchestra in playing Bloom's new piece, which was dedicated to Shilkret. While there was a lack of recording activity from mid-1930 to late 1934, there was no lack of creative composition. In 1931 Rube released Moods: A Modern Piano Suite, which consisted of five different "moods." They were simply named - Metropolitan, Valse Petite, Gypsy, Blues and Primitive - with each one musically describing their respective title. There were a few other instrumentals that year, including Spring Holiday and Aunt Jemima's Birthday but Bloom also began working with a few fairly well known lyricists, putting some songs into circulation. There were no hits at that time, but his name did sell a few copies here and there.
Bloom either took a break over the next couple of years, or had trouble finding much more than occasional work on radio, and his output was light. He took a trip to Bermuda in the spring of 1933, but little other activity that was newsworthy. One song, Stay on the Right Side of the Road, was recorded by Bing Crosby, doing well on the radio. In 1934 Rube released a few songs, and at the end of the year recorded his final two known piano solos for Victor, Penthouse Romance and On the Green. Fortunately, some of the best was ahead for him, and he got a second wind in 1935. The famous Cotton Club in Harlem, which had long provided black entertainment for white patrons, was undergoing some changes in management (which had reportedly been by crime bosses of the 1920s and 1930s including Owney Madden) and personnel, particularly with the departure of Cab Calloway who had achieved great fame there with Minnie the Moocher and his Hi-De-Ho style. A revue was commissioned in 1935 and lyricist/producer Ted Koehler chose Bloom to write the music. The two had worked together before, and this collaboration on The Cotton Club Parade for 1935 turned out some fine numbers, including Dinah Lou and the instantly catchy Truckin'. Some reviews of the show intimated that it sounded like it was written by a black composer, a compliment to Rube, but this was also in part due to the delivery by the black cast. Truckin' retained its status a popular dance tune for many decades. The following year, Rube teamed up with a young Johnny Mercer, the singer and eventual founder of Capitol Records, for Lew Leslie's annual "all colored musical revue," this one the Blackbirds of 1936. The show did not yield any notable hits, but it was fairly well received when it opened in May 1936. The production was staged in London, so Rube played for a while in England in the late spring and early summer of 1936, returning to the United States in late July for a short run at the Gaiety Theater in Manhattan. It was not the end of his collaboration with Mercer, however. This work may have led to Rube writing music underscore and cues for a 1937 film, The Public Wedding. Song of the Bayou was released around the same time with lyrics added, and a revised version of Blackbirds was presented in late 1938. Rube's big hit of that year, penned with Koehler, was I Can't Face The Music (Without Singin' the Blues), covered by several artists.In 1939 Bloom and Koehler were again engaged to provide tunes for a special Worlds Fair Edition of the Cotton Club Parade. Opening in February, it received a good amount of press, and yielded a couple more hits, including The Ghost of Smokey Joe and Don't Worry 'Bout Me, that latter one which would have a long shelf life. Day In - Day Out also had decent coverage beyond the show. Some of this publicity reignited interest in Bloom's earlier solo works, so they were kept in circulation by Mills into the 1940s. As of the 1940 enumeration, bachelor Rube was living with his mother Fannie and brother Milton in Brooklyn, listed as a song writer for a music publisher. From 1940 forward Bloom's work was sparse at best. While not completely retiring at age 38, he did ease up on his activities a bit, playing as an accompanist or in dance bands. He managed one fine number with Mercer in 1940, Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear to Tread), which was covered by a wide spectrum of artists for many years, including crooners Tony Martin and Frank Sinatra, both already associated with several Bloom numbers. Another, Take Me, with Mack David, became a 1940s hit for the Benny Goodman and Dorsey Brothers' orchestras. Three more songs, this time with Harry Ruby, made it into the 1946 post-war film Wake Up and Dream. Of those, one in particular became a standard for both singers and jazz musicians, Give Me the Simple Life. While there were no more big hits to come from his hand, Bloom put out a handful of works with other lyricists over the next 15 years, culminating with Everybody's Twistin' composed with Koehler during the twist craze of 1962. The United States Government teamed up with ASCAP in 1955 to sponsor an overseas tour to entertain the troops stationed around the world, particularly in Germany, France and North Africa. Rube played in several locations during this trip, which was both for morale and publicity. However, his style of music, which enjoyed yet another view during the first ragtime revival of the early 1950s, was quickly being overtaken by the upsurge of more youthful forms, most notably rhythm and blues, and rock and roll.
Rube was, however, involved in a lawsuit that had an impact on copyright law, particularly on the topic of whether renewal was the right of the incumbent owner or should be open game. His suit was led by well-known music lawyer Lee Eastman, the father of Linda Eastman who would eventually marry Paul McCartney, who also hired Eastman to secure rights to his own work. As noted in the May 19, 1956 of Billboard: Bloom Sues Mills on Copyright Renewals [Lee Eastman] last week filed suit here [New York City] in behalf of client songwriter Rube Bloom against Mills Music for a declaratory judgment on copyright renewal rights for four of his tunes... "What happened in the first 28 years [of copyright] doesn't matter" said Eastman... In the Bloom case, Eastman... is taking the position that Congress intended the copyright renewal "should be a suject of independent action," as opposed to the current pattern wherein Eastman contends) a writer signs away his renewal rights on "printed pro forma forms which were not the subject of negotiation or discussion with respect to renewal copyright of any kind whatsoever."
Eastman had presented a similar case for Hoagy Carmichael and his composition Stardust, which was ultimately settled out of court. However, The bloom suit concerned renewals on his four most famous instrumental tunes, Spring Fever, Soliloquy, Sapphire and Silhouette. They eventually found in favor of Bloom, and made case law. This allowed for a review of interested parties with legitimate claims to be considered by the copyright office in the Library of Congress for owning the renewal of a copyright either by transfer or by right of having created the work in the first place, rather than the assumed right of renewal by the party currently owning the copyright. This topic would revisited over 40 years later in the so-called Disney/Bono legislation of 1998, which further extended the rights in favor of the original composer instead of their publisher, many cases still in contention concerning the clarity of both the Bloom case (and that of Euday Bowman's 12th Street Rag) and the recent changes in the law.
There was a new surge of interest in Rube's musical style in the late 1960s, and in his late 60s he came back out to perform with Joe Venuti for some reunion concerts in New York. His tunes were further revived in the late 1960s and early 1970s by pianist Dick Wellstood, who recorded some post ragtime novelties in 1973. The only other activity that he was occasionally noted for was trips to the track, as he had taken quite a liking to horse racing, as an observer and bettor. Bloom otherwise largely shied away from the public eye during his last few years. Rube died at the end of March 1976, just as the second ragtime revival was starting to expand beyond the school of Scott Joplin and Joseph Lamb, and many of the fine early novelty works were finding new popularity among pianists and collectors. According to his obituary in the New York Times, "A maid found him dead on the floor of his room Tuesday [March 30] in the Hotel Consulate in mid-Manhattan. A friend said he had recently complained of an ulcer but it was not known if he had undergone any treatment." He was interred at Beth David Cemetery in Elmont, New York. Three weeks later on April 20, syndicated columnist of the Voice of Broadway, Jack O'Brian had perhaps the last fitting word on Rube's sometimes misunderstood but always important role in American music: [A New York] paper gave great Tin Pan Alley Rube Bloom a totally unconscious compliment in its obituary: Rube Wrote Cotton Club shows, for a London "Blackbirds of 1936" and deep-south chamber pieces like his "Song of the Bayou." A rewrite-man-in-a-hurry labeled him "the self-taught black composer." Rube was a Yankee Doodle Jewish boy, one of our old friends, a great talent totally revolted by the rock-nonsense. Rube admired black music and soul so much he mastered the Negro mood perfectly. He and Johnny Mercer recently wrote several fine songs - they couldn't even get them recorded!
More than three decades later many of his best pieces are still being performed and recorded, making Mr. Bloom timeless. Not bad for a "self-taught" "Yankee Doodle Jewish boy."
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Jimmy Blythe represents another case of a working musician/composer who had some moderate success, yet very little is known about him outside of ragtime and boogie piano circles. He was born to former slaves turned sharecroppers Richard D. Blythe and Rena (Stovall) Blythe in South Keene, Kentucky, just southwest of Lexington. James was the youngest of five surviving siblings out of a total of eleven born to the couple. Others included Dovie (4/1880) who died in childhood, Bessie (7/1882), Effie (2/1886), Mary M. (11/1889), and Aubrey (7/1897). At least one sibling born after James had died by 1910.
The Blythe family was living together when the 1900 Census was taken before Jimmy's birth. However, by 1910 their situation had changed. They had moved to Lexington, and may have fallen on hard times in the process. Rena was working as a servant in the home of Florent Wilson. Effie and Mary were working as cooks and boarding with widow Emma Ross as well as a cousin, Lana Stovall. Richard and Jimmy were difficult to locate in that record or the 1910 Miracord, but it is known they were still living in Lexington with James working as a janitor or day laborer. The extent of Jimmy's early involvement with the piano is not well known, nor if he received any type of training in Lexington. Given the situation it seems that he may have learned simply by observing other ragtime performers and imitating their style. Not being found in the Census also suggests living conditions that probably precluded regular schooling.In the mid 1910s Effie married C.V. Merritt of Illinois and subsequently moved to south side of Chicago. Mary and her new husband Mario Slaughter were not far behind and moved in with the couple, as did Bessie. She also shows as having been married to a Mr. Clark, but her husband was not living with the rest of the group in 1920. Jimmy came to Chicago in the late 1910s (reports vary, but 1917 to 1918 seems most likely). In the January 1920 Census Jimmy is difficult to locate. He had been living with Effie, but was not present for the Census or had moved out of the Wabash Avenue home of his sisters. Once in Chicago Blythe hooked up with transplanted Ohio ragtime/blues pianist Clarence M. Jones, who was classically trained, but already had some ragtime song successes to his name. Jones ran his own studio in Chicago's south side. As jazz started to enter the musical lexicon he quickly adapted to it and was able to teach some of the art of performance to Jimmy. While little else is known of his time in Chicago from 1919 to 1922, it is likely Jimmy was also exposed to a number of fine pianists and band musicians, and had played in a few public venues. His break came in 1922 when Jimmy was hired by the Columbia Music Roll Company. He set to work recording popular songs and instrumentals of the day at a breakneck pace with increasing originality. Modeling some of his style on what he learned from Jones, Jimmy took the increasingly popular moving octave and boogie bass and applied them to some of the recordings, both for standard home use and multi-song commercial rolls. While not all of them are properly attributed, it has been estimated that Blythe recorded as many as three hundred rolls for Columbia, and then for Capital when the company was reorganized in 1924.In spite of the limitations of paper rolls which had varying note resolutions, no dynamics, and often only edited sustain pedal punchings, Blythe's excellent performance skills still cut through and his rolls became quite popular. He was able to take simple popular songs and create an engaging performance from them in short order. Many of these were taken from the simple sheet music and expanded to include blues riffs, stride or boogie-woogie bass, and even pseudo-novelty figures. Musicians around Chicago and beyond worked to emulate his engaging style as his fame grew. In April 1924 Blythe entered the recording studio and started to cut sides for Paramount Records (no affiliation with the film company of the same name). Some of his material, including songs written with his friend Alex J. Robinson, had already been covered by other artists on that label, so he had a head start. His first tracks, Armour Avenue Struggle and Chicago Stomp, had the rolling boogie-woogie blues bass pattern throughout. This ostensibly made him the first boogie-woogie pianist to be recorded on record, but verification or agreement of this fact is a matter of semantics on this point. It has also been suggested that his recording of Jimmie Blues from 1925 influenced Pine Top's Boogie Woogie recorded by Clarence "Pine Top" Smith in 1928, and some of the work of boogie-woogie player Albert Ammons. Over the next few years, Blythe recorded with a variety of his own ensembles, some assembled just for recording. These included in approximate order Blythe's Sinful Five, Jimmy Blythe and his Ragamuffins, Blythe's Washboard Band, Blythe's Washboard Ragamuffins, Blythe's Owls, The State Street Ramblers, The Dixie Four and The Midnight Rounders. Many of these ensembles featured clarinetist Jimmy O'Bryant who Blythe apparently favored. Jimmy also played on sessions with Jimmy Bertrand's Washboard Wizards, and two fine piano duets each with Jim "Buddy" Burton and Charlie Clark, who was the son of his sister Bessie, working at that time as a barber. Their single piano recording of Bow to Your Papa, reproduced on piano roll as Regal Stomp, has become a blues and stride classic. Paramount was not the only company looking to use Blythe. With his groups or other artists he also cut sides for Vocalion Records, Okeh Records, and Gennett and their subsidiary Champion Records. In addition, he worked with musicians like reed player Johnny Dodds and accompanied a number of singers such as Sodarisa Miller and Gertrude "Ma" Rainey, though not always properly credited. Collectively between his solo and ensemble records and his piano rolls, Jimmy accumulated a wealth of approximately five hundred recordings in just nine years, a feat that has rarely been paralleled, and for that time in society only approached by a couple of other African-American artists.While many of the left hand lines of Blythe's compositions and recordings have a similar theme or style, he still did manage some distinction in many of his original works. Some were recorded by other artists, and he even co-wrote some on the spot with performers, including Priscilla Stewart and Trixie Smith. The family was also in on the act as his sister Mary contributed to Have Mercy. Another contributor he met around 1924, an amateur pianist named Janice (sometimes Jannie) from Louisiana, became his wife near the end of the year. Together they composed Midnight Strutters. Jimmy's most frequent partner was singer Alex Robinson who was married to Aletha Dickerson of Paramount Records. Listings in the pioneering black newspaper The Chicago Defender, and occasionally in other Chicago papers, show Jimmy and Alex playing from time to time on Chicago radio station KYW in 1926 and 1927. Aletha's role should not be downplayed in the life of Jimmy or many black musicians. Starting as a secretary with Paramount she eventually helped to cultivate the talent and get their works published. In the case of Jimmy she got co-credit on at least two of his pieces. One of them, Fat Meat and Greens, was covered by no less than "Jelly Roll" Morton. Most of his compositions remained on record or piano roll. However, at least a couple were published by Chicago music school czar Axel Christensen, who also may have inadvertently taken credit for a couple more Blythe originals. His biggest hit, at least amongst performers, was Mecca Flat Blues, the title referencing a large and sometimes controversial apartment complex built in the 1890s. It also found its way into print in a Paramount produced folio arranged in part by Aletha Dickerson.
As of the 1930 Census Jimmy was living on South Michigan Avenue with Mary and her husband Mario, Bessie who had been recently widowed, and her son Charlie. He listed himself as a musician, while Mario was a janitor and Charlie was working for a barber. It appears that Janice, who very little is known about, was separated from Jimmy and living on East 44th Street. Both of them indicated that they were still married, however, so the circumstances are unclear. The couple never had children. Not quite a month after he turned 30, Blythe contracted meningitis and within a few days was gone. Fortunately a great deal of his piano work was left behind to be discovered by future generations of boogie-woogie and stride pianists, and is still performed decades later in the 21st century. His role in fostering the growth of boogie or boogie-woogie piano has been challenged over time. It was a style that evolved from barrelhouses, largely in the Chicago area, but boogie-woogie was also heard in Kansas City and even Texas concurrently with early Chicago boogie blues. What Blythe did was to use his talent and musical charisma to get the style heard, showing it could be applied to popular music, not just blues. While Clarence "Pine Top" Smith is known as the guy to set the template and helped to provide the name for boogie-woogie blues with his early recordings, Blythe preceded him in utilzing the same left-hand style both on piano rolls and records, and would undoubtedly have been a major player in that genre in the 1930s had he lived. | |||||||||||||
Lou Busch was born to William H. Bush and Irene A. (Eruwein) Bush in Louisville, Kentucky in the midst of the ragtime era and the jazz age. He had an older brother, Richard H. Bush, born in late 1908. When Louis was born his parents were living with Irene's family, the Eruweins. Anna's father Peter was born in France in 1849, but migrated to Kentucky when he was only four years old. In the 1920 Census the Bush family is shown living in Louisville at 731 32nd Street with William listed as a laundry salesman.
Even though the family name was Bush, Lou added the c for Busch at some point in the 1920s, largely for the uniqueness it provided. The change was likely for stage purposes and not completed legally. One of his California death records indicates Busch while another one plus his Social Security and Army enlistment records indicate Bush. Truly blessed with an inherent music talent, he was already leading a ragtime and jazz band by the time he was 12 years old. At 13 Lou led a combo called Lou Bush and His Tickle Toe Four. At 16 he left school and home for a career as a professional musician, playing with the likes of "Hot Lips" Henry Busse, Clyde McCoy and George Olson. One travel manifest shows him working with the McCoy band on a cruise to the Bahamas in 1929. Louisville was still considered his home base, as he was listed there with his brother and parents in the 1930 Census as an orchestra musician.
Following his music education break, Busch became the pianist for Hal Kemp's "sweet music" band for the remainder of the 1930s. Lou also honed his arranging skills, being offered an arranging position when arranger John Scott Trotter left the band in 1936. This position was shared with another key arranger, Hal Mooney, and was invaluable experience for both of them. The Kemp Orchestra had been making short sound films since 1928, and Lou appeared in a few of them between 1936 and 1938, as well as some recordings by the group. The 1940 Census taken on April 8 found Lou at home with his parents and older brother in Louisville, listed as an orchestra musician, probably on a break from touring. The band continued working through most of 1940. However, after Kemp died December 21, 1940 from complications suffered during a head on automobile crash two days earlier, the group quickly disbanded. Busch and Mooney made their way to California in early 1941 to work as studio musicians and at whatever gigs they could find. This was interrupted by World War Two, which presented an opportunity for Busch to hone both his musical and production skill set. Busch enlisted on July 27, 1942, in Los Angeles, and was considered immediately for entertainment duty, as his Civil Occupation is shown as a musician and the branch is shown as "Branch Immaterial - Warrant Officers, USA." Busch and many others in his field were considered highly valuable for morale in their entertainment roles. So many groups of musicians were assigned to play behind radio or film stars, and some were also involved with set traveling shows, often performing near the front when not on broadcast duty. Private, and later Lieutenant Busch ultimately spent three years in the Army, utilizing his musical talents from time to time during the war as part of the 1st Radio Production Group of the Army Air Corps. (Glenn Miller headed up the 2nd RPG.) Even this early in his career, Lou did make the news from time to time. While he was in the band he met the band's singer and soon to be Hollywood actress, (Martha) Janet Blair. According to an October 1942 syndicated news item from Hollywood's Louella O. Parsons: "Now we understand why [actress] Janet Blair is not one bit interested in the boys around town. Her heart is in the keeping of Private Lou Busch, stationed at Fort MacArthur and formerly an arranger with the late Hal Kemp's Orchestra. Oh, it is not a new thing by any means. Janet met Lou when she was the canary with the same band and talk is that the gal who is sure to zoom to stardom after My Sister Eileen is released will wed Private Busch very soon." In fact Janet did wed Lieutenant Busch on July 12, 1943. After his tour of duty, Busch decided to dive back into the music business, but desired a more stable position than just a musician. It was around this time that singer Johnny Mercer was recruiting artists and employees for his recently formed label, Capitol Records, so Busch was hired for the radio transcription service in 1946. At the same time he was working part-time with Columbia Pictures recording songs for films. In 1948, Busch was hired full-time at Capitol and put in charge of production of promotional radio shows featuring Capitol artists for distribution to stations around the country. He also helped to score and produce famous cuts from the label including Bonaparte's Retreat by Kay Starr and both Yingle Bells and I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas by Yogi Yorgesson (comedian Harry Stewart. By 1949 Lou had been promoted to A&R (Artist and Repertoire) man given his considerable talent and contacts. During this time he also served as a pianist for studio groups backing singers such as Peggy Lee, "Tennessee" Ernie Ford and Jo Stafford. In early 1950 Lou and Janet split, with Janet claiming mental cruelty and casting Busch as a "born bachelor." Lou was quoted as saying "There will be no sensational charges. We just drifted apart." The couple was divorced in short order after a March 1 hearing. He got married again in August, this time to Capitol singer and rising star Margaret Whiting. She had recently divorced Hubbell Robinson, vice president of CBS Radio. Their daughter, Deborah Louise "Debbi" Busch (now Whiting), was born in October. In a September 1950 interview, Margaret worried that "her baby will sing like her husband, Lou Busch, and play the piano like she, herself does."Three events from this time, all having to do with Capitol Records, helped spur the ragtime revival of the 1950s. Interest in the music of the late 1910s through the 1920s had been growing out of San Francisco for nearly a decade, particularly through Lu Watters, Wally Rose and the Yerba Buena Jazz Band, so the seed had been planted. The first event was bandleader W. Gerhart "Pee Wee" Hunt's surprise hit with Twelfth Street Rag, something recorded simply to use up time at the end of a broadcast transcription in 1948 as a bit of a joke. Since Busch was involved with radio transcriptions as part of his job at the time, he may have been responsible for editing or distributing this particular session. The cut was requested by listeners so often upon broadcast that the demand warranted a single release, and it soon became a runaway hit. The following summer, Busch backed singer Jo Stafford and conductor Paul Weston on the hit record, Ragtime Cowboy Joe. He was also uncredited on the Ray Anthony recording of Spaghetti Rag, another sizable hit. These successes and the moderate hit Sam's Song from late 1949 encouraged both Lou and the label to release his own original single, Ivory Rag, early in 1950. Over the spring it became a bigger hit than the previous two in both the U.S. and overseas. It was also the first piece incorporated into the Crazy Otto Medley by German pianist Fritz Schulz-Reichel, which was later associated with Johnny Maddox in the U.S. These events coupled with the 1950 release of the book They All Played Ragtime by Rudi Blesh and Harriet Janis, gave indications that ragtime might yet live again. Busch decided to produce one of the new Capitol 10" long play (LP) records of the music, and recorded pieces by himself, Ray Turner and Marvin Ash for Honky Tonk Piano, released in April 1950. The Honky-Tonk reference, more often identified as a Country Music term, is likely in conjunction with the type of "joint" the music was played, but the sound of the piano might also apply, as they sometimes used hardened hammers or detuning to alter the tone. However, instead of just piano, Busch and company followed the lead of the traditional jazz revivalists of the late 1940s and added percussion and bass. The whimsical style coupled with clever arrangements made the records accessible to a public craving nostalgia, and Capitol's distribution helped make Honky Tonk Piano a big hit for many years.
Margaret Whiting said today that old wheeze about husbands and wives not working well together is a bunch of hooey. She's got her old man to thank for a whole new career. He's Lou Busch, a minor musical genius when it comes to singing or arranging or plinking out a hot tune on the piano. No slouch at launching a gal on a night club tour either. Even when the gal's his wife. "I was scared to death," Maggie said. "All I'd ever done was radio and records and a few TV guest shots. But night clubs are full of real people. You have to compete with filet mignons and halibuts. And leave us face it, sometimes the halibut wins out." Busch talked her into it, and then, Maggie said, went out and did everything but sing the songs for her. "He picked out my numbers, arranged them, conducted the orchestra, and set up the mikes and the lighting," she explained. "He even told me what kind of gowns to buy. Now he's got me broken in," she said, her fingers crossed. "And just to show you how wrong people can be, we haven't had a single fight in all this time. The only things we fight about are things we don't work together on. And he's always right. In fact, he's always right about my career, too. Never saw such a man. He told me how to stand up to a mike... what to do with my hands... and how to treat hecklers. "That's what worried me most. On radio or TV people come because they want to hear you. But in a night club they're just sitting there DARING you to please them. Lou warned me there'd be people who'd talk while I was singing. And there were. He told me the drunks would probably holler during my most dramatic ballads. And they did. He even warned me about people who threw pennies at entertainers. So far that hasn't happened. But it might some day. Like I say, Lou's always right. Which probably accounts for the reason Maggie and Lou never fight. Who's gonna battle with a dame who thinks you're wonderful? In later interviews Margaret continued to assert that Lou was largely responsible for her early success and grooming as a singer. However, things turned the corner for the couple within the year. Syndicated news reports started appearing as early as November 1952 stating that "Margaret Whiting and hubby Lou Busch are straining at the marriage ties." Their separation was publicly announced in March 1953. Gossip made the newspapers in April when Margaret was linked up with her agent, Phil Loeb, cited as a primary reason for the separation, although there were likely other overriding reasons. Among them, according to claims made in court by Margaret, were flying dishes in their household. They finalized things in late December 1953. Busch reacted to the situation largely by burying himself in his work with Capitol, performing more in nightclubs, and turning out a number of good ragtime albums.
Taking on the persona of Joe "Fingers" Carr, Busch released a succession of ragtime albums and singles throughout the 1950s that remained popular well into the mid 1960s. He later admitted that the early recordings were filled with some gimmicks (particularly the Ragtime Band releases), but eventually settled down to record the music more authentically, albeit with his easily recognizable licks and playing style. On the origin of his alter ego's name, Lou said: "I figured there was a real need for some straight ragtime piano, so I worked up some arrangements. Lou Busch isn't much of a ragtime name and I'd long had this 'Fingers' idea floating around. That led to Lou 'Fingers' Busch, but I knew that wouldn't have any appeal.
It was later noted that Lou's ability to play ragtime at all was fairly surprising as, unlike many of the great ragtime performers that preceded him, such as Eubie Blake or Willie "The Lion" Smith, or even his contemporary Dick Hyman, Lou had fairly small hands. As a result, he could not stretch as far as many other pianists, making the playing of tenths very difficult. What this limitation did was to refine his style so that he played more towards the center of the keyboard using richer left hand chords. It is also the primary reason why all of his albums, with one exception, had an ensemble accompanying him, and on some of them he even double tracked his playing for more spectacular results. That one exception was Parlor Piano, of which the final track, Home Sweet Home, is the only example of Busch playing syncopated piano without at least his usual bass and drums. Lou's biggest hits from the 1950s include Portuguese Washerwomen, Sam's Song, a cover of Del Wood's version of Down Yonder (a hit for many other pianists as well), and the international hit Zambezi, later covered in 1982 by the British group, The Piranhas. Some of the singles include his vocal backup group, the cleverly-named Carr Hopps. As of 1955 he was the only Capitol artist with a contract allowing him to appear under three different names - Joe "Fingers" Carr, Joe Carr and the Joy Riders (a re-working of the Carr Hopps), and his original stage name, Lou Busch. Of all the albums Lou recorded for Capitol, including one of the first stereophonic ragtime albums ever, his 1956 opus Mister Ragtime was perhaps the most memorable. Calling on some of the best and a few of the more obscure piano rags, including a redux on an earlier take of 12th Street Rag originally released in 1952, Busch was able to balance the honky-tonk image with respectable and well-arranged performances of real ragtime. Other Capitol albums included two with his ragtime band, one of them clearly a response to the popularity of The Firehouse Five Plus Two, and a pair of albums recorded with the band of Pee Wee Hunt, highly stylized and arrangements of ragtime songs with a Dixieland twist. Often overlooked are several mainstream and jazz sides he recorded as Lou Busch, featuring exciting band or orchestral arrangements. One early release, Roller Coaster, became the end theme music for What's My Line for many years. Now and then a well-crafted single would emerge, such as Cool from West Side Story or Memories of You in response to The Benny Goodman Story. In 1957 he was finally either encouraged or allowed (accounts vary) to release an album of his orchestrations, Lazy Rhapsody, which was one of his first stereophonic recordings. On this album he still managed to touch on ragtime with soft renditions of the original novelty Nola and a rich orchestration of In a Mist by tragic jazz pioneer artist Bix Beiderbecke. Never big sellers, they were still often played on the radio for many years along with cuts by groups like Capitol's Hollyridge Strings and the two piano arrangements of Ferrante and Teicher. He also orchestrated and produced some other Capitol hits, including 26 Miles Across the Sea, the first major recording by The Four Preps. In late 1958 or early 1959 Lou left Capitol for Warner Brothers Records where he took on the same general responsibilities as a producer and A&R man. When the ragtime revival died down he focused more on arranging and conducting responsibilities again, one of the most notable being the musical force behind comic singer Allan Sherman. It was Lou's talents that helped bring out the best comical aspects of Sherman, and gave his tunes, and lyrics, the great comic punch that fit so well with Sherman's delivery. Lou also spent a great deal of time working up a television show for Sherman that did not last terribly long in spite of the comedian's popularity. He even contributed musical settings to a Los Angeles area production of Moliere's The Amorous Flea in 1964. Continuing to work through the late 1960s, including guest appearances as a conductor at the famous Cocoanut Grove in Los Angeles, Lou was elected as the national treasurer of the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences for at least two terms. A few later albums were released on the ragtime-centric DOT label, and in the late 1970s he produced one more effort with friend and jazz pianist Lincoln Mayorga, complete with a couple of new tunes, The Brinkerhoff Piano Company. The pair had been performing under that title since at least 1975, doing live performances through Southern and Central California. Lou had actually helped Lincoln get his first ragtime album produced in 1958, which was recorded under the name Brooke Pemberton, and the remained good friends until Lou's death.
Although it has been reported that Lou rarely performed ragtime publicly, his daughter Debbi notes that he did some tours for Capitol in the 1950s, including a substantial one to Australia in 1956 with Stan Freberg and Don Cornell. She also asserted that he was generally a "big ham" when it came to being on stage. The Allan Sherman albums, although live, were generally recorded for invited guests in a Warner Brothers studio. He was persuaded by Dave Jasen to participate in a ragtime concert at the C.W. Post Center on Long Island in October 1976 in his guise as Joe "Fingers" Carr. Others in that concert included Jasen, Neville Dickie, Bob Seeley, Dick Wellstood, and Dick Hyman. In the mid to late 1970s of course there were the live performances with Mayorga and others in Southern and Central California. Busch also occasionally still made the news for non-ragtime or music related reasons. One particularly visible tongue in cheek commentary was an editorial of his published in the October 1, 1975 Los Angeles Times. During a particularly turbulent time in American history following Watergate and Vietnam, he made a call for some positive thinking. "One of the high spots of my day occurs around 7:30 a.m. when... I turn to the 'Letters to the Times; section of your newspaper. What drama! What controversy! And what a marvelous source of information for keeping up-to-date with the 'Game...' 'Find The Villian And Blame Everything On him.' Presumably the result is a nice warm glow of satisfaction to the searcher for, having found the source of all the trouble, he need worry no further... My checklist so far includes (but not necessarily in this order): the President, past Presidents, Vice Presidents, Congress, the Cabinet, conservatives (all shades), liberals (all shades), oil companies, General Motors, bankers, interest rates, the Federal Reserve Board, the media (and anti-media), the Sierra Club, the lumber interests and more coming! If you would permit a suggestion. I believe that setting a limit of only on 'Villain' to a customer would make the arguments more concise and also serve to concentrate the contributor's livid anger on a single target... With the hope you are not adverse to a positive statement once in a while, I would like to thank you and your Letters contributors for helping to get my heart started in the morning. LOU BUSCH, Beverly Hills." Lou Busch met a tragic end in an automobile accident on a foggy Camarillo highway near his home in October 1979. Lou and Lincoln had been planning another benefit concert of Brinkerhoff material that evening. Busch was interred in the Westwood Village Mortuary near UCLA. Fortunately for all of us he left behind an exciting and well documented musical legacy and a lot of smiling faces and tapping toes. I would like to add a personal note of thanks to Debbi Whiting, daughter of Lou and Margaret, who along with me has been championing the legacy of her father and collecting information for his biography and perhaps more exciting future developments to honor Lou. Note also that he has been officially well-regarded by his home town of Louisville, KY, and was the finest left-handed (piano) slugger to ever emerge from there. The remaining information was collected by the author from public records, newspapers and periodicals, and various remembrances by and interviews of Capitol Records and Warner Brothers personnel. | ||||||||||||||||
As there has been so much written on the life of Charlie Chaplin, this biography will largely focus on and take into context the parts of his life as a composer and musician, while still covering the major events and time line. Chaplin was not really a ragtime composer per se, but he did what he could to keep music viable in his films by directing the use of certain pieces or genres of pieces, and eventually composing them as well. Many of these works made it into print as far back as the mid 1910s, and a handful endure today. So his music was born out of the melding of ragtime and popular music as it accompanied early silent films, and therefore he should be not be ignored as a composer who drew on that era for some of his work. But he went well beyond that, as will be seen here, and should further be acknowledged for the boldness he displayed in scoring some of his later films as well, putting him also in the category of film composer.Early Years
Charles Spencer Chaplin was born in England to Charles Chaplin and Hannah (Hill) Chaplin, both performers in London music halls. Name after his father and his uncle, Spencer Chaplin, Charles had an older brother, Sydney (John Hill) Chaplin (1885), by a different father, whose identity has never been fully confirmed, but is considered by a handful of researchers to be a Sydney Hawkes.
Charles Chaplin Sr. was a talented actor and singer, and even a published composer. One of his pieces was The Girl was Young and Pretty, the theme of which was later echoed in his 1992 film biography directed by Sir Richard Attenborough. Another was a poignant waltz song called Every-Day Life with lyrics by Harry Boden from 1891. The sheet music advertised that it had been "Composed and Sung with Enormous Success by Charles Chaplin." However, he was also an alcoholic, and ended up separating from Hannah when Charlie was around two. In the 1891 England Census Hannah Chaplin is listed as an unemployed professional singer residing with Sydney and young Charles in the St. Mary district. Hannah showed as being married, but without her husband in the household. He was living nearby in the same district in a boarding house with other music hall artists.To compound an already difficult situation, Hannah had some mental illness, and her inability to keep jobs required the broken family to move from place to place around Kensington Road, so as to be close enough to the theaters. Yet they still lived in relative comfort above the poverty level. Charles had constant exposure to the stage, and to the music as well. His mother, who worked under the name Lilly Harley, preferred to bring the boys to the theater rather than leave them alone, so they quickly became familiar with the songs of the day, bawdy and otherwise. They would occasionally see Charles Sr. perform as well, even after he had left the family. One of his frequent haunts was the Canterbury Music Hall. As Charles relayed it in his autobiography, his first time on stage was when he was but five years old. He was backstage at the Aldershot Canteen while Hannah was performing for a group largely made up of soldiers. She was having a rough time of it, her voice cracking during her song. Whether Charles ventured out after she left the stage or whether he was pushed on remains conjecture or hearsay (he claims the latter). However, he took over for his mother, singing two or three songs, one of them being Jack Jones, and picking up coins thrown on stage by the amused audience in response to his work before he left. It was the start of a very long career performing for the public, and was claimed to be his mother's last night on stage. Following this, Hannah, who had been prone to increasing bouts of laryngitis, was no longer able to work consistently as a singer, leaving the family of three suddenly living day to day in poverty. After a year or so they had to retreat to the workhouses, and at times were separated. Hannah recovered briefly, then had a breakdown. She was sent to Cane Hill Asylum at Coulsdon for recovery,
Even as a juvenile performer Chaplin claims he had not yet really discovered music. However, he told of that day in his biography, leaving the impression that he was perhaps eight at the time. Charles had come home to his father's empty house, and bored after a while he wandered out into the streets again to try to find food and solace. As he tells it: “Suddenly, there was music. Rapturous! It came from the vestibule of the White Hart corner pub, and resounded brilliantly in the empty square. The tune was The Honeysuckle and the Bee, played with radiant virtuosity on a harmonium and clarinet. I had never been conscious of melody before, but this one was beautiful and lyrical, so blithe and gay, so warm and reassuring. I forgot my despair and crossed the road to where the musicians were... It was all over too soon and their exit left the night even sadder... It was here that I first discovered music, or where I first learned its rare beauty, a beauty that has gladdened and haunted me from that moment.” Charles first worked as a billed artist in 1898 with a group of pre-teen clog dancers. They were called The Eight Lancashire Lads, and the experience allowed him to hone his agility of movement as well as gain a better sense of timing and rhythm in conjunction with the musical accompaniment. Although the work was necessary to help support his family, he was thoroughly at home on the stage, and became quite acrobatic as a result of his time as a dancer. He reportedly may have also done some singing and a little comedy with this act, but there is no direct billing that fully supports this contention. As of the 1901 England Census he was rooming with a troupe of actors, possibly the clog dancers. Like the others, Charles was listed as a "music hall artiste." Neither his mother or Sydney were residing there, but he was one of ten juveniles living in the flat of John Jackson, son of the troupe's leader who himself was all of seventeen. That same year, Charles Sr. finally died at age 37 from cirrhosis of the liver and complications related to alcohol abuse. At twelve and a half years of age after a year of odd jobs, and shortly after his mother was recommitted to Cane Hill, Charlie managed to snag a plum role in the C.E. Hamilton Company as Billie the Page Boy in a production of Sherlock Holmes. After getting good reviews in an otherwise poor play staged before the Sherlock Holmes tour, he continued in the role for three seasons. In the fourth season he ended up playing the same role opposite the author of the play. The four years emboldened him as an actor and established his stage presence, but not prepare him for comedy. Now sixteen and a bit cocky, Charlie decided to turn down the next role because it required traveling. As a result, he spent nearly a year not working. Steady work of any kind was hard to come by, so he was supported in part by Sydney, who had been with British performer and producer Fred Karno's comedy company since 1906. Charles secured some music books and Jewish humor jokes, attempting to make a splash as an ethnic comedian. He was ill-prepared to do direct comedy as opposed to character comedy, and this venture lasted one performance. There were other minor failures on stage as well. Then at age nineteen Charlie, morally supported by Sydney, secured a position with Karno as a replacement actor playing opposite comedian Harry Weldon in a sketch called The Football Match.
Working in various groups of Karno's traveling organization, Charlie quickly became a star of the sketch and pantomime comedy sketches, and his timing and choices were evidently highly regarded by the boss. It has been noted that his use of music in his act fully availed itself of the possibilities presented in the rhythmic and melodic elements of a tune, adding to the overall essence of his act. The acts often used classic 18th and 19th century melodies accompanied by sound effects or slapsticks to emphasize falls or other actions, which gave his form of comedy its name, even before he became associated with it. Among the actors he worked with during his time with Karno was another future comedy star, was Arthur Stanley Jefferson, known on stage as Stan Laurel. Stan ultimately served as Chaplin's understudy and backup while with the Karno company. Charlie met a girl in the chorus line named Hetty Kelly and was instantaly transfixed by her. His emotions for her became so strong that on their first outing he referred to her as his "nemesis," which she could not understand. Within days he had asked if she loved him, which she felt unfair given that Hetty was just short of sixteen to his nineteen years. Chaplin ended it right there after all of four encounters, but went to her home the following day to say goodbye once more just to be sure. He would never forget Hetty, and subconsciously would search for her over the next 34 years. In fact, when he met her just over a year later she was now seventeen and well-developed, but not the same girl in many ways, so he continued searching. The Karno company toured Europe a couple of times from 1909 to 1910. At one show in Paris presented at the famous Folies Bergère, composer Claude Debussy was in the audience with a lady friend from the Russian ballet, and asked to meet Charlie after the show. The impressionist composer told him, "You are instinctively a musician and a dancer." While this was clearly a great compliment to Charlie, he was not sure how to reply, and he did not know who Debussy was at that time. However, he eventually knew all to well, noting in his autobiography it was the same year that "Debussy introduced his Prélude à L’Après Midi d’un Faune [Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun] to England, where it was booed and the audience walked out." Charlie toured Canada and the United States extensively with the American Karno company from late September 1910 to early 1912. They entered the United States on October 1 after having arrived a few days earlier to Quebec on the Cairnrona, and proceeded quickly to New York City for their first engagement of six weeks. Reports that he was the featured star entertainer with the troupe on that trip are not fully supported by newspaper advertising of that time until closer to the end of the tour, which was extended for twenty weeks to the west, another six in New York, and another twenty in the west again. Among the acts that toured was one titled The Wow Wows that featured Charles as "The Original Souse." In late 1912 the core of the Karno company again ventured to America to tour the vaudeville circuit for another year, arriving this time in New York Harbor on October 12 aboard the Oceanic as second class passengers. One of Chaplin's specialties in the Night in an English Music Hall sketch was playing an inebriated souse much older than himself, who randomly invaded the audience, then the stage, with his drunken antics.Stan Laurel remembered several facets of this second trip and recounted some information about Chaplin in a later interview with historian John McCabe. "Charlie carried his violin wherever he could. Had the strings reversed so he could play left handed, and he would practise for hours. He bought a cello once and used to carry it around with him. At these times he would always dress like a musician, a long fawn coloured overcoat with green velvet cuffs and collar and a slouch hat. And he’d let his hair grow long at the back. We never knew what he was going to do next.” This concurs with Chaplin's own account of his first trip to the states: "On this tour I carried my violin and cello. Since the age of sixteen I had practised from four to six hours a day in my bedroom. Each week I took lessons from the theatre conductor or from someone he recommended. As I played left handed, my violin was strung left handed with the bass bar and sounding post reversed. I had great ambitions to be a concert artist, or, failing that, to use it in a vaudeville act, but as time went on I realised that I could never achieve excellence, so I gave it up." It also during the second trip while they were playing in New York City that Chaplin went to the Metropolitan Opera House to see the opera Tannhäuser, something that may have influenced even more his sense of the melding of music and storytelling. According to Charlie: "I had never seen grand opera, only excerpts of it in vaudeville – and I loathed it. But now I was in the humour for it. I bought a ticket and sat in the second circle. The opera was in German and I did not understand a word of it, nor did I know the story. But when the dead Queen was carried on to the music of the Pilgrim’s chorus, I wept bitterly. It seemed to sum up all the travail of my life. I could hardly control myself; what people sitting next to me must have thought I don't know, but I came away limp and emotionally shattered." On the 1912 to 1913 trip Chaplin was clearly the star of the Karno troupe in their primary sketches, A Night in an English Music Hall and The Wow Wows. While on the second American tour, Charlie was witness to, and soon was entranced by the growing medium of motion pictures, now well into their second decade. The notion of putting something into a permanent record that could be viewed by potentially millions in a short time, as opposed to hundreds in a week, was appealing to him, as was the potential in what was a forced pantomime. So near the end of 1913 when his contract with Karno expired, Chaplin decided to achieve his own success in America and left the company to pursue a career in the movies. The Cinema and Rise to Fame
In a sense, Charlie was offered a carrot to stay in the United States. His act had been seen during the first tour by movie producer Mack Sennett, then working for D.W. Griffith, and some of his future comedy stars, including Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle who at that time was one of the Keystone Kops.
Actress Mabel Normand took up Charlie's cause and insisted that Sennett give him another chance under her tutelage. Although he had issues with a woman directing his acting, Chaplin persevered and came back strong in the next film, Mabel's Strange Predicament.. According to his autobiography Sennett had asked him to dress in a comedy make up of some kind. The famous incident with him finding his new identity was poetically recreated in the 1992 biopic Chaplin starring Robert Downey Jr., but Chaplin's own passage was actually a bit more practical: I had no idea what makeup to put on. I did not like my get-up as the press reporter [in the previous film Making a Living]. However on the way to the wardrobe I thought I would dress in baggy pants, big shoes, a cane and a derby hat. I wanted everything to be a contradiction: the pants baggy, the coat tight, the hat small and the shoes large. I was undecided whether to look old or young, but remembering Sennett had expected me to be a much older man, I added a small moustache, which I reasoned, would add age without hiding my expression. I had no idea of the character. But the moment I was dressed, the clothes and the makeup made me feel the person he was. I began to know him, and by the time I walked on stage he was fully born...
[Sennett] stood and giggled until his body began to shake. This encouraged me and I began to explain the character: 'You know this fellow is many-sided, a tramp, a gentelman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure. He would have you believe he is a scientist, a musician, a duke, a polo-player. However, he is not above picking up cigarette-butts or robbing a baby of its candy. And, of course, if the occasion warrants it, he will kick a lady in the rear – but only in extreme anger!'" In reality, the hat and oversized pants came from the rotund Arbuckle and the shoes from Ford Sterling. The concept itself was evocative of his early years living in poverty and making due with whatever was at hand. While the tramp did appear briefly in Mabel's Strange Predicament, the first film that featured that character, shot the following week, was Kid Auto Races at Venice released in early February 1914. The simple plot had him mugging annoyingly for the camera at a soapbox derby race while directors and cameramen try to keep him out of the picture. The tramp character immediately caught on with audiences, and several more shorts were made featuring Chaplin. He immediately adopted the oversized shoes, baggy pants, and penguin-like walk that made him stand out. Charlie did play a Keystone Kop in one recently discovered short, but once the tramp character was established he rarely veered away from his creation. Little known to most of the public, the tramp also had a name, the French derivative of his own, Charlot.By the middle of the year Chaplin shorts were drawing crowds, and they were appearing frequently in advertising, often trumping the feature they were playing with. It was clear to Sennett and Chaplin that $150 per week was hardly appropriate any more, and the two tussled over numbers for the remainder of the year. Chaplin also wanted more control over scenarios, editing, and even directing. He was now making $175 per week plus a $25 bonus for each completed film. Sennett and Chaplin were often at odds, but the studio head put up with it because his revenues had increased significantly thanks to Charlie's films. Even before the end of 1914, Chaplin was the most famous movie comedian, and arguably the most famous comic actor in the United States. During his one year contract Charlie appeared in 36 Keystone films, a brutal pace considering the amount of physical action and location shooting done in the early days of film. It was a show of respect by Sennett that he did not openly contest Chaplin leaving his organization to work for Essanay Studios (S and A for owners George K. Spoor and cowboy star G.M. "Bronco Billy" Anderson) in 1915 for a great deal more money. News reports of the time put it at over $100,000 for the year. By then, Sydney had also come to the United States, and for a time replaced his brother in Keystone comedies. At Essanay Charlie was given a bit more freedom to develop his gags, and regularly used a stock set of actors for consistency. Among them was a young lady named Edna Purviance and villains Bud Jamison and Leo White. Essanay managed to distribute Chaplin films to every corner of the country and heavily advertised their star property as well. Chaplin films even managed big draws in New York City, where entertainment was available at every turn. However, much of the crowd seeking entertainment from the tramp were immigrants who still did not have command of the English language, and did not really need to in order to grasp the universal pantomime slapstick that Charlie was mastering.Charlie had another trick up his sleeve as well, making an attempt at a popular song in 1915.He sought to have his music heard in America. When Oh! That Cello was self-published in 1915 it had a slow start. But after a piano roll of it was released the following year the name association caused some head scratching and curiosity in the music industry, as reported in The Music Trade Review of September 9, 1916. CONSIDERABLE anxiety has been expressed in various quarters to know whether the Charles Chaplin who appears as the composer of "Oh that 'Cello" in the August bulletin of the Q R S Co. is in reality he of the slap-stick motion picture comedy fame. The Q R S Co. aver that it is the simon pure Charles. He is doing quite a bit of composing nowadays between acts, so to speak, and moreover is publishing his own compositions. "Oh that 'Cello" is quite pleasing even to the ear of one who does not revel in the popular music of the day. Lee Roberts [main arranger and vice president of QRS] made a hand played roll of it and has a nice letter from the real Charles written from Los Angeles giving his permission for its inclusion in the Q R S catalog.
Even before the discovery that Chaplin was a composer, composers discovered Chaplin, and in 1915 alone no less than eight pieces named for Charlie or his feet were in the stores. The most popular of them were That Charlie Chaplin Walk and Those Charlie Chaplin Feet.
The reason such a comic association between music and Chaplin's screen persona seemed so natural is that it often was. Chaplin, like many other fine comic actors, knew that there were layers of rhythm within the concept of "comic timing." Even today, scripts for television and movies often use the term "take a beat" or "two beats" at times, informing the actor to pause for an amount of time that would be analogous to the current pace of the action. Sennett often had musicians in his employ to provide not only mood music but rhythm to help the flow of action for the actors.Chaplin sometimes did the same, and he also knew the importance of both acting and editing in such a way that music played to his films, the big end factor over which he had virtually no control over at that time, would naturally find a sweet spot through his pacing. Many of the songs about Chaplin fit that mold nicely, and were not only used to accompany some of his films but sold in the lobbies as well. Others were featured on stage, managing to make the presence of Charlie known even at the popular Ziegfeld Follies. Chaplin himself made it known that certain popular piece might even inspire action sequences or scenarios. "Simple little tunes gave me the image for comedies. In one called Twenty Minutes of Love, full of rough stuff and nonsense in parks, with policemen and nursemaids, I weaved in and out of situations to the tune of Too Much Mustard, a popular two step in 1914. The song Violetera set the mood for City Lights, and Auld Lang Syne the mood for The Gold Rush." Chaplin's first Essanay film was made at their Chicago headquarters, a place he deplored. So he went to their studio in Niles, California, which was situated near the San Francisco Bay area and featured very usable old-west scenery. During the process of making his fourteen films at Essanay Charlie's musical proclivities became better known to his colleagues. He bought a higher quality violin, perhaps favoring it over the cello. It was said that he would "scrape away" at the instrument for several hours at night. As he and the other actors were often housed next to the studio at Niles, Chaplin staying in the surprisingly sparse quarters of millionaire Bronco Billy, they would often suffer through sleepless nights listening to Chaplin trying to master the instrument. That misery did not last long. After four more films Chaplin retreated to Southern California and rented a studio near downtown Los Angeles for the remaining Essanay films.
Mutual allowed Chaplin to form his own separate production arm named Lone Star Productions. In spite of his success with the tramp, the character was not featured in all of these shorts. In The Fireman he is obviously a fireman in and The Cure Chaplin plays an alcoholic who checks into a sanatorium. One of most unique Mutuals, One A.M., features Chaplin as an adventurous bachelor who arrives home quite inebriated and has to negotiate the hazards of his own home in order to get to bed, or something like a bed. There is a clear rhythmic pace in this solo effort that is punctuated by a wall clock with an oversized widely swinging pendulum. In The Vagabond he played a saloon violinist who rescues a girl from a cruel gypsy master. In it he is seen playing in his usual left-handed manner. The Rink, Easy Street and The Pawnshop have also remained favorites. Chaplin's new role as a comic leading man opened many doors to him, but also brought obligations. He was asked to do benefits and promote causes.
To further extend his control over his end products, Charlie had formed the Charles Chaplin Music Company with comedian and pianist Bert Clark to publish Oh! That Cello. He likely had big plans for that concern, but in its short life of perhaps two months or so only two more pieces were published. The Peace Patrol was a simple but lyrical instrumental march.
In the latter half of 1917 after nearly 18 months, Charlie left Mutual, where he later said he had enjoyed the best period of his life. He signed with First National for a contract of eight two-reel films (some would be longer). The money and freedom they gave him in addition to what he had earned from Mutual allowed Chaplin to build his own studio in Hollywood (presently the home to Disney's Jim Henson Studios). Chaplin remembered that "At the end of the Mutual contract, I was anxious to get started with First National, but we had no studio. I decided to buy land in Hollywood and build one. The site was the corner of Sunset and La Brea and had a very fine ten-room house and five acres of lemon, orange and peach trees. We built a perfect unit, complete with developing plant, cutting room, and offices." He met with resistance from a local residential neighborhood who opposed the encroachment, but ultimately was allowed to built by the city council. Sydney also joined him in this effort, becoming Charlie's manager. He played a comic role of a food vendor in Chaplin's first film for the company, A Dog's Life, released in 1918.From the time of the Great War (World War I) on there was some obvious controversy concerning Chaplin's patriotism towards the United States, more a reflection of his perceived political views than anything. One that persisted was that he tried to avoid the draft or enlistment. This is not true, and he indeed filled out a draft card on June 5, 1917, listing himself as moving picture comedian working for the Lone Star Company, the name of the production company he had formed at Mutual. In fact, it has been reported that Chaplin made three attempts [at least two confirmed] to enlist in either the American or British armies, and was rejected for one or another reason. At 5'6" and a mere 125 pounds he was a bit slight to be a soldier. Even though he was not a naturalized citizen, that fact did not make him ineligible. He had wanted to enlist in the British Army, but his Mutual contract stipulated that he remain the United States until it was fulfilled. Not knowing this, soldiers in the British army adopted a nasty parody, sung to Red Wing by Kerry Mills, called The Moon Shines Bright on Charlie Chaplin, suggesting he be sent to the Dardanelles where a bloody campaign had taken place. It is known that Chaplin was seen as an important entity in his capacity as an actor, as he was not yet involved with so-called subversive organizations or activities. He was also quite active in promoting the sale of bonds during a national tour with Mary Pickford, best friend Douglas Fairbanks, and actress Marie Dressler. This was followed by a short called The Bond, made at his own expense, which was used by the Federal Government to further promote sales. It explained several types of bonds, including friendship and marriage, ending with the most important type, Liberty Bonds. A final scene showed him wielding a larger mallet with "Liberty Bonds" painted on it, which he used to successfully pummel the Kaiser (played by Sydney), in a comical manner, of course. One of his early films through First National was the war-themed feature Shoulder Arms, which was a large success at the box office and considered by historians to be the best World War I film actually during the conflict. In it, Sydney reprises his role as the much abused Kaiser. By mid 1917, most theaters in the United States had house musicians playing either piano or organ, or in some cases ensembles ranging from three piece groups to orchestras. In smaller towns it would often be a piano teacher or her star student playing classical tunes or the latest popular songs and rags to the films for some extra cash. For the most part, with few exceptions, there were no definitive music scores for movies, especially for the shorts.
Chaplin was well aware of this shortfall, and in particular recognized how the proper underscore would add to the emotional import of the action on the screen. Along with some other directors and producers his company sent out simple suggestions for the type of music to play for each scene, even with some popular titles. While this was not the same as a score, the guidance provided more consistency for film goers as long as the local musicians were capable of following these directions. The first hint of coming disasters in his life came about in 1918 when Charlie, then 29, married a popular 18-year-old actress, Mildred A. Harris, a quickly formed union predicated on a pregnancy that turned out to be a false alarm. While their relationship seemed to be smooth at the start, things quickly fell apart after Mildred actually did get pregnant, then gave birth to a son, Norman Spencer Chaplin. Sadly, the child died at three days old on July 10, 1919. The couple was never able to fully reconcile, and Charlie set out on a series of affairs that occasionally made it into the press, not helping his image or his questionable marriage. Being a top personality in show business, his endorsement was sought out by many companies, one comical example which was relayed in The Music Trade Review of December 21, 1918: Charlie Chaplin received a letter from a certain manufacturer of musical instruments, proposing to present him with a saxophone providing he would be photographed with it, and permit the maker to use the indorsement [sic] for advertising purposes. Not being particularly interested in the saxophone but appreciating the gentleman's courtesy, Mr. Chaplin in part replied: "If you happen to have a spare 'Strad' violin knocking about that you don't want, well, you might send it on. I will have my picture taken with it, and I will give you a letter to the effect that I can thoroughly recommend it."
On February 5, 1919, with his new studio fully built and in production for a year now, Charlie joined one of the earliest ongoing efforts to promote individualistic freedom and support for film makers. Along with Sydney and their actor friends Mary Pickford (America's sweetheart), Douglas Fairbanks (America's screen hero), William S. Hart (America's favorite cowboy) and legendary director David W. Griffith, the group formed the United Artists production and distribution company. They had heard, in part through a woman detective they had hired, that some of the larger studios and distributors were banding together, which would have created a monopoly in the business, with little of the money going to the artists.
In 1919 he completed two more films, the unusual three reel Sunnyside and the more traditional two rell A Day's Pleasure, the latter of which included several potential vomiting jokes. His next film for them was a six-reel feature, The Kid, starring child actor Jackie Coogan (who would later act as Uncle Fester on The Addams Family) along with Chaplin. Much more than a comedy it went through a variety of emotions including tragedy, sentiment and pure pathos. Charlie wanted this particular release to have something more attached to it. So The Kid was distributed with fairly specific cue sheets with title lists, and in some packages music as well. While this was not a Chaplin score per se, it helped him realize something much closer to the overall intent and emphasized the importance in which he held music as an important entity and even a character in his films. Joe Bren and Haven Gillespie wrote a song specifically for the film, but there is some uncertainty as to whether this piece was included in the official recommendations. There may have been more music composed during the final stages of the film, but Charlie would not have time to tend to that. Mildred had filed for divorce and was reportedly attempting to seize his assets. In the process she had also publicly accused him of being a "red," or a Bolshevist sympathizer, the first time he would have to counter such a charge. Charlie had already moved out and was living in the Los Angeles Athletic Club, rather than at the apartment he had built at his studio. He had stirred the waters by suggesting that Harris was engaging in lesbian activities with other young actresses. Concerned that the authorities may move in, in the middle of the night Chaplin grabbed all of the film stock from The Kid and with Sydney's assistance moved it to a hotel room in Salt Lake City, Utah, where the editing was completed by Charlie himself. Upon the discovery that he was in Utah, where the authorities did not arrest or extradite him, one newspaper article observed of the 31-year-old star that "Charlie's hair is growing gray." Even without the full suggested score that he had hoped to assemble for the premier events, the movie was a huge hit and his reputation was kept intact. Mildred ended up with some of their joint property and a $100,000 settlement in November 1920. She would overspend and be bankrupt within two years. Needing a break after the traumatic events involving The Kid, and the efforts involved in his next film, The Idle Class, in which he played two roles, Charlie sailed for England on the Olympic in late August, 1921, arriving in Southampton, England, on September 1. While he was aware he had achieved some level of fame on the continent and in his original home of London, Chaplin was quite awe struck and moved by the reception he received there. He also met with author H.G. Wells, but his hopes for a private meeting were dashed by the large crowds hanging around their rendezvous point. There were also some dissenters in London who had misunderstood his role in the Great War, so he ended up more or less escaping his original home and the mix of joy and angst he found there. He left for Paris, then Berlin, and there met with Albert Einstein and his wife. Everywhere he went Charlie was met by large crowds who revered his talent, and underscored how universal his pantomime comedy, which transcended language barriers, actually was.
Chaplin made two more films to finish off his First National contract, Pay Day and The Pilgrim. While there was no specific score composed for these at that time (some of his early films would be scored in later years by Chaplin), they were accompanied by the same sort of cue sheets as had been sent out with The Kid. But as his films progressed, he was already experimenting more with composition, and in his leisure time was engaged ever more with performance. Having made his first million and more, Charlie first procured a Brambach Welte-Mignon reproducing piano in late 1919. In 1922 he bought a Bilhorn Telescope Organ, a portable device that allowed him to take his music on the set with him. Chaplin then had an expensive Robert-Morton Pipe Organ installed in his new Beverly Hills mansion as it was being built in 1923. It was reported that he often sat at it for hours at a time playing older melodies and composing new ones. The procurement of the instrument was described in the music trade magazine Presto on February 3, 1923: Movie fans in the country seldom realize the true character of their screen stars. Screen action, plot, and the vehicle representing our favorite doesn't always fully interpret the temperament of the actor.
It may be news to many readers that Charlie Chaplin is a clever musician, playing violin, piano and organ with unusual skill. The first intimation that many of Chaplin's friends and followers knew of this musical talent was the placing of an order for a Robert-Morton organ to be installed in his new [Beverly Hills] home in the course of construction. This is one of the finest, residences in the Hollywood district. In the music room provision was also made for an echo organ and a special roll device will also be installed on the instrument. It is expected that Charlie will "shoulder arms" over the console of the new instrument when the Pipes of Pan are playing in the springtime. Now one of the richest entertainers in the world, Chaplin was certainly enjoying and reveling to some degree in the spoils, which sent a mixed message to some fans and critics. In the September 2, 1922 Music Trade Review, Los Angeles music columnist Marshall Breeden made the observation that Chaplin had once "told this writer that in the early days of his stage life, and later in pictures, he strove to be artistic. He did not look only for the money. Now to him money comes, but he certainly is the one outstanding man in the world who comes closest to the border line between comedy and tragedy." In many ways those words were predictive as well.
Creativity and Chaos
In 1923 Charlie was free from First National, and ready to start on his contract signed with his own collective company, United Artists. With ready financing, his own studio, and the support of many of his peers, he was finally afforded the freedom to make films on his terms and his schedule. It would take nineteen years for him to fulfill his eight film contract, but they included his four most notable masterpieces, all of which had scores by the director and star as well.
There was again some trauma in his life while working on A Woman of Paris. After a number of affairs, he became involved with a Polish actress named Pola Negri. While he had managed to keep many of the earlier dalliances off the radar, the relationship with Negri, which allegedly included a one month engagement that was most likely contrived by the press, became quite public. Whether this was for publicity purposes or not has not been ascertained for certain, but many aspects of Pola's time in the United States clearly were dramatized for public consumption. At the same time that Mildred announced her intentions to remarry, she also lashed out at Charlie and Pola, calling their romance "funny," and that he would never the same after the "marital lessons I taught him." The stormy relationship ended after the engagement debacle, with Negri feigning major heartbreak. This was followed by an alleged affair with actress Marion Davies, who was known to have been involved with newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. In the end she stayed with Hearst, but their affair allegedly resurfaced a few times through the early 1930s. False stories have persisted concerning Chaplin and Davies, stating they were involved in the murder of Charlie's friend, film producer Thomas Ince, on Hearst's yacht on November 18, 1924, when Hearst mistook Ince for Chaplin and shot him a jealous rage. The supportable facts that put this falsehood are that the relationship between Chaplin and Davies is hard to pin down, Chaplin was confirmed to have not been on the yacht that weekend, and that Ince actually died from a heart ailment a day after being removed from the yacht with a case of acute indigestion. Chaplin's aid and chauffer Kono reportedly claimed that Ince was bleeding from a bullet wound to the head when he was brought off the yacht. The case was closed even before the persistent rumors took hold. It harmed Hearst's career, but not Chaplin's. Chaplin's next film, one of the masterpieces, was inspired by the tales of the men who in the winter of 1897-1898 braved the cold and brutal Klondike, having scaled either Chilkoot Pass or White Pass into Canada with the hope of finding gold in the fields near Dawson several hundred miles downstream. The Gold Rush would start out with a legendary shot recreating the treacherous climb up Chilkoot Pass, filmed near Truckee in Northern California, and using a deft combination of comedy and pathos, told the story of a simple and unfortunate tramp miner who eventually earned his keep, even though he seemed to have lost the girl of his dreams.Wanting even more control over the music involved with the film, Charlie actually did write some specific music for The Gold Rush, and in the midst of filming stopped long enough to visit a recording studio in May, 1925, and record two pieces, conducting Abe Lyman's Cocoanut Grove Orchestra from the Brunswick single. The session was reported on in the Music Trade Review of July 18, 1925: It is said that the Brunswick Co. has inaugurated a special publicity department and will feature this Chaplin recording. "With You, Dear, In Bombay" is published by M. Witmark & Sons. Chaplin wrote both the words and music. It is a lively fox-trot with an appealing swing and very tuneful melody. The Witmark Co. will exploit the number on a wide scale. Copies of the piece, which were included in the road show and big city premieres of the film, were available in the theater lobby. The cover featured a picture of Charlie standing in the snow in the elaborate Klondike town set constructed for the film at his studio.
The chaos that had, for the most part, only mildly infiltrated the amorous comedian's life to that point, came to the forefront while filming The Gold Rush. While filming The Kid he had engaged a nearly 13-year-old girl named Lillita Louise MacMurray as an angel in a dream sequence, one in which ironically he had flirted with and kissed the girl. She came around looking for work, and Charlie decided to use her as the femme fatale for his new film. Now 16, and renamed as Lita Grey, Chaplin followed what had become a pattern and became romantically involved with the girl during the initial filming in 1924. The affair led to a pregnancy, which led to a more or less forced marriage, which led to shutting the production down while Chaplin dealt with this tenuous situation. Their union was a difficult one from the start, but they would stay together long enough not only for her to give birth to Charles Spencer Chaplin Jr., but also their second son Sydney Earle Chaplin soon after. Chaplin had to scrap all the scenes with Lita and now employed an film extra who had recently arrived from Chicago, Georgia Hale. The pace of filming was no faster, even though the plot was changed very little during that period.
The Gold Rush was liked by virtually everybody who saw it, and it further established Chaplin as one of the best film makers of the era. It remains on the top lists of not only the American Film Institute but the Library of Congress and National Film Registry as well. However, there is a distinction to be made between the original and the 1942 re-release which Chaplin himself helped to score from certain selections, and composed some of the music as well. It is more often this version, with narration instead of inter-titles, which is the better preserved and more revered one, in part because of his direct musical involvement. In addition to his original cues and songs (arranged by professionals but selected by the director), Chaplin liberally utilized Romanze, Opus 118, No. 5, by Johannes Brahms, the folk song Coming Through the Rye, portions of Flight of the Bumblebee by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, and the main waltz theme from Sleeping Beauty by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Even though he did not compose all of the cues, these choices should not be dismissed as many film makers since that time have used similar classical pieces either as placeholders or suggestions to inform their hired composers, or in a stylized manner that suits their film, much as Chaplin did. It showed more than just an appreciation of classical music, going further to reinforce the actions or emotions on the screen with an underscore that was appropriate and not distracting. The few complaints about the 1942 release were more about the rapid-fire narration style of Chaplin than anything else. After a short period of recovery, Chaplin purchased another reproducing piano, an Ampico, for his home in 1926. That same year he started on The Circus, a film based on love triangle themes that had been previously visited, most notably in his Mutual film The Vagabond. The making of this film was complicated by a legal battle that started with Lita filing for divorce from her famous husband. To the press she wailed that Charlie was starving her and his two sons, while in reality he was giving the lawyers checks, but they were rejected because they were not big enough. Charlie brought charges of defamation against Lita and her attorneys.
At the end of the divorce ordeal both parties dropped their charges and reached an amicable settlement of around $825,000 to support young Charlie and Sydney. It also helped to temporarily get rid of the distraction from the press. However, just prior to the last day of shooting when they took the circus wagons out of town to a friendlier location, the wagons were stolen as part of a college student prank for use as a bonfire. There were other perils while shooting the film, such as Charlie doing stunts on a high wire, and inside a lions cage for a reported 200 takes with the unfriendly beasts. Their mother, Hannah, also died during the filming seven years after having been brought over to the United States. Charlie and Sydney housed her in relative comfort in Glendale, California, until her death. Several years afterwards the half brothers found out that the had yet another half brother through their mother, Wheeler Dryden, who had been raised by Charlie Sr. The Circus was warmly met by the public, and it was enough to earn him his first Academy Award at the very first Academy Award ceremony in 1929 (the term Oscar™ was not yet in use) for "Versatility and genius in writing, acting, directing and producing." He had originally been nominated in several categories, but the Academy instead decided to give him the uncontested special award instead. Had it been a sound film they likely would have had to add "composing," making Chaplin one of the only film stars in history to excel in all five categories (he would later win an Oscar™ for a film score and was considered for one for choreography as well). Chaplin's direct involvement with the work of his favorite and most tolerant cameraman, Rollie Totheroh, might have also brought a consideration for cinematography. When he dictated his biography in 1964, Charlie made only a passing mention the film in the book at all, perhaps because of its painful relationship with the nasty public divorce and his mother's last years. In the 1930 Census, Charles Jr. and Sydney were living with Lita's grandmother, Louise Curry, at 521 North Beverly Drive in Beverly Hills. Lita was listed as living next door at 523 North Beverly Drive. Both were comfortably well off, showing as owning their expensive homes, paid for, no doubt, by Charlie. He was residing at 1103 Cove Way in Beverly Hills, with four Japanese servants and the wife and two sons of one of them, Robert K. Sato. Friendly rival comic actor Buster Keaton, who was listed on the same page just above Chaplin, was living three blocks off on Hartford Way, but would be gone from that household within a year. Coping with Sound and Soundtracks
For his next act, Charlie would embark on perhaps the most difficult film journey of his career that not only tested his creativity in every way, but his resolve and limited patience as well. Even before The Circus had been released, the entire landscape of the motion picture changed with the release of the Warner Brothers synchronized sound film The Jazz Singer in the late fall of 1927.
Early conversion to sound was not inexpensive for theaters, and in order to accommodate both the synchronized discs of the Vitaphone system from Warner Brothers and the more practical sound on film system from Fox and Lee DeForest, even more equipment had to be installed. Yet by the end of 1928, with almost all of the major studios producing sound films in either format, more than half of the theaters in the United States had made the investment in one or the other system, or both, since that was what the ticket-buying public was crying for. By 1930 silent films would be all but gone. For Chaplin this conversion presented a multiplicity of problems. For starters, his older films, most shot at an average of 18 frames per second, would not show correctly on the newer sound projectors which displayed films at 24 frames per second. Conversion of older films was costly, so the public soon accepted that silent films would simply look faster than sound films. He had often used undercranking of the film to his advantage to speed up certain portions, and would continue to, but the conversion of an entire film was a different matter. The bigger problem was that the very thing that made him a star had the potential to be totally negated by sound. Chaplin was a pantomime artist. Many of his films used far less inter-titles than those of his peers, because the action was fairly obvious. Therefore, with only a little change in inter-titles to reflect the country of exhibition, his films did not need translation in any country. They were nearly as funny or moving in Hong Kong as they were in Paris, Berlin or St. Louis, Missouri. Spoken sound would immediately make each film an American or English language film. The use of dialog also negated some of the broad movements of pantomime, which would have been deemed overacting in conjunction with speech.
City Lights had already gone through several alterations during 1929 and into 1930, most of them for story points. Scenes were shot dozens or even hundreds of times in order to capture a subtlety or an angle, and most were discarded. In the background, Charlie was concerned about how well a silent film would play when the public was asking for sound. He did some experimental takes with sound for one or two days on a couple of dialog scenes, then abandoned that concept. In the end, Charlie proposed that the only difference between this film and his previous efforts was that there would be a unified score distributed with the film by way of a soundtrack. This was the culmination of what he had been trying to do since The Kid. It was Chaplin himself who either composed or selected the pieces for the entire score of City Lights. He engaged Arthur Johnson and Alfred Newman to arrange and orchestrate his choices, but there was no question who was in charge of the overall execution of the music. While Chaplin was not well trained in Western notation or harmony and theory, he had an innate sense of the emotional and action aspects of the right music. Calling on one of his favorite composers, Richard Wagner, as well as accurately predicting virtually every film composer from Max Steiner (whose score for King Kong in 1933 is regarded as the first fully original film underscore) to John Williams, Charlie worked with specific musical motifs assigned to a character, location or incident. For the blind flower girl, played by the engaging but problematic Virginia Cherrill, he selected La Violetera (Who Will Buy My Violets) by José Padilla. Chaplin himself composed two other themes for her, one related to her simple but poor flat (apartment), and the other for emotional reflective close-ups. Additional musical devices composed by Chaplin include a fanfare which opens the film and is heard in a few places announcing another pending calamity, and a galop reminiscent of those of the 1890s or early 1900s for some of the action scenes. There is also a theme for his tramp character as he wanders through the lonely city, appropriately enough played on cello, although not by Chaplin himself. A faster theme played on the bassoon was used to accentuate his humorous moments.
Chaplin did stray from his traditional background which included a healthy dose of classical and older popular music, and called on contemporary forms to keep the film current and vital. For a scene where he and the millionaire character played by Harry Myers go to some of the hotspots in town, a bustling jazz theme played by a smaller ensemble is used. It is contrasted with a Latin rhumba for a party at the millionaire's mansion. A dramatic motif was used in association with the suicide attempt of the millionaire, in addition to two different themes for his highly contrasting drunken and sober moods. A couple of other familiar themes were inserted as well; a snippet of Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov played in two different timbres, and the more common How Dry I Am often used by arrangers for scenes involving alcohol. Most of the sound effects were also done with instruments with the exception of, literally, bells and whistles. While most films of the time were using underscore sparingly, often interspersed with on-screen musical numbers, the entire soundtrack for City Lights codified his abilities and instincts not only as a composer but as a competent score writer, which requires a different skill set. Musically he was able to clearly define comedy, pathos, wistfulness, whimsy, and even love. Everything from English music hall motifs and ragtime through classical, jazz and loosely defined tangos. Some of the themes from City Lights were also rescored and used in a clever fashion by director Attenborough in the 1992 film Chaplin. There were many issues with the film, including the contentious relationship between the director and his co-star, Virginia Cherrill. He considered her an amateur in every way, and even fired her at one point. After a failed attempt at trying to fit Georgia Hale into the role, he brought Cherrill back to finish the film. After more than two years, City Lights was finally unveiled to a wary public in January, 1931. In spite of the lack of dialog and Chaplin's concerns about the public's reception, City Lights was an enormous financial success, just right for audiences in the deepening Great Depression who needed a heartwarming story that favored the poor over the rich. It was critically acclaimed as well, not only for the acting and writing, but for the effective use of music. He was uncertain about how it was to be perceived by the public, now yearning for talkies. The first sneak preview to a half-full house did not go well. The Los Angeles premiere, where Charlie sat with the Einsteins, was interrupted in the middle by the manager who wanted to talk about his new theater. But Charlie was more worried about New York, which could make or break his valiant effort. He rented the 1150 seat George M. Cohan Theater on 42nd Street for $7000 per week for eight weeks, paid to fit it for sound films, then set out to charge more ($0.50 to $1.00) for his showing than most other movie theaters in New York were doing. In the end, Chaplin's instincts won out, and they trumped most of the nearby theaters in terms of attendance and profits. City Lights, the semi-silent gamble, was a critical and public success, much needed after his failed marriage and faltering career. Chaplin had reached a new zenith in the creative process of the cinema. It would be five years until he unveiled his next act, and something else quite new where his fans was concerned. However, the news mongers were able to find enough to keep him in the press, and Chaplin's sometimes unraveling life certainly gave them material. New Horizons - The World Tour
At nearly 42 years of age Chaplin's hair had partially turned white, perhaps from stress as much as heredity. Mabel Normand had died. Comedian Buster Keaton had been demoralized by his troubles with MGM and was becoming an alcoholic. Doug Fairbanks was having major issues in his marriage to Mary Pickford. Roscoe Arbuckle had barely survived three harrowing trials that proved him innocent, yet destroyed his film career, and would be dead within two years.
Although he was often discouraged by having to battle misinformation or private information found in the press, Charlie still maintained a nearly religious dedication to his art, and his energy remained undiminished, even if his enthusiasm had faded a bit. In need of a rest and a change after City Lights, Charlie, his long-time Japanese valet and chauffer Kono, and his friend Ralph Barton, who had recently attempted suicide and was in need of a new perspective, set off that Spring on a 1931 world tour that would last for the better part of a year. The first stop was London where he attended the British premier of City Lights. They gathered a few companions along the way for some legs of the journey. One of those was May Shepherd, hired in London as his personal secretary for the duration to read and respond to correspondence. There have been reports that she went out with Chaplin and his entourage and had an affair with Chaplin, but correspondence confirms that she stayed behind in London. She did, however, have access to many of the salacious offers mailed to the star, or letters recounting previous passions, and used that in her favor later in the year to leverage for higher pay. Sydney had already moved to Europe and he and his wife Minnie were living in Nice at that time. Being the brother of somebody so famous and at times controversial made it hard for Syd to hide from any transgressions, real or perceived. After ending his association with the film industry a couple of years earlier and selling out his shares, tax investigators questioned the reliability and validity of his claimed income. The couple first went to England, but found matters to be just as bad there. Thus it was in France where Sydney Chaplin would be found in 1931. Having not been to London for a decade, Charlie found his tumultuous reception there had been magnified considerably from that of 1921, and with much more media present. Of course the star was invited to many events, including a dinner given in his honor by American born Lady Astor. He also was able to visit and spend more time at the familiar and bittersweet locations of his youth, including the boys home. The question had been brought up concerning his receiving a knighthood.
Chaplin had the privilege of meeting with India's biggest advocate and future leader, Mahatma Gandhi in Canning Town, London. It was the only time Gandhi would be in England, where he had been schooled, between 1914 and his assassination in 1948. Both the spiritual leader of India and the creative leader of comedy had large crowds surrounding them when they met, largely by happenstance, in the poor East End of London. Photographs were taken of Charlie with Gandhi and his family. They exchanged some dialog about the leader's struggles during a time when the Indian people were boycotting British machine-made fabrics, then both went on their way. Charlie and his friend Ralph Barton, who was still depressed after five unsuccessful marriages, visited Ralph's daughter in a London convent. There he learned that she would be going to Africa on a mission, but that outside contact was discouraged. Charlie then bid Ralph adieu, and he sailed back to New York City where he would be found dead by his own hand within two weeks. The remaining party's next stops were in Weimar and Berlin, Germany, where his equally enthusiastic reception by the public would later be utilized in propaganda specifically against the comedian and the countries and alleged race that he represented. Chaplin would, in turn, use that propaganda to create a brilliant and eerily accurate response in one of his finest screen appearances. Even more than a decade after the war, his films had been banned in Germany in response to Shoulder Arms (1918) in which he handily defeated many German soldiers. Yet none of this seemed to dampen the legions of fans he had in Berlin, whether they came out to see an American celebrity, or had perhaps seen some of his contraband films in underground theaters. Among the stops they made in Germany were the royal palace where Frederick the Great had once dwelt, and back to the simple home of physicist Albert Einstein and his family, who had already been Chaplin's guests in Hollywood. One other visit was with singer Marlene Dietrich. The two had no connection other than mutual admiration, so there it has been historically considered that there was no publicity motive involved with their meeting. Next on the agenda was a return to Paris. Chaplin was met at the station, and pretty much everywhere, with the same adulation he had found all along the way, if not even more intense. As in Germany, some parts of his clothing disappeared while trying to get to local transportation. He met with King Albert of Belgium, trying to address him as he would anybody, and finding out that Kings really do get special treatment.
While studying the casinos in Nice and deciding they weren't for him, Charlie spotted dancer May Reeve, who Sydney said he knew. A meeting was arranged and Charlie was soon enamored with, then involved with her for some time during the remainder of the European portion of their extended trip. May fell for Charlie, although she was reluctant to even think of marriage. H.G. Wells again met with Charlie in France, and the combination of the two created enormous crowds everywhere they went. He also had a chance to spend time with Edward, Prince of Wales, and his wife. The entourage ventured back to London briefly in September, without May, to deal with business. A small part of this London visit was spent in dealing with Shepherd and her knowledge of Charlie's intimate life through his correspondence. A satisfactory arrangement was eventually realized. He also spent considerable time with the Prince of Wales. Then, several months after having left Beverly Hills, the party went to Switzerland in December where his long time friend Douglas Fairbanks was staying. Charlie, missing his new love, sent for May and she rejoined him there. They were inseparable for some time, but Sydney made clear some of his disdain for Charlie's public escapades and affairs, which it appeared he more or less ignored. Many thought that May would be that elusive perfect wife for the comedian. She clearly loved him and brought some stability to his demeanor. But Charlie simply never it took it that far, in spite of or perhaps because his obvious affinity for her. The group left Switzerland for Italy on their way to the Orient, with Sydney in tow. While in Italy, United Artists tried to have Charlie meet with the country's fascist Prime Minister Benito Mussolini, who was already going by the title Il Duce. Fortunately for the reluctant Chaplin there was no time available in the leader's day, and he escaped what with hindsight would have been perhaps an even larger crushing blow than those that would eventually land on him.
For the next two months, Charlie, Syd and friends toured Singapore, Ceylon, Java, Bali, and parts of the South Pacific. Charlie particularly enjoyed Bali, admittedly because so many of the women there walked around bare-breasted, but also because the culture had not yet been spoiled by Western influence. Even in these remote spots of the world, silent films had long been known and still presided, particularly those of Chaplin and his peers. Silent comedy needed no translation, so Charlie found himself beloved in even the more remote ports he visited that had the electricity to run a projector. Even though he was met with more subdued crowds in these countries, they were present nonetheless. However, the next highlight of the trip for Chaplin would be Japan, which they reached around June. It was also familiar territory to his companion and valet Kono, who preceded the party there by a few weeks to prepare the way. A couple of years before, according to accounts by Kono, Charlie had attended an authentic Japanese play in Los Angeles and was captivated by the mixture of pantomime and music that was not only indigenous to Kabuki, but to Chaplin as well. He had made this clear to Kono at that time, then let the matter drop until the pending visit loomed in the immediate future. To go to Japan and experience it in its native environment was something he had looked forward to for a long time, and now asked Kono to help enhance that experience. The visit was extremely well publicized, and the government made sure that Charlie would realize all of the conveniences and opportunities they could afford him and his party. On the train from the port to Tokyo, they were ordered to stop at every station for a few minutes while Chaplin was seen by the immense crowds, and received all manner of gifts from local officials, such was his universal fame even there. While in Japan Chaplin enjoyed the trapping of fame, but more importantly their exquisite sense of story telling through theater. It was one of the big highlights of his trip. The stop in Japan could well have been his last. Although it took several years for the details to emerge, Kono had been approached before Chaplin arrived, warning him that his boss was in potential danger. As a sign of allegiance they asked him to have Charlie bow before the palace in Tokyo (stating that it was a tradition) before he even got to his hotel. While attending an event with the son of the Prime Minister, the son was called away with urgency, and when he retured a little while later relayed that his father had just been assassinated at his home by renegades from the Japanese Navy, and had he been there he would also have been a victim. Since suspicious activity had also centered around Kono, Charlie thought that there was more to the story. Chaplin found out years later that he was also a primary target as a symbol of America, but that they decided otherwise during his visit. He joked that if they had found out after his death that he was actually British that they would have politely said, "Oh, so sorry." Then after nearly a year on the road, Charlie returned to Hollywood and world of the movies he had momentarily left behind. He had taken in a lot of world culture, absorbing facets of musical and creative arts as well as political ideas. Not having had the deadlines and expectations of creativity thrust on him, even if self-imposed, for some time, he came back weary but refreshed, and ready to tackle new horizons, including one big idea that had been running through his head for some time. However, as Chaplin would soon find, his charmed existence had lost some of its luster in his absence, and there was a difficult road ahead creatively, personally and politically. The End of The Tramp - The Growing Turmoil
In spite of his new enthusiaism, Charlie felt a bit like a bum because he was not working and did not have an idea of what to do. Some of this was caused by the onset of sound, and he did not have a clue for several more months how he would make the tramp work in a sound movie. He even had thoughts of hanging it all up and moving to Hong Kong.
One of the lead roles, and indeed an inspiration for the film itself, came about after a weekend on a the yacht of Joseph Schenck, president of United Artists, in late 1932. Schenck and his younger brother Nicholas, would fairly soon be two of the lesser favorite Hollywood executives, between UA and MGM, but they still knew how to conduct business effectively. On that trip to Catalina Island, two actresses joined the party, one of them a former Ziegfeld girl and now contract player named Marion Pauline Levy. She was 22 at that time, historically a little older than Chaplin's taste had run, and had already been married and divorced once. But the actress had a childlike quality that Charlie instantly took to. Charlie soon cast her under the name of Paulette Goddard in the role of the orphaned gamin in his upcoming film Modern Times, and before long the two took up residence together. The question remains to this day as to whether they were actually married. Both avoided answering the question as best they could, and told friends they had been married privately, either in China or at Sea. For a while, at least, few cared because they seemed made for each other. There were a few in Hollywood who saw their apparent co-habitation as scandalous, and the first rumblings were heard of making an example of the foreigner who had not even attempted to gain U.S. citizenship. While making Modern Times, Charlie was either oblivious to this talk or simply didn't care. He was focused on the elements of producing, directing, casting, acting, set layout, and most importantly the use of music and sound. The role of the machinery required large sets, and the outdoor locations found contrasted the clean factory with the reality of the Great Depression that had settled in. The small shanty set up for the tramp and the waif bore striking similarity to many that had sprung up in public parks around the country, including Central Park in New York City. He also engaged the use of a downtown department store that was undergoing renovations for a daring and dangerous scene on roller skates. While the formation of the plot and filming took a relatively short period of time, considering Chaplin's history, the application of sound and music merited a great deal of both pre and post production.
The way Charlie went about this very revelation was with a measured and intelligent approach. He chose a popular French tune from 1922 which had been a minor hit in the United States in 1925. Titina (Je Cherche Après Titine) had both French and English lyrics. However, Charlie chose to make up a nonsense set of lyrics with a mish-mosh of non-words and mangled European phrases. They all rhymed when necessary and some were close enough to reality that the idea of them was understood. However, it was, in the end, his performance of the piece with a live orchestra on the set that suggested what he was trying to get across. In a sense, he had created a musical pantomime in which the use of pauses, accelerations, and even vamps contributed to the way the lyrics were conveyed to the screen audience on the set as well as the theater-goers. It was a way to keep the tramp from being le Tramp Americán, while displaying his inherent musical talents. Following the scoring success of City Lights, Charlie also wrote much of the score and underscore, using key classical or popular pieces for the remainder, and spending weeks in the studio with an increasingly frustrated Alfred Newman, who eventually abandoned the project in need of sleep and sanity. His name still appeared on the credits. In addition to the music, Chaplin also directly oversaw or contributed to most of the sound effects used in the film. In later years he would write about this part of the creative process and how important it was for him to be involved, referring with some ambiguity to Newman or his colleague Arthur Johnson: One happy thing about sound was that I could control the music, so I composed my own. I tried to compose elegant and romantic music to frame my comedies in contrast to the tramp character, for elegant music gave my comedies an emotional dimension. Musical arrangers rarely understood this. They wanted the music to be funny. But I would explain that I wanted no competition, I wanted the music to be a counterpoint of grace and charm, to express sentiment, without which, as [English critic and writer William] Hazlitt says, a work of art is incomplete. Sometimes a musician would get pompous with me and talk of the restricted intervals of the chromatic and the diatonic scale, and I would cut him short with a layman’s remark; "Whatever the melody is, the rest is just a vamp." After putting music to one or two pictures I began to look at a conductor’s score with a professional eye and to know whether a composition was over-orchestrated or not. If I saw a lot of notes in the brass and woodwind section, I would say: "That’s too black in the brass," or "too busy in the woodwinds". Nothing is more adventurous and exciting than to hear the tunes one has composed played for the first time by a fifty piece orchestra.
![]() As he had done for City Lights, Chaplin assigned specific motifs or themes to characters and situations. There was, however, one tune that permeated not only the film, but the hearts of those who would soon hear this song that warranted a separate publication. For anybody who had claimed that Chaplin's composing was pedantic or uninspired at best, they only needed to listen to the melody Smile to understand this to not be the case. The lyrics, which were added 18 years later in 1954 by John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons, were approved by Charlie and spoke true to character of the tramp that he had portrayed for over two decades by this time. They also speak true to the sentiment of the beautiful and poignant melody: "Smile, though your heart is aching, Smile, even though it's breaking. When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by."
Modern Times opened in February, 1936, and both critical acclaim and controversy soon followed. It was evident to many that the tramp would now be history, particularly because in the end of this film, he not only gets the girl but he keeps her, for the first time walking off into the distance with her on his arm. But there was trouble from Europe as well. Tobis, a French and German film company, claimed that Chaplin had stolen some of his ideas from their similarly themed 1931 film A Nous la Liberté. The director, René Clair, an admirer of Chaplin, was not totally on board with this contention and noted that he was quite embarrassed by the proceedings. The court case floundered and was dropped during World War II, but came back again in 1947 with a request to suppress Modern Times from exhibition. Chaplin and UA settled not as an admission of guilt, but to make the issue go away. There were also articles lambasting Chaplin for his indictment of progress and the American way of life, which in part was the intent of the film, but claiming him also to be against what America stood for. One authority figure of note, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover, had started a dossier on Chaplin even before Modern Times and took note of these views. However, his role in later controversies as portrayed in the 1992 biopic was exaggerated for the sake of having a protagonist, and he was not so active in anti-Chaplin sentiment at that time. If Charlie had any one public enemy who could turn the public against him, it would be popular print and radio columnist Hedda Hopper. For the time being, Modern Times was well-received, and did not overtly polarize moviegoers and Chaplin critics like his next film would. Starting in 1937 the government and certain members of the public started to pay more attention to organizations that Chaplin either purportedly supported or was even peripherally involved with.
On the other side of the equation, in the late 1930s, the Nazi government released a book and a film, Der Ewige Jude (The Eternal Jew), deriding the reception that the German people had given the American comic in 1931, and making the claim that no "Juden" (Jew) was worthy of such an honor. (Charlie later wrote clearly that "'No, I am not Jewish... but I am sure there must be some somewhere in me. I hope so.") While trying to shame the German population, the film also incensed Charlie who started paying much more attention to what was happening in that country. The resemblance between Chaplin (with his moustache) and German dictator Adolf Hitler was not lost upon him, nor was the fact that they were born only four days apart. The idea of parodying Hitler in a comedy started to take shape after the German film was released. Indeed, many others noticed as well, including a clever British songwriter who got around a BBC ban of mentioning Hitler's name outside of the news by composing Who is This Man (Who Looks Like Charlie Chaplin). In early 1938, Chaplin had visited author John Steinbeck at his home, seeking a conversation and autographs of two books. At that time Steinbeck had no idea who he was actually talking to, and a few months later in Hollywood he was reintroduced to Chaplin, and felt very embarrassed about the first meeting. They talked for many hours, and Steinbeck, who had no interest in various offers to write for films, agreed to help Chaplin with the plot and writing for his first talking film. The Great Dictator had been a work in progress since perhaps 1938, but as conditions changed in Europe, especially for the worse for the Jewish population, certain elements of the plot also had to be changed to reflect the seriousness of the situation. Hitler was already a target as the lead character, but when Mussolini made it clear in the press that "The Italians do not find Mr. Chaplin funny," he warranted an important part in the film as well.
In the story, Chaplin, who was not Jewish by birth (Sydney was half-Jewish from his mother), played the part of a Jewish barber who had been injured in World War One, and after twenty years of amnesia suddenly came out of it and returned to his shop. He also plays Adenoid Hynkel, the dictator who was running Jews out of the cities and into unknown regions. Mussolini was brilliantly represented in the character of Benzino Napaloni (Mussolini morphed with Napoleon), and Hitler's interior minister Joseph Goebbels became minister Garbitsch. For the most part the upper hierarchy of the countries involved as well as the army was parodied, and not always played for laughs. The Jewish characters, while providing some humor, were closer to their actual real-life counterparts. Not only did Chaplin have to bring balance to the story, of which the ending was drastically changed after the invasion of Poland in 1939, but to his use of dialog and sound as well. As Hynkel he gave outrageous speeches of mixed German nouns, including food items and a nonsensical tirade against "Der Juden." As the barber he needed to be genteel yet urgent with his resolve. Having already tackled the art of composing for his films, Chaplin now needed to at times tune the acting and the timing to the expected tone of the score, so the musical aspects of the film informed him of the emotional ones, even before the score had been recorded. The trickiest aspect of this highly predictive film showing the expected direction of events in Europe with some modicum of accuracy, was the ending speech, which was written near the end of production after the Germans had invaded France.
One of the cleverest uses of music with action in the score of The Great Dictator not only was a tribute to the pantomime of his tramp character, but was later copied by Chuck Jones in 1950 for his Bugs Bunny cartoon, Rabbit of Seville. While the wascally wabbit performed his tonsorial duties on customer Elmer Fudd to the music of Rossini, Chaplin did his amazing shave of a customer to Johannes Brahms' highly popular Hungarian Dance #5. While anybody familiar with film would imagine that this particular track was recorded in advance for shooting, the orchestra had not yet been hired as the score was not completed. So instead, Chaplin rehearsed and performed the delicate routine with no cuts (in the film or on the customer) to a phonograph record. Willson intended to record the orchestra in short segments of eight to sixteen measures for better ease of editing to fit the timing on the screen. However, at Chaplin's insistence, he did one full rehearsal take with the orchestra conducting to the film, and they nailed it in that one take. When Chaplin was interviewed in 1940 about working with sound and music, he stated that "Film music must never sound as if it were concert music. While it actually may convey more to the beholder-listener than the camera conveys at a given moment, still it must be never more than the voice of that camera". Willson, working on his first major film project, had much more to add about his employer both in contemporary interviews and in his 1948 book And There I Stood with My Piccolo:
I have never met a man who devoted himself so completely to the ideal of perfection as Charlie Chaplin... I was constantly amazed at his attention to details, his feeling for the exact musical phrase or tempo to express the mood he wanted… Always he is seeking to ferret out every false note however minor from film or music...
I've seen him take a sound track and cut it all up and paste it back together and come up with some of the dangdest effects you ever heard — effects a composer would never think of. Don't kid yourself about that one. He would have been great at anything — music, law, ballet dancing, or painting — house, sign, or portrait. I got the screen credit for The Great Dictator music score, but the best parts of it were all Chaplin's ideas, like using the Lohengrin Prelude in the famous balloon-dance scene. On his experiences with The Great Dictator and City Lights, Chaplin was a bit more introspective in a later recounting of his role as a composer and his association with musicians compared with others engaged in various creative disciplines:
Writers are nice people but not very giving; whatever they know they seldom impart to others; most of them keep it between the covers of their books. Scientists might be excellent company, but their mere appearance in a drawing room mentally paralyses the rest of us. Painters are a bore because most of them would have you believe they are philosophers more than painters. Poets are undoubtedly the superior class and as individuals are pleasant, tolerant and excellent companions. But I think musicians in the aggregate are more cooperative than any other class. There is nothing so warm and moving as the sight of a symphony orchestra. The romantic lights of their music stands, the tuning up and the sudden silence as the conductor makes his entrance, affirms the social, cooperative feeling.
In spite of the outcry from certain factions in Hollywood, and the public, The Great Dictator opened to great acclaim in October 1940, and was ultimately Chaplin's biggest moneymaker. Even though the British government had made it clear in 1939 that they would ban the film from exhibition, by October 1940 the situation was clearly much different, and they stepped aside. In London The Great Dictator opened around the time of the German blitz on that city, so provided literal comic relief from the drastic situation they were experiencing in England. It also received great support from the Jewish community, only a few who were even somewhat aware of the horrendous actions being taken against their race in Germany at that time. Hitler was said to have viewed it at least twice, laughing at some scenes and clearly scowling at others. Chaplin later said that had he known about any part of the Holocaust, he likely would not have gone ahead with the project. The entertainment and political critics were glad he had done it. One of the theme melodies from the score would later be released with lyrics under the name of Falling Star.
The Great Dictator was nominated for five Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Actor in a Leading Role (Chaplin), Best Supporting Actor (film comedian Jack Oakie as Benzino Napaloni), Best Original Score (Willson), and Best Original Screenplay (Chaplin). Whether it was simply first rate competition from others in those categories or the politics of the voters of the Academy, The Great Dictator ultimately ended up with only the acclaim, and none of the awards. It would also, like Modern Times, spur a plagiarism suit from Konrad Bercovici who claimed to have written at least some of the story. While Steinbeck likely had a little more to do with it, Chaplin finally settled for $95,000 in 1947, in part to stave off any more negative press during a time of rapidly waning popularity. Even as the dust settled and the United States prepared for war with Germany, and were surprised by a military attack from the Japanese Empire, more of the personal wars of Chaplin were just around the corner as well. Not All is Fair in Love and War
The next major film of Charlie's would find its birth in 1941, but it would be six years of misery and distraction before he could get it to the screen. In the interim, he did manage to resurrect his most venerable and beloved silent film for sound in 1942, The Gold Rush, by composing and compiling a new score, adding narration in place of inter-titles, and doing a little re-editing and excision.
The combination of his sometimes obsessive workload, hyper-focus on his work during The Great Dictator, and short attention span in other areas of his life spelled trouble for is relationship with Goddard, and by 1939 the two had been separated. In 1940 they announced that they had been married four years earlier, in part to squelch continuing speculation and criticism. Two years later Chaplin made an amicable legal settlement with Goddard, who continued on with her own career at Paramount and other studios. Charlie's next distraction would be his undoing, albeit unfairly. Her name was Joan Barry (a.k.a. Mary Louis Gribble), an American actress of no particular distinction. Chaplin had hired her to his studio in mid 1941, keeping her on retainer will making sure she had acting lessons to realize her potential and help alter her nasal New York accent. Fixated on her form and figure more than anything else, Charlie had a short affair with Joan in mid to late 1942, but ended it after she proved to be mentally unstable. Barry would come to his home to harass him from outside, trying to gain sympathy and entry, and having to be taken away by police on a couple of occasions. Ten or eleven months after their involvement allegedly ended, Barry gave birth to a girl, Carol Ann, and claimed that the child was Chaplin's. Charlie immediately and emphatically denied that this was possible and submitted to a blood test to prove the fact that he was not the father. However, Barry's attorney, Joseph Scott, did all he could to convince the jury that Chaplin, who had shown an affinity for underage girls and lurid behavior, was still responsible, and convinced the court that the blood tests should not be admissible as evidence. In late 1943 Chaplin was ordered to give Barry child support for the next eighteen years, which he did, in spite of the injustice, to help negate the already sensational and damaging publicity the trial had generated. To add to his problems, Federal Prosecutors charged him with a violation of the Mann Act, which covered trafficking, prostitution, and immorality.
Yet by the time of even the first trial, Charlie seemed less troubled and more settled than ever before. He had finally found the equal of his first love, Hetty Kelly, in the person of Oona O'Neill, the daughter of famed playwright Eugene O'Neill. She had come from New York to California at age 17 to try and reconnect with her estranged father, a relationship that did not work out well. Oona also wanted to try her luck in Hollywood. As it happened, Charlie was looking for a replacement for Barry in the fall of 1942 for an upcoming film project, Shadow and Substance. When he first tried her out he deemed the girl too young for the part. However, she immediately took to Charlie and persisted in trying to convince him to use her. Within a short while, they became romantically involved and the film was put aside. Chaplin was reluctant to move forward with the relationship, but Oona pursued it, winning him over. They were married in Santa Barbara, California, on June 16, 1943. Immediately the press added another marriage to an 18-year-old to the list of supposed infractions committed by the aging star, which did not help with the first Barry trial soon to be underway. Feeling that his words might have some sway still for fans, and even the governments of the United States and Great Britain, Charlie became vocal in late 1942, hoping to help fight the war with ideas. Among those was a secondary front to the east of the Axis of Germany and surrounding nations, which meant forming an alliance with the Soviet Union. While a combination of strategic air power and some cooperation with the USSR ultimately helped the Allies win the fight in the European and African theaters,
Knowing that he could no longer get away with making a silent film, and having ostensibly given the tramp his last hurrah, disguised to some degree as the barber in The Great Dictator, Charlie knew that he would have to create an entirely new character for himself if he were to appear again on screen. That was the project that had been brewing since 1941. Orson Welles had learned of the execution in 1922 of Henri Désiré Landru, who had murdered ten or more women, two dogs, and one boy. Having finished his legendary but controversial Citizen Kane, Welles developed a story that had a similar character marrying women and killing them for their money in order to support his primary family. He thought of Chaplin for the part and had approached him. Chaplin was enthusiastic about the story, but not about being directed by somebody else. He wanted to take over the project, so for $10,000 and a guaranteed screen credit, "Based on an idea by Orson Welles," it became a Chaplin property. While the Barry-related trials and the war both caused him to delay the project, Charlie's real life courtroom drama helped him create the ending for the story in which he would play the title character, Monsieur Verdoux. Even though it was finally written fairly quickly, there were troubles with the script approval in 1946 when he presented it to the Breen Office, the association responsible for monitoring and enforcing moral codes in motion pictures displayed in the United States. In one scene where Verdoux comes close to poisoning a girl just out of prison, in her original guise she had been arrested for prostitution. In a movie about a serial killer this was oddly unacceptable, so her crime was changed to theft. He also had to remove any suggestion that he was sharing a bed with any woman in his life, and "come to bed" in one scene had to be altered to "go to bed." There were few other alterations, and the production proceeded, although stiltingly.
Chaplin's score for Monsieur Verdoux, arranged and directed by Rudolph Schrager, is much sparser than those for the previous three films, in part because there is so much dialog. However, in many scenes the combination of camera work, lighting and use of the score were at the same level in many regards as the films of the famous suspense director Alfred Hitchcock. There were repeated motifs, such as the locomotive theme for Verdoux's frequent train trips throughout France, and a lot of use of the oboe either alone or mixed with other instruments in unaccompanied monophonic lines, often introducing a new scenario with Verdoux. His use of underscore in a scene with a young woman on who he was going to test a type of poison and changes his mind signals methods that would become common in the 1950s, withholding all background sound until the moment of danger, then retraction from his plan occurs. The ongoing court battles with Barry helped motivate Chaplin for his somewhat controversial courtroom speech. Even though it is set in 1937, he gives a 1947 view of the world, pointing out that individuals who kill in small numbers are amateurs in comparison to governments who are able to render mass murders with great efficiency through warfare without themselves being held accountable. "Numbers sanctify," he tells a reporter. This was another astute yet incendiary phrase that would further alienate Chaplin from the public. Indeed, when the film came out in April, Charles had no delusions about what the press was most interested in. Resigned to not talking about the movie, he was relentlessly questioned about the trials, tax issues, and his refusal to become an American citizen. Most critics were also down on Chaplin's performance, some saying he was better in pantomime than when opening his mouth. There were, of course, his ardent supporters, but Monsieur Verdoux was a box office disappointment, in part because many theaters refused to exhibit it given the growing anti-Chaplin sentiment in the United States.
When the trials were over, Chaplin moved ahead with his life as best he could, albeit now under even more public and Federal Government scrutiny. In 1946 he had a second child with Oona, and was also still involved in the lives of Charlie Jr. and Sydney. After another break of a couple of years, he set his sights on what many historians have viewed variously as either an autobiographical story or in some cases one of self-pity for his plight. It was also came with a new set of creative challenges. Limelight was the story of a once-famous stage clown comedian now in his decline, based on real-life people Charlie had observed going through similar situations. In particular were a Spanish clown named Marceline who he had worked with on London stages when he was young, and Of some importance to note are four of the actors in the film besides Chaplin himself. One was his second son, Sydney, who played a secondary younger male lead. Another was his older half brother Wheeler Dryden, making this more of a family affair.
To this day there are aspects of Keaton's inclusion in the film that are still points of controversy among historians. He played in an extended scene with Chaplin near the end of the film where they engage in a slapstick routine involving a pianist and violinist. It has long been reported that Keaton may have actually upstaged Chaplin when they shot the routine, and most of his best work ended up excised from the final product. However, it should also be considered that the film was already relatively long, and some may have been left out due to time considerations, and the rest merely to fit the story line better in favor of Calvero. Their memories of this event are quite different. Keaton claims it was delightful and that he would have worked with Chaplin for nothing. Charlie made no mention of Keaton's involvement in his later books. With a relatively tight shooting schedule, another aspect that had to be worked out in advance was the music for the ballet sequence, which required both composing and recording it. Charlie ended up composing a 25 minute ballet, although it was extensively reduced in the final cut. With the help of Ray Rasch and Larry Russell, he completed one of his finest scores yet. In particular, the haunting main love theme known as Terry's Theme is still regarded to be as venerable as Smile, and was published separately as Eternally. He also dug into his past of ragtime tunes and English music hall traditions, coming up with original tunes that echoed both quite effectively. It would eventually yield him another Oscar™, but that would have to wait. Limelight was Chaplin's final United States film. Trouble had been brewing in Hollywood and Washington as more information emerged, not all of it genuine, about Charlie's communist sympathies. Even though he was now in a very stable marriage that would last for 34 years to his death and produce eight children, the family that Chaplin had long desired, his past affairs were being brought up more frequently in a challenge to both his political and moral turpitude. In July it was announced that he was being investigated by and would be subject to a subpoena to appear in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee to answer charges he was promoting communist causes in Hollywood and beyond. He later wrote that "Although I am not a Communist I refused to fall in line by hating them." There was a call in Congress to commence with deportation proceedings during the height of the Red Scare in 1952. While it did not make it to the stage of deportation, Chaplin did help them out to some degree by leaving the country, albeit not to relocate.In the long run it is still unclear what person in what government agency pounded in the final nail concerning his rights in the United States. While J. Edgar Hoover has long been suspect, Hedda Hopper had used her voice in the Hollywood gossip columns to turn public sentiment against Chaplin, also accusing him of communism. Some of the most credible speculation is that the Department of Defense, more so than the State Department, saw Chaplin as a threat through his potential sway over some of his more loyal fans in Hollywood and Washington. Chaplin left the United States for the British premiere of Limelight in early October, 1952 aboard the luxurious Queen Elizabeth. Almost as soon as he was gone, the Immigration and Naturalization Service through attorney general James McGranery revoked the visa of the country's most famous resident alien, and he would be denied re-entry into the country in which he had spent four decades setting the standards for film comedy, directing, and musical scoring, as well as contributing significantly to aspects of American life. In reality, Chaplin could have returned, but before he would have been able to fully gain reentry, he would have had to appear before an INS board of inquiry to answer as to why he should be allowed back in. It was later revealed that the INS did not really have enough cause to ban him from coming back. When interviewed in London about his plight, he responded with a quote by a famous American figure: "As the late Calvin Coolidge said when he terminated his presidency and was embarking to go home, and waylaid by one of the pressmen who said, 'Mr. President, won't you say a few farewell words to the American people?,' he said 'Yes, goodbye!'" The American premiere of Limelight would be poorly attended, and due to the current sentiment about its star following his exile, would be shown on very few screens. As it would not last in Los Angeles for even a week, it was not eligible for Oscar™ contention. In hindsight this was probably a blessing for the comedian. In a very short time all of his films were banned in the United States, although this short-sighted way of thinking would not last very long, and before the 1950s were out Chaplin films would again appear on television and in selected theaters. But Chaplin himself would not be heard from in the United States for nearly two decades. Exile and Reinvention
After having toured England and part of Europe with Oona and his four children, Charlie briefly considered stating his case and renewing his U.S. visa. He later recalled “that I was fed up with America’s insults and moral pomposity, and that the whole subject was damned boring." He finally reconciled that this would be a fruitless endeavor, and made his reasons known publicly: "Since the end of the last World War, I have been the object of lies and propaganda by powerful reactionary groups who, by their influence and by the aid of America's yellow press, have created an unhealthy atmosphere in which liberal-minded individuals can be singled out and persecuted.
Oona returned to the United States alone to wrap up their affairs there. This included packing everything from their home and getting it sold, gathering all of the materials, including film negatives, from the studio, and taking care of other business affairs and transfers. Even though it was known she was in the country, something that made Charlie very nervous, Oona was not stopped or questioned on her trip, even though most other Chaplin associates were still in the hot seat. When she returned the Chaplins had a special film vault installed in their home, and his precious lifes work was safely stored for later disposition or distribution. The world was thinking quite differently about Charlie now, and while there were detractors in the United States he still had many supporters there and in his home country of England. While the question of his receiving knighthood from the British Empire was again raised in 1956, it was denied once more due to what the British Foreign Office cited as concerns over his moral behavior. In short, it was still too controversial a move at that time. Oona eventually gave up her American citizenship for that of Switzerland, but was still allowed to return to the U.S. for family matters. Even away from Hollywood, Chaplin found that there was no need to cease his motion-picture work, and set out to make not just a film but, in spite of his protestations to the contrary, a clear political statement on both his expulsion and the paranoid political climate of the United States in the 1950s. Hampered by not having his own studio, he now had to plan as much as possible in advance to make the best use of locations and rented facilities in order to maximize his investment. The story of A King in New York revolves around the congressional interrogation of a young boy, played by his son Michael who was ten-years-old. Under pressure he names the political affiliations and friends of his allegedly communist parents. One of those was King Igor Shahdov, played by Chaplin, who had been bilked of his funds by his own Prime Minister and had escaped to New York City after a revolution in his country. While campaigning for the use of peaceful and efficient nuclear power, he inadvertently becomes a television icon in commercials, which he acts in to earn money for his cause.
The film takes obvious issue with the HUAC, new revolutions in film such as widescreen formats, the pitfalls and audacious effects of celebrity, television as a medium and its commercialism, and popular music. For the latter, Chaplin composed some pop music with non-clever rhymes to make his point. Unfortunately, given his time constraints, the music, cinematography, and even some of the writing have historically been scrutinized by film historians as shoddy or in need of editing and refinement. In addition, London was not an ideal stand-in for New York City, but he could not film on location for obvious reasons. A King in New York opened in virtually all major movie markets outside of the United States in September 1957, and did well enough that Chaplin was able to recoup his costs. It was largely ignored, however, in the United States. However, two other projects, one of them totally out of the hands of Chaplin, would help to start the long healing process. In 1957. around the same time as the release of A King in New York, American film entrepreneur Robert Youngson compiled a documentary on silent film comedians. It included clips of the Sennett studio in action extracted from The Hollywood Kid, and had incessant narration throughout. The orchestrated music, mostly classical and largely culled from Chopin, has been viewed as not entirely appropriate, especially with some of the whimsical sound effects thrown in for fun. Still, The Golden Age of Comedy was well received and critically acclaimed, in spite of the obvious absence of Chaplin, Keaton and the third major comic genius, Harold Lloyd. In an effort to cash in on the film's success, and perhaps to rectify the omission of his first compilation, Youngson released When Comedy Was King in late 1959. While the inclusion of Chaplin and Keaton rectified their absence from the first film, Youngson evidently felt it necessary to temper Charlie's films with statements like "The young Charlie Chaplin, swept so quickly to fame, was to become a figure of controversy," and "But that was before the troubled times..." The second film, less weighed down by narration and abrupt pacing, did even better than the first. Whether Charlie was emboldened by the results of The Golden Age of Comedy or was hoping to capitalize on its reception and improve on its faults is unclear. However, in 1959 he continued where he had left off with his redux of The Gold Rush.
This new release of his First National material was accompanied by minimally narrated introductions and a full score composed by Chaplin, some of it using musical elements from his previous film scores. Unlike the Youngson productions, which tried to retrofit classical and old popular tunes to the action, Charlie chose to underscore the emotion of each scene, with very few synchronized effects (such as the beating of a bass drum by a dog's tail). The recurring theme for the Green Lantern Inn became The Green Lantern Rag, an authentic ragtime piece that when fully assembled represents a three section rag. In A Dog's Life for a scene where Edna Purviance is singing a weepy ballad on stage, instead of trying to retrofit a known piece underneath her performance, he used a bowed saw instead to substitute as a forlorn human voice. Shoulder Arms used a more militaristic theme, yet it too played upon emotions more than comedy. For The Pilgrim, which features an escaped convict dressed in a Quaker pastor's outfit on his way from New York to Texas where he is mistaken as a real pastor, Charlie wrote a real authentic western tune, Bound for Texas, employing British singer and Decca artist Matt Monro (later known for recording Born Free) to don his best cowboy voice for the song. Running two hours, The Chaplin Revue was released in September 1959 in England, and other parts of Europe over the next several months.
In the early 1960s, Charlie took time out to compile a somewhat sanitized but otherwise selectively thorough autobiography. My Life would be published in 1964, followed by three other books over the next few years. He focused largely on life with Oona and his children in Switzerland. Home movies show an attentive and fun-loving family man who treasured his eight offspring and adored his strong and devoted wife. Among the visitors to the Chaplin estate in Vevey were friends of Oona, Walter and Carol Matthau. Carol and Oona had gone to school together and maintained their friendship. Walter would later play a role in Chaplin's reacceptance in the U.S. Sydney and his second wife, Henriette, were also visitors until Sydney's death in 1965. In 1962 he was awarded an honorary doctorate degree by Oxford University, and in 1965, shared half of the Erasmus prize with another famous director, Ingmar Bergman, amounting to five million French francs. Charlie had used his wife in children at various times in films, and at home the family made their own mini comedies or dramas. A couple of them went a bit further in their acting ambitions. His second son, Sydney, went into films after World War II, winning a Tony Award™ in 1957 for Bells are Ringing, and a nomination in 1964 for his performance as gambler Nicky Arnstein opposite Barbara Streisand in Funny Girl. Charlie's oldest daughter, Geraldine, had been seen briefly in Limelight. After she gave up the idea of a career in ballet she received training in acting. Her first major role was as Tonya Gromeko in the David Lean epic Doctor Zhivago, which earned her a Golden Globe™ nomination.
Chaplin wanted to prove that he had at least one more good film in him, and in mid 1965 undertook his final production, A Countess from Hong Kong. He wrote the comedy as well, based on an idea called Stowaway which he had intended for Paulette Goddard in the late 1930s. It was about an American ambassador-designate to Saudi Arabia who makes his way to Hong Kong while finishing up a world tour. There he encounters a Russian countess who sneaks on board a luxury liner and into his cabin in order to escape a life of forced prostitution. A farce is in the works when the ambassador's wife boards in Hawaii. Included in the cast were three of his daughters in walk-ons. Sydney had a moderately important lead role and Charlie did a walk-on as a ship's steward. The stars were Marlon Brando and Sophia Loren. A Countess from Hong Kong was Chaplin's first and only film in color and widescreen. Surprisingly he received support from Universal Studios in California, who had just entered the British film market at Pinewood Studios. The expensive enterprise was not surprisingly plagued by problems on the set at Pinewood. Chaplin broke his ankle during a walk, the first serious injury he had ever sustained in his long career. Brando, who was second choice to Rex Harrison who had demurred from the part, was very much an admirer of Chaplin, but did not act this way during the filming and was difficult both on and off the set. Both later made it clear that the experience of working together was quite unpleasant. The same lack of chemistry and cooperation existed between Loren and Brando. There were also issues with the lenses used on the cameras, and problems with editing. The music was perhaps one of the best aspects of the production, as Charlie composed no less than fifteen themes, and used a couple of other classical works. One of his pieces, titled This is My Song, was covered by popular singer Petula Clark shortly after the release of the film. Chaplin did not care for her rendition, but it went to number one on the charts and turned out to be the only bright spot of a dark period.When A Countess from Hong Kong was released in January 1967, there were projection problems at the London premiere in which the wrong lens was used and the film was displayed at an incorrect aspect ratio, setting the dismal tone for what was to come. Critical reviews on the editing and the partially spherical presentation of the premiere were rather abysmal. The British and European moviegoers took the critics at their word, and the $3.5 million film ended up recovering only half of the production costs. The lack of American distribution further increased any hopes for success. In spite of the support of a minority of critics, his film was regarded as a box office failure. Universal removed fifteen minutes from the original cut for a revamped release, but it did not do any better, and Chaplin felt that the cuts ruined the overall production. Charlie went into a deep depression that would last for some time. Still interested in work in spite of the major setback, Chaplin revisited another film in 1968 that had not even been mentioned in his 1964 autobiography in spite of it being responsible for his first Oscar™. He resurrected his 1928 motion picture The Circus and wrote a fresh score for it which included a theme song, Swing, Little Girl. The piece was used for the title sequence. To further codify his involvement with the music and at the insistence of Eric James, who was again acting as arranger, Charlie actually sang the title sing at age 79, giving him a bittersweet involvement with this difficult project some four decades after it had been first completed. His next act would force him for the first time to contend with a soundtrack at the same time he was making a film. In his book My Life in Pictures, written in 1974, Charlie mentioned that he had been working on one more film project titled The Freak which was to star his daughter Victoria. Costumes were made as were film tests, but the production never got off the ground. Now resigned to a retirement driven more by public sentiment than personal ambition, Charles retreated into his estate at Vevey, and into himself. He remained devoted to Oona and his children, but did not emerge publicly for nearly four years. Charlie did not know it yet, but there was one final act left that involved healing and his legacy, some of which would equal the pathos and joy found coexisting so effectively in his earliest films. The Road Back Home
The Chaplin family became involved in Charlie's love of music. He had a collection of records and reel-to-reel tapes of classical music. They would often gather together in the evenings and listen to one or another symphonic work or piano sonata in a house only lit by candles. Discussions of the music would often ensue as well.
Throughout his life Chaplin had befriended many top musicians and composers, some as friends and some as acquaintances. They included Sergei Rachmaninov, Igor Stravinsky, Ignace Jan Paderewski, Vladimir Horowitz, Victor Borge, Hanns Eisler and Arnold Schoenberg. Others in the classical world continued to visit him from time to time in Vevey, and he would hold miniature concerts with them for family and friends. It may never be known what kind of influence they had on the later film scores that Chaplin composed, but it can be ascertained that there was some discussion from time to time on his music that may have included advice, solicited being the most likely type. After taking a break for a couple of years, Chaplin decided to continue his project for completion of composed and recorded scores for his earlier films, this time with much less re-editing involved. In 1971, with help from Eric James, he managed to finish The Idle Class and his early masterpiece of pathos, The Kid. He also worked on some more potential book material as well, making sure to leave a more detailed accounting of his life as an artist in films. In the interim back in the United States, silent films, which sometimes started out as filler material for shows on independent and public television stations, were being discovered by a new generation.
In 1971 Mo Rothman acquired distribution rights to Chaplin's films in the United States and was looking to promote then in some way. By this time, with the McCarthy era long gone, a new generation in power in government and entertainment, the focus being largely on the continuing war in Vietnam, expanding musical and creative horizons, more independent film makers, and a second wave of 1900s nostalgia following the widespread honky-tonk craze of the 1950s, it seemed that the time was right for a reconciliation with the exiled comedian. More than a simple apology was clearly in order, and with the cooperation of the United States Government, Hollywood was able to set the stage for perhaps the most emotional moment in the history of the cinema. In early 1972, through Rothman and Academy member Bert Schneider, a resolution was drafted by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to honor Charles Chaplin with an overdue honorary award to be presented to him in April. Even though Hoover was still running the FBI (he would be dead within a month of the presentation) he did not have the same support as he had in the past concerning such matters. He was not really even a factor in Charlie's return. Oona fully supported and encouraged her husband to make the trip to the country that had thrown him out just less than two decades prior. Their first stop was in New York where they visited some old friends and saw to a few other business matters. When the Chaplins arrived at the airport in California there were a number of devoted fans there to welcome them. Among them was actor Jackie Coogan who was the star of The Kid (1921) and had also been in A Day's Pleasure two years before that. Even though decades had passed, Charlie recognized him and made his way over the give Coogan a hug. He reportedly whispered to him, "I think I would rather see you than anybody else." One of the people that had hoped to honor Chaplin during his visit was trumpeter Herb Alpert, who along with Jerry Moss had founded A&M Records a decade earlier. They now occupied the old Chaplin studio on La Brea, having converted two sound stages and the pool area to recording studios. In 1984 he had added a mural to one of the large walls depicting Chaplin in a number of his films. However, Charlie wanted to avoid public appearances as much as possible,
On Monday night Charlie Chaplin was escorted into the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion at the Los Angeles Music Center for the 44th Academy Awards Oscar™ ceremony, reportedly uncertain of how he would be received by his peers after such a long absence. Veteran star Betty Grable was also honored that night in her last stage appearance. She would die from cancer within the year. One of the hosts, Jack Lemmon, introduced a montage of several minutes showing some of the best moments of Charlie's work, assembled by no less than Peter Bogdonavich. Then Lemmon announced the lifetime achievement Oscar™ which was presented to Chaplin "for the incalculable effect he has had in making motion pictures the art form of this century." "The 3700 fellow artists of the academy, with pride and affection, present this tribute to one of the immortals among men." This author, who is the son of a fairly well known character actor (Sam Edwards) remembers the wave of emotion that swept through our Los Angeles home that evening when the aged little tramp slowly walked out on stage to a tumultuous ovation the likes of which had never been heard at an Oscar™ ceremony and has not been repeated since. Even in my early teens I was quite aware of many of Chaplin's films and his importance in comedy, and also was educated on his exile. But nothing could prepare us, or even Charlie, and perhaps even the crowd in the Dorothy Chandler Pavillion, for the reception that one of the most misunderstood and yet revered members of the early days of film would enjoy, especially in the city that he helped to build. The applause lasted more than five minutes, with nobody in particular trying to stop it so the show could go on, because at that moment, that was the show. Charlie was duly overcome by the reception. After the applause finally subsided and he received his statue he could only utter a few words of thanks to his supporters. "An emotional moment for me, and words seem so futile; so feeble. I can only say thank you for the honor of inviting me here, and... oh, you're wonderful, sweet people. Thank you." Lemmon then handed him a cane and a bowler hat, a trademark of the tramp, and Charlie put it on his head, caused it to pop off, and gave a little impish grin. Jack and all of the honorees serenaded him with Smile as Oona came out. He was still composed enough to point at and publicly acknowledge his long time supporter and best friend, making it clear that she had also made this moment possible. Then he exited the stage, left the building, and returned to his home in Corsier-sur-Vevey, Switzerland, never again to set foot in the United States. And In The End...
Because of the rules of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which stated that a film needed to run at least a full consecutive week in a year in Los Angeles and New York to allow voting members a chance to see it,
Soon after the Chaplins returned to Switzerland, Bogdonavich, who had been a documentary director before his award winning The Last Picture Show, was tapped to interview Charlie for a potential documentary. He sent in a French camera crew headed by Pierre Cottrell. However, most of what was shot turned out to be unusable because Chaplin's mood would change often, and some of his stories lacked the detail or emphasis that the directors were looking for. Director Richard Patterson took over the project and decided to make a film about Charlie's life, using some of the previously shot footage as well as key sequences from Chaplin films to juxtapose with certain elements of his life. Many of the family's 16mm films were also added into the mix. With the assistance of Walter and Carol Matthau, more candid footage was shot in Vevey to fill in the ending. The Gentleman Tramp, narrated by Walter Matthau included several quotes of Chaplin read by Laurence Olivier. When it was first viewed by Oona, she made several suggestions about scenes or points she thought should be removed from the film. Much of this included the juxtaposition of films with life events. Some of the film was re-edited, but just before the premiere Oona vociferously objected to the fact that not all of her requested alterations had been made, suggesting that the juxtaposed scenes were poor substitutes for actual events in Charlie's life. Her protestations were intended for the most part to properly protect her husband's legacy. Patterson carefully wrote her a letter defending all of his choices and the logic behind them, noting that these were intended as dream sequences of a sort, echoing but not duplicating what was happening in Charlie's life at those particular times. No further objections were lobbied and the film was approved.
During this time, Charlie had gone back in to the recording studio with new scores for his remaining First National films, including Pay Day in 1972, A Day's Pleasure in 1973, Sunnyside in 1974, and his last film scoring session for the long neglected 1923 feature A Woman of Paris in 1976. All told, Chaplin had written scores for no less than 18 of his films, most of them feature length, and out of those several enduring pieces emerged. The longest lasting of those, often played when he was received at various functions, were Eternally from Limelight, Falling Star from The Great Dictator, the main theme from City Lights, and the brilliant Smile. The latter remains his most familiar tune, having been beautifully rendered soon after the lyrics were added by artists as diverse as Nat "King" Cole and Wladziu Valentino Liberace. That one elusive honor that so many had hoped the British film maker would receive finally was awarded forty-four years after it had first been put forward; a knighthood from the British Empire. On March 4, 1975, Charlie was wheeled into Buckingham palace, just miles from where he had been born and raised, as a subject of the British Empire. The orchestra played his beautiful theme from Limelight as he was brought into the hall. Queen Elizabeth tapped him on each shoulder and hung the KBE (Knight of the British Empire) medallion around his neck before the two briefly chatted. As he left the ceremony, the 75 year old actor who had been so supple and athletic into his early sixties asked that the cameras be stilled as he struggled to get into the limousine. He exited as Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin. His final two and a half years were spent in declining health at home with Oona and frequent visits from their children and friends. Charlie was becoming frustrated with his increasing inability to communicate, a paramount function in his life, and this may have contributed to his failing condition. Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin, the wayward child of two English music hall singers who ended up leaving an indelible mark on the 20th century, finally succumbed to death, the very thing he had defied so many times during his prime years of acting in his own films, passing in his sleep at 87 years of age on Christmas Day 1977. Charles was interred near Sydney and Henriette in Corsier-Sur-Vevey Cemetery. But was not allowed to rest in peace right away. A group of Swiss Mechanics stole his casket from the grave on March 1, 1978, in an effort to extract a ransom from the grieving family. The Swiss detectives managed to thwart the plot, and by mid May Chaplin's body had been recovered. Fearing further incidents of this type, the family had him buried in the same plot, but under six feet of concrete. Now his body would rest peacefully while his soul continually entertained all of those who had passed from this world as well. Oona returned to New York to escape her grief and start a new life. However, her efforts did not carry her far enough, and in the mid 1980s she returned to Vevey and the Chaplin villa, rarely showing herself in public, and reportedly struggling with alcoholism. Although she gained some control over her issues with her family's help, Oona was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer after it was too late to counter it. Charlie's one and only enduring love, Lady Oona O'Neill Chaplin, joined him on September 27, 1991, and is interred next to him in Corsier-Sur-Vevey Cemetery. Coda
Since before his death, there have been many layers of public perception of what Charlie Chaplin was all about. Some associated him with virtually nothing but slapstick shenanigans. Some have seen him as countering the Hollywood establishment. Many have seen him as a pathetic figure who was wronged by the American public. Others who study his stories see him as a master of juxtaposition of pathos and comedy in the same space. There is some degree of truth to all of these layers.
In some ways this actually speaks very highly of Chaplin as both a film maker and a musician. The clear intention of music in relation to films for him, going back to when he first distributed cue sheets for The Kid with specific styles of pieces intended for specific scenes, was to enhance or underscore the action on the screen without getting in the way of it. The very word underscore comes from this contention, and is used to denote what some might call background music, even though a true underscore has a much more symbiotic relationship with the other elements of a scene, including sets, lighting, camera angles and, of course, acting. Knowing this, Charles wrote themes from his heart and mind that were suggested as much by the action he saw on the screen, or in some cases envisioned in advance, as much as from his own ideas of what would move an audience without detracting from the story. Yet it was not until the 1990s that any serious study was done on his scores and compositions, and even in the second decade of the 21st century, many Chaplin fans are still unaware of the sheer volume and quality of the works he composed over a period of sixty years. There are now CDs and music downloads available of Chaplin scores and songs in their original recordings or rendered by any number of popular artists, Smile being the one that tops the list, followed by Eternally. It is hoped by this author that future generations will be more aware of this particular layer of the many talents of Charlie Chaplin, and perhaps find new ways to apply his music to his films, or even as separate entities. There have been several books written on silent films in general and Chaplin and Keaton in particular since their deaths. As might be expected, some of them focus on the visual or comic aspects of these two multi-talented individuals, but at the very least they have instilled interest in new generations of moviemakers and moviegoers, and bring new insight to those of older generations. Seeing that the time was right, actor and director Sir Richard Attenborough, also a Knight of the British Empire (1976 - now Lord Attenborough), worked to bring his own vision of Chaplin to the screen in 1992. The lead role was played brilliantly by actor Robert Downey, Jr., who in his thirties realized his own struggles with fame and addiction that have since been put behind him and channeled into a highly successful career. Downey, with Attenborough's help, seemed to understand the struggles that often hounded Chaplin, and while it was impossible to encapsulate who he really was in the space of 144 minutes, the pair managed to cover most of the aspects of his life and career, including his musical involvement. One of the more artistic devices Attenborough used was to cast Moira Kelly in the roles of both Hetty Kelly and Oona O'Neill, Charlie's first and last loves. Bringing the story full circle, Chaplin's oldest daughter, Geraldine, was brought on board to play her own grandmother, Hannah Chaplin.
Film historian David Shepherd of Kino Films/Image Entertainment, among other historians, has worked tirelessly since the 1980s to find the best film elements of prints from around the world and restore the films, as best as possible, to their original exhibition length. In some cases he had access to original camera negatives, and with these and selectively intelligent scores by a handful of astute musicians around the world, has been able to offer a balanced and even fresh look at Chaplin's early work. All of his films are available on DVD, although some of the DVDs are now out of print. A few of the later films are now available on high definition Blu-Ray format, with more in the near future. One of the best sets from Image Entertainment is of the 12 Mutual Films, which also includes a documentary on Chaplin's Goliath, Eric Campbell, and both versions of The Gentleman Tramp. A great addition in late 2010 was a new restoration of all of the Keystone comedies, with only one known to be missing, and only two from inferior prints. Proper restored and timed by Shepherd, they give an entirely new perspective on Chaplin's earliest forays into film. The Chaplin family has also made available from the vault in the villa in Vevey all of Charlie's original negatives from 1918 and later. MK2 Editions and Warner Brothers made all of these available on laser disc, then DVD from the late 1990s to the early 2000s. Each package contains a number of engaging features and rare footage plus remastered soundtracks of Chaplin's music and even occasional audio tracks. They are consistently introduced by one of Chaplin's later and most respected biographers, David Robinson.
In 1999, The Jim Henson Company, founded by the originator of the famous Muppets back in the mid 1950s and now a subsidiary of the largest entertainment company in the world, Walt Disney, bought the studio for creating new Muppet productions. They extensively remodeled the lot, taking great pains to restore much of the exterior to the appearance of the old English Village that Chaplin had worked to create in 1918. The recording studios were retained, and are still in use today by the Henson Company, Disney, and Los Angeles area musicians. Also retained are many relics from its original owners, including bathrooms designed like giant fish bowls, and even vaults in the wall, one of which was featured as a safe repository for the tramp's famous shoes in the 1918 promotional film How to Make Movies. Even though the orange groves of West Hollywood are long gone, replaced by progress and commerce (Chaplin himself pled guilty, citing the influx of oil, aeronautics and movies), the appearance of the front gate today is not much different from that of 1918. There is one obvious exception. The head Muppet, Kermit the Frog (analogous to Disney's famous mouse) is posed to the right of the gate as a 12 foot tall statue, dressed in the famous garb of Chaplin's tramp. Tours are conducted for the lucky few who can secure them, and the sense of history is kept very much alive by a new generation of comic icons who derived some of their best material from the person who built their current home. Into the 21st century, dedicated fans will watch Chaplin films and introduce them to others, dedicated musicians will write or improvise scores to the older ones that Chaplin himself did not score, and historians will try to shed new light from a variety of angles on what made Charlie Chaplin tick and why was the public so fascinated by who he was and what he did. Was what he accomplished in the cinema and in music a logical extension of his stage experience or personna, a demonstration of his boundless creativity, a learned science when the medium of film was still in its infancy, or simply art for arts sake? The answer is clearly yes! to all of these. And as long as we can laugh, cry, sympathize with or cheer the tramp, he will continue to have an impact on the world he left behind. For all of his flaws, and there were many, we should hope that the joy and the thoughts he left behind might balance them out. In short, they made him truly human and like the rest of us. There is no single word that can encapsulate those feelings; no one paragraph that can begin to describe him. But then again, isn't that lack of speech what made Charlie so brilliant as a shining star in the first place? A great many sources were used in compiling this biography. The first searched were public records such as the U.S. Census and U.K. Census plus draft records. Federal reports made available under the Freedom of Information act some time ago were also consulted concerning the difficulties Chaplin had with the Government. Newspapers, especially the Los Angeles Times and Herald, were invaluable in conveying or refuting certain bits of information, as were periodicals such as Life Magazine, The Music Trade Review and Presto. Some of the earliest information on Chaplin with the Karno company was readily found in advertisements from newspapers around the United States from 1911 to 1913, the same being true for early exhibitions of his films. Also consulted were releases from Brunswick and various sheet music covers.
There are many fine books on Chaplin, some which need to be approached with a measure of caution to avoid bias one way or another. Usually when consulting multiple sources the most likely scenario can be averaged out, which was done here. Sources consulted (and linked) include My Autobiography by Charles Chaplin; Charlie Chaplin Interviews by Kevin J. Hayes; The Intimate Charlie Chaplin by May Reeves, Claire Goll and Constance Brown Kuriyama; Charlie Chaplin - King of Tragedy by Gerith Von Ulm with help from Kono; Charlie Chaplin and His Times by Kenneth Schuyler Lynn; and Tramp: The Life of Charlie Chaplin by Joyce Milton. There are many fine web resources available on Chaplin as well with overviews of his life, discussions of his films, and photographs. Among the best of these is charliechaplin.com which is the closest entity to an official site that exists; chaplinalife.com which contains many fine photo essays; philposner.com/ccmus/ccmusic.html with an article on Chaplin as "the perfect composer," and charliechaplinarchive.org which contains many of his printed materials collected over the years. Perhaps the most valuable resources of all that explain his art and the progression of his work are the many DVD and Blu-Ray sets available, even if out of print. Most can be found at Amazon.com with a search on "Charlie Chaplin" in quotation marks, or click on the links in the filmography. Judge your purchases by the reviews, but you can trust the products from Kino/Image Entertainment and MK2/Warner Brothers to be of the best possible quality. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
"Zez" Confrey has long been known as one of the most popular progenitors of the Novelty Piano style that was born out of the desire for piano roll arrangers to give their works more bite. He was born to railroad clerk Thomas J. Confrey and his wife Margaret (Brown) Confrey in rural Peru, Illinois at the dawn of the ragtime era. Edward (who may have just as often been called Elzear as he was shown on some official records) was the second youngest of five surviving children of nine born to the couple, including James (3/1885), Frank (11/1886), William (11/1893) and Margaret (5/1897). He displayed his propensity for music at the age of four. Just after his talented older brother Jim had completed a piece during a piano lesson, the youngest Confrey stood at the piano and picked out the melody of the same piece he had been listening to Jim play. So lessons for Elzear started quite early.
In the 1910 Census the family was shown living in La Salle, Illinois (near Peru) with Thomas still working for the railroad, joined by his son Frank. Oldest son Jim was working as an orchestra musician that year, which was around the time Edward was in high school, and already conducting his own orchestra. "Zez" (as he was now known) had progressed well beyond what most local teachers could offer him. So he soon attended the fairly close by Chicago Musical College (run by Florenz Ziegfeld Sr., father of the famous Ziegfeld Follies founder) for better grounding in all musical forms ranging from classical music to contemporary composers Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky, and others. It was the influence of the French impressionist composers that showed up in his later compositions.One of his earliest pieces that might be considered a precursor to novelty piano was titled Twaify's Piano. Composed in the late 1910s but never published, it was based on a broken-down player piano at Twaify's on Eighth Street in La Salle. He imitated as much as many of the instrument's characterisics as he could, including "its wheezing performance, wrong and missing notes, the asthmatic pedal, the flapping roll," all on a fully working instrument. In an effort to support himself during college, Zez logically chose performance, and his older brother Jim stepped in to help him out. They formed an orchestra, then even opened their own venue, The Kaskasia Hotel, to feature it, as well as engaging in occasional short performance tours. This was interrupted by The Great War (World War I). His 1917 draft card lists him as a music teacher living in La Salle. Zez ultimately joined the Navy, where he ended up entertaining the sailors more than serving with them. One of his performing partners during his stint in the show Leave It To Sailors was a talented violinist from Waukegan, Illinois named Benjamin Kubelsky. He later started telling jokes between tunes and soon changed his stage name to Jack Benny. When Zez was fresh out of the Navy he sought to expand his exposure by successfully auditioning for the QRS Piano Roll Company, making it clear that he felt his arranging skills would help their rolls sell better. During his six-plus years there he proved that contention to be accurate. In all he made at least one hundred twenty five rolls for QRS, and perhaps several more that have not been positively identified as they were released under pseudonyms. Zez secured a job as a manager with publisher G. Schirmer in Chicago in 1919, a branch dealing mostly with vaudeville singers. From there, it was a natural progression that his next step would be composition. After a few interesting pieces, Zez pulled My Pet out of his hat in 1921 (possibly a couple of years earlier). Where Felix Arndt's Nola had broken some new ground six years earlier in the use of seemingly complex sounding patterns, My Pet threw in a impressionistic harmonic progressions and previously implausible syncopated patterns to define his own brilliant take on the novelty piano genre. It was followed almost immediately by his wildly popular mega-hit Kitten on the Keys, and both were quickly packaged on a Brunswick record, as well as arranged for piano roll. In the midst of a barrage of interesting solos that would follow, he penned Stumbling, an instrumental that became his most popular vocal song. It came about when Zez watched a postman doing his duty amidst snowdrifts during a winter storm. The piece was used gratuitously throughout the movie Thoroughly Modern Millie in 1967. Some of the sides he did for Brunswick were repeated in 1921 and 1922 for the Emerson label, and he performed Kitten on the Keys on a celebrated Edison Diamond Disc as well on the last day of 1921. Publisher Jack Mills was thrilled to have Confrey as one of his prime composers. Confrey had experienced rejection by many publishers who thought his pieces were outlandishly difficult for the average pianist, and was reluctant to even present them to the adventurous entrepreneur. However, Mills saw the sales potential by promoting their musicality as well as making sure they were available on phonograph records. This created a successful paradox where even hack amateurs were so sure they could play what they heard on those recordings that they bought Confrey tunes by the thousands, only to discover their own limitations as represented by the apparent complexity. In truth, Zez Confrey novelties mostly consisted of simple patterns, and had they taken the time to master those patterns the learning curve would have been greatly lowered. A very successful folio of Zez Confrey's Modern Course in Novelty Piano Playing was created in 1923 to address this issue, and indeed remained in print for four decades. A ringing endorsement of this was the adoption of this book by the dominant Christensen School of Music with branches throughout the country. Still, in the end, it was the complexity of novelty piano that soured sheet music sales for Mills and other companies in the genre, but money was still to be made in the record business.Perhaps the highlight of Confrey's performance career, and indeed a benchmark for jazz music that announced it was here to stay, was the legendary concert that bandleader Paul Whiteman arranged at Aeolian Hall in New York City on February 12, 1924. While most may remember that event as the premiere of George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue as arranged by Ferdé Grofé, it should also be noted that some of Confrey's compositions were featured as well, and the composer himself rolled out his newest piece, the classically structured Three Little Oddities, along with the bombastic Dizzy Fingers and famous Kitten on the Keys. In fact, the official billing for the concert read, "Paul Whiteman and his Palais Royal Orchestra will offer An Experiment in Modern Music, assisted by Zez Confrey and George Gershwin." After the event he accepted a position creating rolls exclusively for Ampico reproducing pianos, and turned out forty-four over the next three years. In addition, Whiteman had sponsored Confrey's own orchestra as part of his band empire as early as 1922, a dance orchestra which recorded several sides for Victor as well as performed live at many events. Some of these made it overseas on the HMV (His Master's Voice) label as well For all of his performance duties, it appears that Zez took the creation of piano rolls more seriously than anything. It is difficult to get a full estimate of the number of rolls he recorded for QRS, Aeolian and other concerns (the number 223 has been suggested), but each of them clearly has his stamp on them. Confrey could take a semi-popular song, as he did with Titina in 1925, and turn it into a novelty masterpiece, sometimes by adding an original section or altering the format of the song. They were also carefully edited after he made the mark-up copies for a very refined performance. His acoustic recordings were more throwaways in some regards, even though some of them indicated as many as 12 takes for a piece, sometimes across two sessions. In on instance, fellow pianist Phil Ohman sat in for Confrey both playing and leading his orchestra. After two years of constant recording with Victor his output appears to have simply dropped off in 1924, perhaps so he could focus on other concerns like composition and traveling with the orchestra. A series of recuts of Confrey pieces was done in 1927 after the advent of electronic recording, but with the exception of one tracks, this time it was Victor's musical director Nat Shilkret at the piano with the "Confrey Orchestra," which was actually the Victor house band.As he became more popular, Confrey became a spokesperson in some ways for the advancement of music forms, which is natural since he was part of the transition of ragtime into jazz and novelty tunes. An article from The Music Trade Review of February 25, 1928, read as follows: WATERTOWN, N. Y., February 21.- During his concert here at the armory this week, Zez Confrey, composer of "Kitten on the Keys" and other piano novelties, gave a short talk on the development of jazz music in recent years. Standing by his piano, after playing some of his compositions, Mr. Confrey said: "Radio is largely responsible for the change brought about in American dance music. The old-time so-called 'jazz' could not be broadcast with success. Since the introduction of radio several years ago, I have watched this evolution of the small dance orchestra to the present day concert dance orchestra, playing symphonic jazz with its intricate harmonies and pulsating
rhythms. The radio has also served to instruct the small town orchestra, and as a result this type of orchestra is better than its prototype of several years ago.
However, as the 1930s approached, Zez turned more to composition than to performance. An announcement in the October 6, 1928 edition of The Music Trade Review noted the following:
Zez Confrey, pianist-composer and for many years leader of his own dance orchestra, has just signed an exclusive contract with the Irving Berlin Standard Music Corp., New York, and will place all his compositions with that organization in the future. Mr. Confrey will concentrate on novelty orchestra numbers similar to his famous "Kitten on the Keys," which proved one of the biggest novelty hits ever published. His first release on the order of "Jumping Jack," the firm's present hit, will be introduced shortly both as a novelty piano solo and in orchestra form. The number will be exploited by the organization in a country-wide campaign. Mr. Confrey is also working on modern piano instruction books, both for beginners and advanced students. This news should be of real interest to music dealers throughout the country, who have enjoyed a substantial sale of Mr. Confrey's compositions in the past. His novelties all bear the individuality of his style of playing, and he belongs in a class by himself among modern American composers.
In the mid 1930s Zez participated in a few short subject films in New York. One of those, Home Run on the Keys from 1937, featured his Kitten on the Keys played live, and included fellow composer Byron Gay who had recently returned from a trip to the South Pole. The star of the film was the one who garnered the most attention at that time, New York Yankees slugger Babe Ruth. Ruth and Confrey had been friends for several years as Wilhelmina, who had appeared with Ethel Merman in Girl Crazy and The Ziegfeld Follies was a friend of Ruth's current wife who had also worked as a showgirl. Zez's signature piece, Kitten on the Keys, was also prominently featured in a 1935 Disney Silly Symphony, Three Orphan Kittens, through the emulation of a piano roll that was actually played live. Beyond incidentals like these, occasional radio appearances were largely his mid to late 1930s exposure to the general public. In the 1940 Federal Census, Edward was shown living in Queens with Wilhemina and their two sons, Paul (1934) and Thomas (1939). He listed his occupation as a hotel musician. Confrey's 1942 draft card shows him listed as a "free lance composer" still living in Queens, NY, a decade after his unfortunate downslide. He was now perhaps well enough off from his royalties in addition to any playing appearances he might have made during this time that things had been looking up. Zez sought out ways to expand genres within his repertoire of pieces. This ambition was mostly realized, but hindered by the onset of Parkinson's Disease in the mid to late 1940s. While this did not inhibit his compositional abilities, it made performance difficult, and he retired from public appearances. During the honky-tonk piano craze of the 1950s there was a definitive revival of Confrey's pieces, including Kitten on the Keys and Dizzy Fingers among others, thanks to artists like Lou Busch, Ray Turner and Dick Hyman. He composed a small suite of tunes at the end of the decade, but many of his efforts remained in manuscript form until after his death. Confrey's older works were only infrequently heard or performed during the 1960s. Jim Confrey died in November 1968. Zez finally succumbed to the ravages of Parkinson's disease, dying of a stroke in November 1971. It was right at the beginning of the big ragtime revival that would culminate in a book of his [nearly] complete works published in 1982. His son Paul cooperated with the project, and ultimately survived his father through August 2008. Wilhelmina survived her husband until September 1991. Zez Confrey left behind a staggering variety of memorable pieces that are still continually rediscovered by a new generation and are actively performed in the 21st century. | |||||||||||
Seger Ellis was a born and bred Texan, the son of bank clerk George Ellis, Jr. and Millien Pillot of Houston. He arrived in the Lone Star State on a hot Fourth of July in 1904. As of the 1910 census the family, including Seger's younger brother Hampton Ellis (1906) were living with Mildred's parents, Nicholas and Pauline Pillot, in Houston. At the time of the 1920 census nothing had changed with the extended family's situation, and George was now listed as an assistant cashier in the bank. Hampton would eventually follow in his father's footsteps, but Seger had a different direction in mind.
Little has been relayed about Seger's musical training, but given his musical capabilities he may have had some light harmony and theory in high school. He also had professional help. He later recalled that there were three piano players in town, Jack Sharpe, Charley Dickson and Peck Kelley. They played at all the parties and made a good living. He would watch them carefully, and finally asked Jack Sharpe for lessons. Sharpe resisted, and tried to thwart the teen by charging five dollars per lesson, a lot of money at that time. But Seger came up with the funds somehow. The lessons consisted of Seger watching Jack play slowly, supplemented by lessons in reading music from another more traditional lady piano teacher. Seger's musical education also came from The University of Virginia, and he worked his way through school performing in local venues. Ellis was also obviously immersed in popular music forms, and not just those heard in Texas or Virginia. Since his musical upbringing predated radio, his influences likely came from phonograph records and live performances, perhaps even some vaudeville. Just the same, there was some Texas ragtime style present in his blues performances as well, some of it perhaps from Sharpe. In the early 1920s, with the ragtime era rapidly fading and the decade of novelty piano and the jazz age underway, Ellis entered the field of professional music in Houston. He self-published two of his first songs in 1923 and 1924, and formed his own instrumental group playing popular dance music and some early jazz works and blues. As radio started to take hold on the American landscape after 1922, station operators first had to establish a stable signal and audience in their respective regions, then look to providing content in order to keep their audience and attract advertisers.
However, prior to his radio debut, Ellis was "discovered," even though that discovery took a few months. Victor Records, which along with Columbia was one of the predominant record companies in the United States, had been experiementing with electronic recording in early 1925. In order to quickly build up their repertoire and stable of artists to keep their market share and appeal to regional artists, they sent some of their first electronic field units around various parts of the country to find and record new talent. In mid-march they came to Houston where Victor engineers spent a few days auditioning and recording various acts. Among those were the Lloyd Finlay Orchestra with Seger at the piano, and on March 17th and 18th, 1925, they recorded several sides, four of the takes which were released, two of them Ellis compositions. As Ellis recalled it in a February 1962 Jazz Journal International article, "The Victor A&R man came to town to record Lloyd Finlay's pit band at the Majestic Theater. He wanted to do eight sides, but Finlay was only ready with four numbers and the A&R man, that was Eddied King, had only two with him. Then they heard me playing on the radio... and he came around and asked me for two original numbers." The Victor managers in New York were impressed enough with what their engineers returned with that they asked Seger, now a rising star in his native Houston, to come to Camden, New Jersey to record more sides for the label. The performances he laid down were fine, but there were technical issues with the recordings themselves. He ventured back there over the summer, and on August 10th through 12th recorded as many as 45 to 50 takes of several of his own compositions, and a couple of others that he knew. However, the difficulties of early electronic recording and lack of experience on what microphones to use for piano solos and how to use them got in the way, and in the end only three of those sides, Prairie Blues and Sentimental Blues, were deemed usable. Several other takes were put on hold or destroyed. Still, he was among the first Victor artists, perhaps the first pianist to record commerical solo jazz and blues piano sides electronically to disc during the nationwide crossover to this technology between 1925 and 1927. These first two released tracks do tell us a bit about the evolving style of the 21-year-old pianist. Prairie Blues is a laid back piece with elements of a strong barrelhouse left hand - more of a left hand vamp that is chord based rather than the traditional ragtime bass.
His style was indiciative of the early East Texas barrelhouse style as performed by other blues and boogie-woogie figures such as Will Ezell and George and Hersal Thomas. This enhances the chance that Seger actually heard, and possibly knew these other players as they roamed throughout the south in the early 1920s. His Ash Can Blues, one of the original Victors that survives in spite of not being issued, is further proof of this, as it has been compared to 31 Blues played by Bob Call, another fine Texas blues pianist. It was backed by one of his first songs, You'll Want Me Back Some Day, reocrded in early 1926. In spite of his potential as a dynamic boogie pianist bordering on stride piano, a different path would eventually be chosen for Seger by public acclaim. It started during his radio days or performing in the vaudeville houses in Houston and surrounding areas. Ellis had a relatively high but smooth tenor voice, yet he was reportedly uncomfortable with the prospect of his singing. Given that radio was such an important medium for audio, and that during that period most radio sets had better sound potential than the average acoustic phonograph player, it was a given that his employers at KPRC would want Seger to go with the growing trend of bands with singers. They felt that it was difficult to sustain 90 minutes of piano solos at that time, so they asked him to vocalize. Seger felt his voice was too high to be accepted by the public, but their reaction was quite the opposite, and it was his vocalizing that made him more of a star than his dynamic piano playing did. Ellis was again invited back east, this time by Columbia Records, and in November 1926 his career as a handsome and charismatic tenor on the national stage began with the piano and vocal recording of Sunday. Over the next 20 months he would lay down several vocal tracks for Columbia, and these in turn put his picture on a number of sheet music covers, a silent promotion that still worked well for artists and composers in the 1920s and 1930s. Almost simulatneously Ellis began an even longer career playing for Okeh Records after Columbia purchased them. Seger moved to New York around this time.
One pair of recordings in particular put him in with the top musicians of that period. On June 4, 1929, Ellis provided vocals for S'Posin' and To Be In Love, joined by no less than Louis Armstrong, Tommy Dorsey, Jimmy Dorsey and drummer Stan King, along with his orchestra leader pal Justin Ring on piano. This was rare in that Louis had rarely worked outside of his own band during this period. That the black Armstrong's first track as an independent was on a date for the white Seger Ellis is of some historical significance. It is also probable that Armstrong played trumpet against Seger's vocal on the recently penned Ain't Misbehavin' in August, 1929. Ellis further wrote arrangements for Armstrong, cornetist Muggsy Spanier, trumpeter Manny Klein, the legendary but troubled Bix Beiderbecke, guitarist Eddie Lang and jazz violinist Joe Venuti, all Okeh artists in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Early in 1927 Ellis was invited to the U.S. Music studio to record one of his characteristic pieces. The end result was Texas Wail Blues, also released with minor changes on the QRS label, and which was heavily promoted in Texas. In March 1927 he was back in the Houston area performing it on stage and at music stores both in Houston and San Antonio, later in the Dallas Fort Worth area.
In all, Seger appeared on at least 95 Okeh sides between November 1926 and December 1930, followed by a small quantity of just ten Brunswick recordings through June 1931, primarily as a vocalist, but on rare occasions as a pianist. Four Okeh instrumental sides in particular stand out, as does another interesting vocal. In March 1930 Seger recut his first two blues, Prairie Blues and Sentimental Blues, for Okeh. There is only a slight evolution noticeable in this higher fidelity tracks, but they remain fairly true to his Victor takes. Then he took on the by now ubiquitous St. Louis Blues to great effect. But the A side of that record was his Shivery Stomp, a romp that is a standout among the Seger Ellis piano tracks and his admitted favorite as well. While not overly inventive harmonically, it is a showcase for his heavily chorded left hand barrelhouse style, which includes a couple of cleanly executed scales rising up to the right hand melody. Rhythmically it pulses throughout, but with such a fascinating effect that it borders between music that encourages dance movement and that which encourages concentrated listening. Shivery Stomp was also covered by Bix Beiderbecke, and by Frankie Trumbauer and His Orchestra ten months before Ellis' own, recording, also on the Okeh label. This time line indicates that Trumbauer may have had an ongoing musical relationship with the pianist (Seger had added vocal to one Trumbauer side), and also that it and other pieces obviously predated their composer's recording dates by quite a bit. One more interesting track was a vocal with orchestra and piano backing. St. James Infirmary, a venerable New Orleans lament. It was recorded on January 21, 1930. It has elements of boogie bass as well as the persistent funerial pulse throughout.
While many artists often performed or composed using a pseudonym, Ellis was not known to do this except on an occasion where it was called for. In this case it was Okeh who had a floating band name backing one of their novelty minstrel and country yodeling vocalists, Emmett Miller. On at least a couple of sides, Seger filled in as Bud Blue, a.ka. Buddy Blue, Buddy Blue and his Texans, and various other contrivances. Other Okeh artists of that period also stepped into the Bud Blue shoes, usually pianist Fred Rich. The group also backed singer Smith Ballew although it appears Ellis had no part in his sessions. Being from Texas, Seger probably took these requests in stride. Ellis had toured England in 1928 as a solist, and was once again out of the country for the 1930 census, so some points of his life at that time are hard to confirm. He was married at that time to Vivian Masterson fron Angleton, Texas. They arrived in England from New York on April 3, 1930, and returned on May 28 from Cherbourg, France. Whether this was for a music tour or simply a trip (honeymoon?) with his wife is not clear. However, other known band members were not found on either of the ship rosters. It also indicates that the couple was living at that time at 8267 Austria Street in Kew Gardens, a neighborhood in Queens, New York. And then it seemed to just end. It is unclear whether Ellis fell out of favor with the public, or with Okeh Records, or just wanted to lay back for a while. His last tracks for a while were recorded in June 1931. The Great Depression was taking hold of the country and the globe, and record sales dropped as much as 85% between 1929 and 1931, given that a radio was cheaper to maintain and was always current. While there has been a lot of speculation on what Ellis was up to during this period, some scant listings have been found for him as a vocalist, mostly in the Houston area. However, he also worked as a booking agent for talent for several years in the mid 1930s. An article in the Pittsburgh Press of March 28, 1934, confirms that Ellis was living or staying in Cincinnati, Ohio at that time, and had previously won first place in one of their national radio talent contests. There are also mentions of him performing on WLW in Cincinnati where he made a discovery of his own. One of the groups he heard there, and then promoted to fame were The Mills Brothers, who went on to a fairly lucrative career in the 1940s and 1950s, initially under the management of Seger. Ellis contributed songs to their catalog for nearly two decades. He also was partly responsible for the rise of Sammy Cahn (Cohen), who had a stellar career as a songwriter and musician, and his early partner Saul Chaplin. There is otherwise very little mention of Ellis between mid 1931 and mid 1936.But he was still to be seen, as well as heard, during this period. His picture still surfaced infrequently on sheet music covers throughout the 1930s. Seger's voice had also been heard in a couple of early sound films for Warner Brothers. Then things started to pick up a bit. In addition to his booking agent duties, there was a short-term gig as a vocalist in the mid 1930s at statn KFPG/KMTR (now KLAC) in Los Angeles, California (KMTR is now in Eugene, Oregon). Other indicators show that he stayed in Los Angeles from 1935 to at least 1937, also appearing frequently on KHJ with his orchestra, and performing with Paul Whiteman's orchestra. He also appeared on screen in 1936 in One Rainy Afternoon, singing Secret Rendevous with Margaret Warner. In 1935 Ellis started to form a big band, his Choir of Brass. The original consist of the group was four trumpets, four trombones, a clarinet, drums, bass and two pianos. Seger spent more than a year picking personnel and developing unique jazz arrangements for the group with the help of Spud Murphy who had also worked with Benny Goodman's arranger Fletcher Henderson. Out of some 80 arrangements they cut several sides in 1937 which were later released on a long-playing record. This group performed and recorded until 1941, but Ellis' role was mostly as the leader and arranger, as he rarely played piano with them. The Choir of Brass was ahead of its time, and perhaps too early to trend, given their advanced approach to jazz and swing, so the group did not fare well overall. One of their more complex tracks was a brass arrangement of Shivery Stomp. During this period Seger started appearing both as a soloist and with his groups at venues in the larger cities, including Los Angeles and New York.
By 1939 Ellis and his orchestra were steadily engaged in the east and got plenty of exposure on national radio broadcasts, mostly with him singing and rarely featured on the piano. Another singer featured with him, starting as early as mid-1938, was his (presumably) second wife, Irene Taylor. (Attempts to find dates of his first divorce and second marriage came up empty.) By 1940 the Brunswick and Vocalion company, which had also issued some Ellis records in 1940, was purchased and consolidated along with most of their contracts. So Seger briefly went back to work once again for a reorganized Okeh label under CBS, largely covering swing music arrangements. As of the 1940 census, taken in at the Hotel Belvedere on West 48th Street in Manhattan, Seger and Irene were listed respectively as an orchestra leader in a night club and a singer in (likely the same) night club. Working in this capacity and with CBS through the summer of 1942, Ellis enlisted in the Army Air Corps in September. His role in the military is unclear, but there are no mentions of him in the Stars and Stripes magazine of the war years, so it may have been more as a soldier than as an entertainer. His stay there was short-lived, and followed by a "defense job." Ellis' marriage to Taylor ended around this time, as did two subsequent marriages over the next few years. It is hard to find much of mention of Seger in the press after 1942, except for when his compositions were performed by other artists. There was a short-term arrangement with the Harry James Orchestra in the period after Frank Sinatra left, but Ellis was not a crooner, so no recordings came out of it. Seger ran a bar in the Houston area from the late 1940s through perhaps the 1950s. He struck a bit of songwriting gold in 1948 with You're All I Want for Christmas, which was quickly covered by the ultimate Christmas songster of the time, Bing Crosby. Recordings by Frankie Laine and Al Martino help to make it an instant classic.
As of late 1961, when he was interviewed by John Bryan of the Jazz Journal International published in London, England, Ellis had settled into a "comfortable brick house directly behind the storied Shamrock Hilton Hotel in Houston." He was still writing the occasional song, and even produced one for the article, I Wish I Had My Old-Time Sweetheart Back Again. In his laments about the old days Ellis noted the tragedy of the talented Bob Zurke, who he feels never got his proper due with the Bob Crosby band. On the current state of jazz, he stated that "Most guys today don't play much left hand. They play both together, block hands. Today when a guy cuts a piano solo he makes it with bass, a drummer, maybe a guitar. In the old days we worked alone on the solos and we had to carry it ourselves." Given the number of cuts Seger made with ensembles as opposed to solos, this seems contradictory, but there were a few other variances in his memory as well that found their way into the story. After 1962 the trail goes mostly cold for a while. Local Houston PBS station KUHT produced an hour-long documentary about the composer in the 1970s. Both a mention of Ellis and a 1989 picture are found on the BlueTone Piano Roll site on the Memorials page. Ellis was interviewed on June 15, 1991 by Clay Shorkey and Rudy Martinez, a recording which is preserved at the Texas Music Museum. He finally passed away in September 1995 in his native Houston at age 91, and was buried at the Everglade Meadow in the Hollywood Cemetery in Houston as an Army veteran. Historically there were many who were and are fans of Seger's singing voice, and many who are also detractors that regard his vocals as "nightmarish" at the very least. Most late 1920s and 1930s collectors have all but forgotten about his dynamic and driving piano style. However, there are still recordings of his solos available in the digital domain that remain as a reminder of how this Texas boy got his start so long ago. Thanks to historian Dave Lewis for inciting this article, and Nick Artega who contributed a little bit of information on Ellis' early recordings.
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There are a lot of mysteries surrounding the origins and fate of African-American blues pianist Will Ezell. Some will be addressed here, but some unfortunately will still remain either questionable or simply lost to history.
The first of these has to do with his birthplace, something that would better explain his earlier musical influences. While Fullerton, Louisiana has been cited, this singular reference comes from a 1972 conversation with blues guitarist Jesse Thomas, who included that information in a sentence about Ezell. Thomas was at least 15 years younger, and did not meet Ezell until late in Will's career. There is another reference to him being from East Texas in the same published source. Such conflicting information has to logically lean more towards concrete findings than word of mouth, so any origin of Ezell that suggests a Louisiana birthplace and upbringing is very suspect. Both a 1917 and 1942 draft record appear to provide the most correct information and initial lead on Ezell, citations of which were not found in any other source while researching this article. However, the author's findings were directly in line with research done by Alex van der Tuuk in 2003. Will Ezell was born in Brenham, Texas, around 70 miles northwest of Houston, on December 23, 1892 (not 1896 as is often reported). This puts him in East Texas within range of Louisiana, and in the heart of the early barrelhouse blues culture. He was one of six children born to day laborer Lorenza Ezell and his wife Rachel (Pinchback) Ezell, including Lula (2/1883), Coy (2/1885), Joseph (3/1888), Lorenza Jr. (7/1894) and Rachel (6/1898). The family was shown living in Brenham in the 1900 census. Little else is known about Ezell's upbringing. Rachel died at some point between 1901 and 1910 as Lorenza showed as widowed and working in the Oklahoma oil fields in the 1910 census. Will started playing in barrelhouses as an itinerant pianist in the early to mid 1910s. This lifestyle may be the most likely reason for not being to accurately locate him in the 1910 or 1920 Federal census records. His June 1917 draft record places Ezell in New Orleans, Louisiana, living at 212 Erato Street near Lafayette Square, a mile from the French Quarter. He was working as a self-employed musician, and indicated a wife and child, although claimed no exemption from possible service. There is no record of him being inducted for service. Will was described as short and slender. There are many mentions of Ezell being in Louisiana at this time, which when aligned with his known death date and the death certificate information in Chicago, make this an absolute match. Over the next few years he continued to work at gin mills, rent parties and various labor venues, most notably the river sawmill camps of Louisiana and East Texas. These camps contained the origin of the barrelhouses, usually a shack made from a railroad box car that used barrels for tables. Such places also functioned as brothels and gambling dens, and the presence of a pianist also made it into a dance hall of sorts. The hard left hand playing style quickly developed out of ragtime bass into something much more dynamic, necessary to overcome poorly maintained pianos and the high noise levels that were often found in such quarters. Many of the pieces were blues-based, making it easier to simply create new melodic lines over an otherwise boilerplate left hand pattern. At the time it was still called ragtime, but would eventually become known as boogie-woogie. It was during these wanderings in the early 1920s that Ezell reportedly teamed up on occasion with blues singer Elzadie Robinson. She came originally from Shreveport, Louisiana, and had performed through Eastern Texas and Louisiana, even up the Mississippi River to St. Louis, Missouri. Performer Knocky Parker also remembers hearing Ezell at the Lone Star Saloon in Dallas some time around 1922 to 1925, Robinson was known to have also performed in that town. The two of them would build up both a rapport and repertoire that would serve them well later in the decade. More than one source puts Will's arrival in Chicago, Illinois, from Louisiana as around 1925, which predates his recording career by just a little bit. Many southern musicians had migrated to Chicago over the past seven years, including Joseph "King Oliver, Louis Armstrong, and Ezell's better known peers Hersal Thomas and James Hemingway. He played in both Chicago and Detroit, Michigan, and became friends with pianists Arthur "Blind" Blake and Charlie Spand. They often gathered early in the week at Blakes apartment to exchange ideas and just play for fun before running off to their respective gigs through the weekend. Late in 1926 Ezell started working at Paramount Records. The company was founded nearly a decade prior in Grafton, Wisconsin, as part of the Wisconsin Chair Company to supplement their phonograph cabinet business, which developed from supplying Edison with cabinets to making their own phonographs. Most of their early output suffered from bland content and poor quality pressings. However, they had been providing Midwest pressing for Black Swan Records of New York, and when that African-American owned company went under, Paramount purchased it, giving them an instant entry into the limited by lucrative business of "race records." Between 1922 and 1926 their reputation in this regard had grown, as had complaints about their uneven quality pressings, which had some effect on the unique content. Still, Paramount provided good opportunities for negro blues players in Chicago that were not readily available elsewhere, and musicians like Ezell quickly signed up to record for them.
Ezell was soon considered the flexible go-to guy at Paramount, as he could quickly adapt to accompanying nearly anybody, his initial role with the label. Among the first he worked with was Lucille Bogan, who rechristened herself as Bessie Jackson within a few years. Bogan, whose songs bordered on raunchy at times, and were inherently about sex, prostitution, alcohol or drugs, had already been recorded in 1923, but was now in a slump. She moved to Chicago and took an apartment near Ezell and Paramount. Will accompanied her on Sweet Petunia, a song by Harry Charles that was full of double-entendres and would became a short-term hit. But their association soon went well beyond just a couple of recorded sides and outside dates, as the pair reportedly became involved for a short time. As later relayed by Charles, Bogan's husband Nazareth brought divorce proceedings against her for the affair, but they ultimately reconciled and remained married at least into the early 1940s. During 1927 Will backed other singers on a total of four additional dates (perhaps more, but written records are sketchy). He gained the trust of Aletha Dickerson who became the self-appointed recording manager of the Chicago branch of Paramount in 1928 following the departure of J. Mayo Williams. Will worked as an on-the-spot arranger and pseudo-producer for many dates between 1928 and 1931, likely with her blessing. He also likely recommended some of his colleagues, particularly Charlie Spand, who recorded for Paramount between 1929 and 1931. However, in late 1927 Will was also allowed to "go solo" on the label, cutting several boogie and blues-tinged piano tracks into early 1929. Among those that remain as standouts were the Mixed Up Rag and Heifer Dust. While many of Ezell's pieces are at least somewhat original, others were clearly assembled from components of other compositions and recordings. This includes Bucket of Blood and West Coast Rag. The latter was literally comprised of strains from the West Coast, most notably Jay Roberts' The Entertainer's Rag. Even in his boogie pieces he quoted from performers like Jimmy Blythe, who had proceeded him to record with that particular style. He was still regarded as original and versatile by other Chicago pianists, and remembered fondly by Eurreal "Little Brother" Montgomery who had also come up through the lumber camp barrelhouses. Quality was still a continuing issue with Paramount releases, be it from uneven recordings or poorly maintained equipment, or just noisy surfaces. During a refitting of the Chicago studios, Paramount artists co-opted the fabled Gennett Records studio in Richmond, Indiana.
Among the duties evidently either handed to or taken on by Ezell was handling of special needs of some of the artists and management at Paramount. Indeed, it has been reported that when Paramount blues guitarist and singer "Blind Lemon" Jefferson died in December 1929, Ezell personally escorted the body back to their native Texas where he was buried on January 1 or 2, 1930. Texas also played into another aspect of Ezell's livelihood. Some studios, including Paramount, often allowed for travel expenses incurred to make it to a recording date. It was not uncommon for some artists to exaggerate their travel just a bit. Ezell was no exception, and reportedly claimed travel from Texas on more than one occasion, even though he lived just blocks from the Paramount office. There seemed to have been little complaint, however, given his talents and contributions. Will was still performing in Chicago in the early 1930s, and was known to have been present at some sessions in 1930 and 1931 at Paramount, but is apparently only heard on two cuts accompanying Sam Tarpley. The company was in trouble, and in 1931 had closed the Chicago studio, choosing to record in Grafton, Wisconsin instead. The Great Depression hit the record industry hard, and given that race records targeted the statistically most impoverished demographic of the United States, their audiences eroded even sooner than those who bought more mainstream popular tunes. Dickerson bailed from the sinking ship, and this appears to have shown her to be the best point of contact between Paramount and its black performers, as most of them seem to have literally disappeared from view and hearing range for a while. After the Paramount deal collapsed, Ezell went back on the road, including to his old stomping grounds Louisiana where performer Clarence Hall remembers playing with him in 1931. Otherwise, reports of his wanderings, even though he was likely still based in Chicago, are scant at best. While he was mostly invisible for the remainder of the 1930s, researcher John Steiner wrote that Cripple Clarence Lofton, who owned the Big Apple Tavern on South State Street near 47th, reportedly hosted Ezell, Charlie Spand, Leroy Garnett and other former Paramount blues performers over the years on his stage. However, given the context of his statement it might have also been during the years of World War II. The 1940 census shows will living at 359 W. Oak Street in Chicago, lodging with a Pauline Rogers. He was working as a watchman for the Chicago street repair project, which at that time was run by the WPA (Work Projects Administration) formed as part of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal legislation of the mid 1930s. Ezell's 1942 draft record showed him working at the Crane Technical School, also run by the WPA. His role there was unclear, but he was likely an either a watchman or perhaps part of the maintenance staff. Will was now living across the street at 368 W. Oak in Chicago, and gave the widowed Mrs. Rodgers as his reference. They were around the same age, but their relationship was not revealed in searches on either party. The next confirmable information that appears on Will Ezell is that of his death in Chicago in 1963 at age 70. He was living just a few blocks from the Delmark Records office, another label that has continued to support jazz and blues since 1953, and around the corner from Delmark founder Bob Koester's important niche store, the Jazz Record Mart (since moved to a newer location). Sadly, there were no notices in the newspaper obituaries or the trades. Will Ezell's musical legacy is relatively small but not insignificant, and there are a couple of nice collections of his Paramount recordings available on CD. Any further information on the life and activities or whereabouts of Will Ezell is welcome, as always, and anything verifiable will be credited. | ||||||||
Byron Gay was a multi-faceted individual who was a composer, lyricist, performing musician, author, and even an explorer at one point. Born in Chicago, Illinois, to Charles Mathewson Gay and Julia J. (Fessenden) Gay, his large family had moved to Winfield, Kansas in the 1890s, with his father following the factory mill work.
Byron had at least six siblings, including brothers Norman Henry (3/10/1888), Ira (4/1890) and Charles Mathewson Jr. (7/18/1898), and sisters Edith (2/1892), Bertha (12/1893) and Julia (5/1897). In 1907 he went to the Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD, for his post-secondary education, graduating in 1909. This left him well-suited for a specific adventure later in his life.After the academy Gay moved to Los Angeles where he started his musical career working as a piano salesman. In the mid 1910s he began getting his works published, the first pieces focusing largely on comic transportation. The Little Ford Rambled Right Along was pretty much an instant hit, covered by many artists on stage and recordings, including the inimitable Bill Murray. It was a sensation that got his name noticed. Byron was then married to Mildred L. Ashley, ten years his junior. By 1917 he is listed as a professional songwriter and musician on his draft card, something that would be echoed on the 1920 and 1930 census records. Late in 1917, the couple moved to New York for a time so he could concentrate on a potential Broadway writing career. Byron's first contribution to the Great White Way was for Furs and Frills. While in Manhattan Gay helped form the Sunshine Publishing Company, and became its initial director. They had an exclusive deal with the Hearst papers for promotion and distribution. He also turned out two of his biggest hits in 1919, The Vamp and Oh!, a song which held the distinction of having the shortest title of any popular song to date. The Vamp, which was intended to be an Oriental number, turned into a big hit in the vaudeville houses as a dance number after its introduction in the Greenwich Village Follies of 1919. That same year, Gay composed what was purported to be a potential hit song with publisher/composer Charles Daniels, My Buddy. While it got some attention, particularly in the trad papers, it was a different tune with the same title composed by Walter Donaldson and Gus Kahn in 1922 that would be the bigger hit. Also in 1919, Byron turned out one musical with Will Hough entitled Honeymoon Town with at least four tunes contributed. Another set of tunes had been composed with Wizard of Oz author L. Frank Baum for the whimsical stage musical The 1916 Uplifters' Minstrels, written for the Los Angeles group of the same name. Of those, Susan Doozan was the only known to have made it into print in 1920, a year after Baum's death. Gay actually clued in his peers on the source of inspiration for his songs to some degree. In a September 25, 1920 article , The Music Trade Review he revealed that the great outdoors was often his muse. It stated that "Byron Gay, who does unusual things in the composing line, finds a lot of his inspiration in touring the country with his specially equipped camping car. Recently he toured through the State of Maine and spend some time along the Penobscto River." It was on these trips that he reportedly took the time to compose new original songs. Gay joined ASCAP in 1922, the same year that Fate became a hit through performances by Ted Lewis in the Greenwich Village Follies on Broadway. One of his last acts while living in Manhattan was curiosly forming Byron Gay Publishing Incorporated. Soon after, tired of New York and traveling back and forth from what he felt was his home base, Byron and Mildred moved back to California full time in 1923. For a while, both of them were heard as working pianists on the fairly new radio medium which was quickly coming of age in Los Angeles and New York.Out west once again, Byron continued his writing with such West Coast notables as Richard Whiting and Charles N. Daniels (aka Neil Morét) and he also worked as a musician, although in what capacity is not clear. Gay did some work on occasion with studios writing a theme song or two for movies, and sometimes recording in bands, often unaccredited. In 1924 he became a vocal advocate for enforcing the 1909 Copyright Law section that imposed a 2 cent royalty on mechanical reproduction of music. In doing so, he wanted the law to cover exclusive recordings of the piece by a selected artist, and insisted that this did not create a monopoly of any kind since others could access the rights once the first recordings had been done. This contention was later applied to radio, and led to two major work stoppage actions by the Musician's Union and the formation of BMI over the next two decades. Also in 1924, Gay organized a Symphonic Dance Orchestra in Los Angeles, in part to record and perform some of his latest numbers. Among those working with him were arranger Arthur Lange who came up with some of the orchestrations. Another runaway hit for Gay came in 1926 with Horses (Crazy over Horses), which was as good as a dance number on stage as it was a comic song on records. By the 1930 Census, when the depression was getting underway, Byron was still living in Los Angeles in the Lido Apartment Hotel, but even though he was listed as married, his wife Mildred was residing elsewhere in Los Angeles with her parents and the Gays' daughter Carol at that time. The couple was divorced in March, 1931, following a somewhat public and embarrasing trial that was covered in the press. Mildred put out allegations of "wild parties" and "other women" in her suit against her husband. He was believed to be in New York at the time of the final hearing, which was more or less uncontested. Full custody of Carol was given to Mildred, and Byron put the episode behind him quickly. Byron had been a fan of Admiral Richard E. Byrd (USN Ret) who he may have known during his time at Annapolis, and followed Byrd's first expedition in the late 1920s down to Antarctica.
Gay went back and forth between California and New York during the decade for various enterprises. He was heard on radio programs broadcast on both coasts, and occasionally in Chicago, Illinois as well. One unusual project filmed in late 1936 was a 1937 Vitaphone short titled Home Run on the Keys It also featured fellow composer Zez Confrey who played Kitten on the Keys in the film. The star of the picture was the one who garnered the most attention at that time, Yankee slugger Babe Ruth. The two composers and the larger than life baseball player concoct a new routine while staying in a hunting lodge. If not for the great playing by Confrey, it could have fallen more flat then it actually did in the end. From this point on there is little found on Gay until 1939 when he wrote the music Swaying with lyrics by the vaudeville comedy team of Olsen and Johnson who had been fairly successful in films throughout the decade. In the early 1940s Gay contributed to a wartime musical score for Navigator's Holiday for the Naval Air Station in Pensacola, Florida, which ran throughout much of World War II. His brother, Norman Henry Gay, who had also moved to California in the 1930s, died in August 1945. Byron Gay followed him a few months later. He died at Memorial Hospital in Los Angeles just before Christmas 1945 following a brief illness. He left behind a widow, Ethel Gay, and his daughter. In 1953, Pee Wee Hunt would revive popularity in Gay and his song Oh!, which was a fairly good seller for Capitol throughout the 1950s. | |||||||
Few composers of any century, much less the 20th century, were as productive or creative as George Gershwin, a true American treasure. While his semi-meteoric rise was not quite an overnight success, it was well deserved and was achieved with determination, talent, and little hesitation. Within a life span only a little longer than that of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Gershwin revolutionized and even codified the relationship between popular songs and the Broadway stage, carrying along with him his friends Irving Berlin and Cole Porter in the process. In fact, given the spread of styles he covered, it is hard to pigeonhole Gershwin's music into any predefined genre, suggesting in some cases that his style was a genre unto itself. His was also a similar story to some of his composer peers who came out of the immigrant neighborhoods to rise to the pinnacle of fame in the growing entertainment industry. Early Years
George was the second of four children born to Russian immigrants Morris Gershovitz (arrived 1891) and Rose (Bruskin) Gershovitz (arrived 1892), who were married on July 21, 1895.
Gershwin's birth certificate (#14691) has a date of September 26 and the name Jacob Bruskin Gershwine, but with the correct parents listed so it is his. George's 1917 draft record claims a birth date of September 25, which is written in his own hand. Was he misinformed as a child or did the attending doctor write the wrong date as well as a misspelled last name? It could also be due to the Jewish tradition of not recognizing the new day until sunset, and George was born mid-day. What seems less of an error is that on the 1900 Census taken June 7, 1900, when he was less than 21 months old, he is clearly listed as George Gershvin (could be Gershwin), not Jacob Gershovitz or Gershwine. The same goes for his older brother Ira, shown as Israel Gershovitz on his birth certificate (#53973), but who was consistently referred to after his birth variously as Ysidore, Isidore or Isadore. One possible explanation of the variance goes to poor communication between the doctor or staff and the parents when the birth certificate was filled out. Another more viable explanation is that many American immigrant Jewish families had two different names for their children - one in Yiddish, and the other an Anglicized version. This may be the case with George whose Yiddish name may well have been Jacob, as much as Isadore's was Israel. However, it appears that George is the only name he ever knew or went by. On the family name: Isadore was born with the name Gershovitz. Therefore Morris or his brother Aaron simplified or Anglicized the family name some time between the births of their first two boys. On most available sources it appears variously as Gershvin or Gershwin throughout the early 1900s. In any case, he was never George Gershovitz. The Gershwin household was a mobile one, sometimes moving as many as three times in a year, as Morris evidently liked to live near his constantly changing place of business. When George was born he was said to have been in leather. By 1900 he was listed as a shoemaker, which may have been an offshoot of the leather business. He dabbled in other areas of clothing, retail, bookmaking, and even running a Turkish bath, as more of his immigrant peers were flooding the lower East Side of Manhattan and over into Brooklyn, the family bouncing back and forth between each borough. This instability may have affected George, even more so than his brother Izzy, as the youth did not fare well in school. While capable, he was distracted and showed little interest in sitting in class much less learning. In spite of his slight build, George was athletic and preferred to be out roller skating or playing at some other sport. It was clear that Izzy would be the studious one who would achieve the American dream. That is, if not for Max Rosenzweig. Maxie was one of George's younger school friends and at ten years old becoming a fine violinist as well (he had a fine career with the instrument as virtuoso Max Rosen).
School was tough enough on George. Being surrounded by ragtime and popular songs while taking lessons in classical music was even more frustrating. His first two teachers were Miss Green and an unnamed Hungarian band director. However, after more than two years George had outgrown their patience and skills, and needed something more. Having been playing in a few public locations, he was befriended by pianist Jack Miller who in turn introduced George to Charles Hambitzer. The instructor would become George's mentor over the next four or so years (he died in 1918), and would go beyond technique, giving Gershwin a new perspective on European composers including contemporaries such as Ravel and Debussy. He also encouraged George to attend symphonic concerts featuring piano, which must have given the boy a taste for the stage as well as some excitement about the scope of such works. Hambitzer further directed George to Edward Kilenyi for additional lessons in theory and composition as time and money permitted. Around the same time, determined to pursue a music career, George quit high school with his mother's blessing and understanding, and tried to find work either playing or working for a publisher. Sister Frances was also becoming adept at singing and dance, and actually may have preceded her older brother in earning money through music. However, she married very young and gave up music and dance for painting and motherhood. From Tin Pan Alley to Broadway
After searching around a bit, George managed to get hired by Mose Gumble as a song plugger at the publishing house of Jerome H. Remick for $15.00 per week. The Rise to Fame
From this point on nearly every song that came from Gershwin would either find its way into a Broadway show, or be specifically composed as part of one. (Note that this does not include his famous instrumental works.) In 1919 various Gershwin songs found their way into three Broadway musicals, and he would write the scores for two others. La, La, Lucille, a show composed with prolific lyricist Buddy G. DeSylva and associate Arthur J. Jackson, would be his first full-fledged assignment. The Rhapsody and The Reaction
Just after the New Year started in 1924, Ira pointed out a blurb in a New York newspaper to George, claiming he had agreed to write a Jazz Concerto for Whiteman's orchestra. With just five weeks left before the concert, it was clear to Ira that George hadn't even started on it yet, and given that the piece was already generating buzz in the press it became paramount that work get underway. Broadway, Carnegie Hall, London and Paris
At some point in 1925, now flush with money and fame, George was able to move uptown to the upper West Side of Manhattan, providing a much more fashionable and comfortable home for his parents there as well. He also put his money to use engaging more in art, attempting to paint to a degree (Ira turned out to be a fairly accomplished oil canvas artist), Porgy and Bess
In 1926 George had read a novel by DuBose Heyward titled Porgy. It concerned the life of black residents of the real life "Catfish Row" in Charleston, South Carolina, and planted a seed for what would become a full-length opera. Late in 1933, George and Ira, along with Heyward, signed a contract the Theater Guild of New York to write and produce the opera for the stage. Death and Postlude
Early in the same year, George started to complain about blinding headaches which had likely started late in the previous year. He also noted that he smelled burning rubber on a regular basis. By late spring the recurrences were chronic, and even while he was still working on his final tunes, including Our Love Is Here to Stay, George collapsed while still at work on July 9 and fell into a coma. The diagnosis was that he had developed a type of cystic malignant brain tumor known as glioblastoma multiforme.
One of the first public gestures was a memorial concert at the Hollywood Bowl on September 8 conducted by Otto Klemperer. Ira continued to finish polishing the remaining songs the brothers had worked on for The Goldwyn Follies. His former long-time love, Kay Swift, transcribed many of George's recordings and helped Ira with the completion and arrangement of some of the pieces. All of his estate was passed to his mother Rose, who benefited from his copyright income for the remainder of her life. Gershwin was awarded a posthumous 1937 Oscar for Best Song for They Can't Take That Away from Me. Some of the late songs that Ira and George had composed while in Beverly Hills were finally incorporated into the film The Shocking Miss Pilgrim in 1946. Even more songs from the archives were incorporated into the film Kiss Me Stupid in 1964, 27 years after his death. Ira survived George until 1983, composing many more fine works with the best of American music composers. The honors and accolades for both Gershwins have continued to pour in for decades, and many fine performances of Gershwin works have found their way into recorded media every time the technology advanced. While less appreciated in the United States for his classical and operatic works during his lifetime, George was well recognized by his European peers as a genius in these genres. As time has gone on, even his most eclectic works have become assimilated into the greater bodies of both musical theater and advanced American musical forms. In 2006 he was inducted into the Long Island Music Hall of Fame, one of a number of such organizations in which he has been recognized. There is a theater on Broadway named for him. The Library of Congress in Washington, DC, named a new prize for popular song after the composer and his brother in 2007. The first recipient of the George and Ira Gershwin award was another American treasure, Paul Simon. The amazing Stevie Wonder was also given the prize by President Barack Obama in February of 2009. The most recent recipient was Sir Paul McCartney in 2010, for his inestimable contributions to the world of popular song. The continually popular and instantly recognizable Rhapsody in Blue has lived on as one of the only Gershwin pieces licensed for advertising with United Airlines as of the late 1980s. This move in part, along with involvement of the Walt Disney Organization, helped spur long time popular musician and California congressman Sonny Bono to champion a copyright extension act in 1998, significantly increasing copyright protections for the works all American composers dating back to 1923. The elements of this were linked in the inclusion of total Americana elements such as illustrator Al Hirschfeld and the music Rhapsody in Blue in the 1999 Disney film Fantasia 2000 The word "Gershwinesque" has found its way into the musical vocabulary, which reinforces George's place in history as having created his own unique genre as well as the influence it has wielded since. The boy who started playing and writing ragtime as a basis for developing his own style ended up, in a lifetime about as long as the great Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, creating a new language American music that has since spread around the entire planet, and will outlive him by hundreds of lifetimes. We should be thankful we had him at all, even if it was not for long enough. In addition to the author's own research of historical archives and conjectural input, a number of corroborating texts on Gershwin's life were used as a basis for this shortened biography. Two in particular are recommended as the most complete work on the composer: George Gershwin by Howard Pollack (2007) and George Gershwin by William Hyland (2003). The former provides a deep analysis of his music plus a number of great anecdotes concerning his personal life. The latter provides a different balance and a slightly different chronological formation. Both provide a rather exhaustive look at who George was and what drove him, as well as how he dealt with setbacks and successes. | |||||||||||||
David Guion (commonly pronounced guy-on) was born into a very large Texas family (five older siblings, two younger, and one deceased) when Texas was still very much the domain of cowboys, and not yet for oil and other commerce. His exposure to music early on came in part from African American servants employed by the family, and included a great body of spiritual works as well as American folk songs and cowboy tunes of Texas that were brought to him via the cowboys who worked for his father. John Isaac Guion II is listed as a lawyer in 1900 (his father was a governor of Mississippi at one point), but was later a judge, and a long-time rancher as well. David's mother, Matilda Armour Fentress Guion (some sources cite "Wendel Fentress" as Guion's middle names), was an accomplished singer and pianist. | ||||||||||
Growing up in post-Civil War Alabama, the music of Black America and African heritage surrounded young Will Handy. He was born in a log cabin in Florence, Alabama, to Charles Bernard and Elizabeth Bewer Handy. Mr. Handy was the pastor of a small church near Florence, and had his son apprenticed in carpentry, shoemaking and plastering. After earning a little bit of money on the side, young Will brought home a guitar he had purchased, and his father immediately banned the "sinful thing" from the home. However, his parents were well enough off to get him music instruction, and after some failed organ lessons his first real instrument became the cornet. Much of his true musical desire and even his performance activities remained hidden from his parents. | ||||||
Alex Hill was born near Little Rock, Arkansas, not far from the cradle of classic ragtime and St. Louis, Missouri. He was born to Andrew Henry Hill and his wife Augusta Hill, and was the oldest of three brothers, including Andrew Dixon (11/1908) and Henry Solomon (12/1909). It was Andrew's second marriage and Augusta's first. Andrew (he later used Henry) was a pianist and music teacher with a degree from Wilberforce University in Ohio. In the 1910 Census was listed as the president of a college that may have been a seminary. The family was living in Pulaski, Arkansas at that time, a suburb of Little Rock. At some point in the 1910s he became a Methodist-Episcopalian minister. As of the 1920 Census the family was residing in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, around 25 miles southeast of Little Rock, with Henry listed as a minister, and Augusta as a school teacher. There is little doubt that Alex and his brothers grew up in a fairly well-regimented and spiritual environment.
In his youth Alex was instructed in piano by his parents and probably another local teacher, reportedly mostly in classical and liturgical styles. However, he had trouble resisting the lure of syncopation as the jazz age approached, and took a different musical direction than his parents had hoped for. Before he was even sixteen, Alex knew much of the popular music of the time and had played wherever he could find in the area for dances or other events. At sixteen he decided to make a career of it and sought a professional band with which he could work. He ended up with several "territory bands," groups that traveled on a circuit within a specified region of the United States playing at small to medium sized dance venues. Among those were the groups of trumpeter Terrence Holder from Kansas City and saxophonist Alvin Waller (possibly Walker) for which virtually no information has been located. Alex's best early experience was likely with another pianist and band leader, Alphonso Trent, only a few months older and also from Little Rock. His leadership and arranging skills with the Trent Orchestra made him a substantially influential figure for other Negro musicians. With Trent's help, Alex was leading his own band by the time he was 18 in 1924, and may have traveled briefly with Trent to Texas in 1925. Hill soon became the musical director of a traveling revue and worked with them for two seasons, left behind in Los Angeles in 1927 when the troupe disbanded. This was actually a good place for the young pianist as it helped him get a better foothold in the music business through recording. He worked live and in the studio with Louisiana trumpeter Mutt Carey's and his Jeffersonians, and wrote and arranged for other bands on the West Coast. This encouraged him to relocate to the center of the hot jazz universe at that time, Chicago, Illinois. Relocating there in 1928, Hill went to work right away with artists such as trumpeter Jimmy Wade and his Dixielanders, violinist and bandleader Carroll Dickerson, clarinetist Jerome Pasquall and top notch clarinetist Jimmy Noone and his Apex Club Orchestra. Alex put his musical training to good use, and secured a job with Walter Melrose's publishing house, where Ferdinand "Jelly Roll" Morton had done some work. He ended up writing arrangements for groups, and even some original compositions. One of those was heard by trumpeter Louis Armstrong who was in New York City by that time, and he ended co-writing and recording Beau-Koo Jack with his Savoy Ballroom Five in 1928. While Melrose got composer credit, it was likely a courtesy to get Hill started, a common practice in the business. Having already played for a few sessions in 1928 and 1929, Hill got the chance to front his own group for a couple of sessions for the Vocalion label, the "race" branch of Brunswick Records, on March 30, 1929 in Chicago. Of the two tunes recorded that day, the most notable is Stompin' 'em Down, which is evocative of the style of James P. Johnson and Fats Waller. Coincidentally, Waller had just completed his first piano solos for Victor Records around that same time. His Handful of Keys has the same momentum and energy as Stompin' 'em Down, and both can be considered to be late piano rags. Hill's piece actually starts with a minor blues riff before morphing into the 16-bar B section and 32-bar trio. At the end of the year he was offered another session with Vocalion with his orchestra, and they followed up with another set of sides in February, 1930. It is unclear exactly when Hill moved to New York, given that the last set of recordings was completed in Chicago. Some sources have him there in 1929, and he may have commuted between the two cities for a while. He and his group were also was booked into the top jazz venue at that time, the Savoy Ballroom on Lenox Avenue in Harlem, during the spring. At the end of their engagement some of band returned to Chicago, but Alex and his saxophonist Chu Berry remained in Manhattan. He was fully settled there by mid 1930 and secured a job playing with the band of Sammy Stewart. At the same time, he signed up with publisher Joe Davis in August, 1930, who would exclusively release his compositions until he started writing with Irving Mills. It was inevitable that Alex would meet up with Waller, and the two teamed up with a forceful duo piano act for the revue Hello 1931 in December 1930 at the Alhambra Theatre. The pair actually wrote some tunes together over the next few years, including the perennially popular I'm Crazy 'Bout My Baby (and My Baby's Crazy 'Bout Me). Alex's skill at crafting lyrics as well as melodies was clearly demonstrated in his songs. It is likely that Waller introduced Hill to lyricist Andy Razaf, and as a team they also turned out a number of fine pieces over the next few years. Hill's talent also got him heard on the radio in New York as a soloist or with his orchestra and rhythm ensemble starting in 1930, with many solo performances on WPCH and WMCA in 1930, plus several evening appearances with his groups on WINS in 1932. In 1933 Hill participated in a well-documented sessions with guitarist Eddie Condon in which he supported saxophonist Bud Freeman and his legendary track, The Eel. He was also responsible for many of the arrangements recorded, and even some of the compositions. In 1934 Hill was admitted into ASCAP, and found work as a staff arranger with publisher Irving Mills. Working for Mills he provided band charts for most of the big names of that time, ranging from Paul Whiteman and Eddie Condon to Duke Ellington and Benny Carter. His reputation as an arranger, which rivaled that of Fletcher Henderson, who did many of the famous Benny Goodman charts, helped to keep him employed during the Great Depression. The prestige of the Ellington and Whiteman organizations were certainly helpful in maintaining his profile as a first rate instrumental arranger. On at least one occasion in 1935 Alex was asked to step in for Duke to lead the orchestra while Ellington was ill. The Alex Hill Orchestra eventually grew into a big band as the swing era was underway in 1936, thanks in part to the enormous success of Benny Goodman. He managed to snag a run with his new group at the Savoy, which had long been the domain of diminutive but dynamic drummer Chick Webb. However, within a week Alex found himself unable to stand the rigors of nightly performances and had to disband the group to look after his health. Within a few months, the increasingly infirmed Hill returned home to his family in Arkansas where he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. He also had liver complications from possible excessive drinking during his stay in New York. Alex Hill succumbed to the disease a few weeks before his 31st birthday. While the legacy he left behind is not enormous, it clearly demonstrates the potential Hill had to become one of the driving forces of the swing era through the mid 1940s. While he may not have possessed the same skill set as the most extraordinary of pianists like Art Tatum, his overall composition and arranging skills made him stand out. That talent was able to break down many barriers, as what we do have of Hill's legacy was fortunately not so severely limited by his race, an issue that so many other promising artists of his time had to endure. There are two CDs available of Alex Hill's work. The first is of recordings on which he is heard, and the second of his various songs performed by other artists. Both can be found at Timeless Records. Some of the tracks can also be heard at the Red Hot Jazz web site. Some of the information here is presented for the first time, and most was compiled from session information, sheet music lists, newspapers and periodicals, and other public records on Hill. | ||||||||||
In a case of delayed but realized expectations, Eddy Hanson did not become known as a ragtime composer until 35 years after his first real rag. In the interim, he did pretty well for himself and cut a nice-sized swath through the Midwest via the airwaves. He was born Ethwell Hanson to August and Henrietta Hanson in New London, Wisconsin, right around the time that the 1893 Chicago Exposition was featuring some of the first ragtime heard publicly. August was a mechanical engineer whose family had immigrated from Denmark when he was eight years old, and Henrietta was a Wisconsin native. Over the next few years Ethwell would gain three sisters and brother, Nioleta (1897), Arleen (1899), Charlotte (1907) and Loyal (1903) respectively. At an early age the boy became entranced with the music that spewed forth from a neighbor's Edison Amberola, and after listening to a selection or two would run home and try to emulate the rhythms on pots and pans. It was obvious that a piano would help keep the kitchen ware in better working order, so one was obtained. August had some good sense of music, perhaps even some training from his youth, and was insistent that Ethwell learn the elements of proper rhythm and harmony, plus the exacting discipline to play cleanly. The family appears in the 1900 Census in Farmington, Wisconsin, with August listed as a stationery engineer.
When Ethwell was eight, August arranged for a year of piano lessons for Eddy, paying 50 cents per week. He admitted later that he was a poor student, too busy composing his own music on the side to bother with the music the teacher was giving him. However, he kept at it even after the lessons ended. Obviously interested in playing the latest possible music, Eddy, as he preferred to be called, started learning rags and two steps. At twelve he was playing two steps and waltzes with a local orchestra in Farmington. He also found another love around this time, the organ. Eddy was fascinated with the workings of these multi-keyboard instruments and the number of sounds that could be coaxed from it. Even as a very talented and competent pianist, he would eventually be cherished for his work on theater organs. In the school band Eddy also took up the saxophone, which he would become quite adept at. Around the time his youngest sister was born, Eddy's mother Henrietta died. By early 1910 August had remarried to Katherine M. Hanson, who was only five years older than Eddy. In the 1910 Census the reconfigured family is still in Farmington with August as an engineer in the Wisconsin Veteran's Home. (The couple would divorce in the mid 1910s.) Eddy was attending Waupaca High School and was listed as a member of the high school paper, The Criterian. He also played more frequently at local dances, and was starting to perform for movies as well in local theaters several nights a week. Late in the year the family moved to Neenah, Wisconsin where they spent the next few years, then to Waupaca around 1915. Still composing, Eddy managed to get a song in print at age 17, and another one the following year. The second composition was the Home Coming Song, written for his senior class. Following high school he continued to play both piano and organ at various functions, most often in the Waupaca area movie houses. Hanson continued his education at the American Conservatory with Frank Van Dusen, and at Lawrence College (now Lawrence University) with Mason Slade. However, Eddy took on other work as well, perhaps to support his schooling. On his 1917 draft card, he shows as a self employed and his occupation as [looks like] farming for the town of Waupaca. (August Hanson also appears as a farmer in the 1920 Census in Waupaca.) But 1917 would be a breakout year for the 20 year old composer.Hanson had his first major publication with Rattlesnake Rag in song format through Forster Music Publishers in Chicago. He had also completed a piano rag version of the piece which currently resides as a manuscript in the University of Wisconsin in Madison, but it is unclear whether this instrumental was actually published at that time. Some version of it must have been in print since it ended up on a medley O-type roll before the year was out. In addition, Eddy's input was useful in the invention of the Bartola, a compact theater organ designed to fit in a theater pit. The keyboards and pedal boar were integrated within the access area of a piano, allowing a smaller footprint while accommodating many ranks of pipes and percussion, using newer electronic solenoids instead of the traditional pneumatics. It was produced by the newly formed Bartola Musical Instrument Company in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, founded by Dan Barton. The firm was later reformed into the Barton Organ Company, with Eddy playing their instruments off and on for many years. Eddy's talents accompanying movies got him a plum gig in the Navy, where he spent the remainder of World War One. He toured the country the help promote the sale of war bonds, but this time he was accompanying the actual stars of the movies, including Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford. His saxophone playing was also noted, and late in the war Eddy was picked to be a saxophone soloist in one of the premiere 100 member bands of the veteran band master John Philip Sousa. The band toured the United States and Europe following the war, including some keyboard performances for British royalty. After his tour of duty with the Navy and the Sousa band were up, Hanson continued his music education in Chicago in 1919 at the Chicago College of Music, taking courses from Clarence Eddy among others. At some point he studied composition privately with the noted instructor Adolph Weidig. Chicago would become Eddy's home base for the next few decades, but he still stayed connected with Waupaca. Hanson's next break came in 1920. According to an article in the New York Clipper on March 31, Eddy was one of five hundred applicants picked in a search for a new song writing talent held by the Riviera Music Company in Chicago. The first piece of his they published became a bona-fide hit, even if it was typical of the fare at that time. Titled Desertland: An Oriental Fox Trot, it established him as a Chicago song writer. His contract assured that Riviera would publish at least four pieces a year from Hanson's pen, which they did for at least the first two years. Later in the year Eddy was a guest back in Waupaca for the opening of the grand $100,000 Palace Opera House on October 6, 1920. According to the Waupaca newspaper, "The music was furnished by a Waupaca orchestra, including Ethwell Hanson, who presided at the pipe organ, one of the best that may be obtained... Too much can not be said in praise of the music by the local orchestra and by Ethwell Hanson on the grand pipe organ." To top that off, he became the manager of the composing staff of Riviera. While working his way through his extended education course, Hanson became very adept at the pipe organ, of which there were many beautiful and varied examples in 1920s Chicago. A new child of the now viable entertainment industry emerged at this same time, and looking for content, they turned to Eddy for everything from popular ragtime tunes to poignant ballads. As it turns out, pipe organs registered very well on early microphones, so in 1923 the theory that this would draw in listeners was put to the test on one of the earliest radio stations in the country. Thus Eddy Hanson launched his career as a radio organist on station clear channel WDAP (now WGN) in Chicago. He achieved new notoriety, even though at that time most radios consisted of crystal sets, and few had speakers. New stations started popping up like Iowa popcorn, and Eddy was also invited to play on WBBM and WLS. He found a long term home in 1924 on WCFL, an NBC affiliate, working there on and off from 1924 through 1948. That same year he wrote what would become a great radio hit for cowboy singer Gene Autry. At the End of the Sunset Trail, composed on a poetic passage by Ralph Waldo Emerson, was a best seller on both records and in sheet music, and spread the name of Eddy Hanson across the country. But this was only part time work in the beginning, as Chicago movie goers still wanted accompaniments to the otherwise silent movies.In 1925 the famous organist Jess Crawford was lured to the center of film production to play for the movie palaces in Los Angeles. Organs run on compressed air and abhor a vacuum, so Hanson readily stepped in to continue where Crawford left off. For the next three years he reigned at both the Uptown Theater and Tivoli Theater in Chicago for both films and live shows. On the side he was working as an arranger for publisher Harold Rossiter in Chicago, with many credited arrangments in his name. Then Al Jolson and the "talkies" came along to spoil things for theater musicians all over the country. As for Eddy, he simply put his energies back into radio, being very much in demand for his talents throughout the Midwest. In 1930 he adopted a recent song composed by Otto Harbach, Oscar Hammerstein II and Herbert Stothart for his own them. If A Wish Could Make It So was frequently heard at the beginning of his fifteen to thirty minute broadcasts. During his years on the air he accompanied such stars as Gene Autry, Grace Wilson, Lulu Belle and Scotty, Kate Smith, Red Skelton and megaphone crooner Rudy Vallee. He also was the first organist to play the Amos 'n Andy Theme Song, Perfect Song, on the radio, and provided theme and background music at times for Myrt and Marge, Helen Trent and the wildly popular Fibber McGee and Molly. Eddy was quoted as saying, "I worked on them five hours each day, and sometimes had four 15-minute programs a day dedicated to organ music." From late 1924 to 1927, Eddy also did some piano roll recordings for the Capitol Roll label (not affiliated with Capitol Records which was founded in 1942), most of which were re-released a few years later under the Sears and Roebuck Supertone label. These performances helped to reestablish his skills as a pianist and arranger as well, and some can still be heard via YouTube videos with a little searching. He is said to have also recorded 88-note rolls for QRS, U.S. Rolls, and Imperial, although some of these may also be re-releases of the Capitol sessions. Other than those lasting examples of his early performances, Hanson was so busy with radio that he did little recording to disc. It should be considered that early electronic recording was not entirely up to the demands of the massive theater pipe organs with forty or more ranks of timbres and percussion instruments.
The 1950s also bore some healthy fruit for Hanson. At the beginning of the decade he joined ASCAP. Then in 1951 Eddy composed The Wisconsin Waltz. While quickly taken up by his home state, it took fifty years for them to officially adopt it as the state waltz in 2001. The piece achieved a fond notoriety in the interim. Then in 1952, one of Eddie's musical peers, Capitol Records A&R man Lou Busch, who had been recording for two years as Joe "Fingers" Carr, approached Eddy about reconfiguring his Rattlesnake Rag for a Honky-Tonk piano recording. The arrangement was strong enough to earn a co-composing credit for Busch, and the single containing Rattlesnake Rag became instant popular fodder for jukeboxes all around the country. Busch's arrangement was also released in sheet music form, racking up fairly decent sales considering the dated genre it represented. Eddy even played it again from time to time in his live performances. Rattlesnake Rag enjoyed another short surge when the 1917 piano roll version was featured in a party scene in the movie Reds under the direction of star Warren Beatty. After spending much of the 1950s in a variety of performance venues in Chicago and Midwest, Hanson retired to Waupaca in the early 1960s, playing locally on and off throughout the 1960s, and recording a few albums on Rollo Records based in Appleton, Wisconsin and run by his friend Al Rollow. Eddy also performed and recorded with Appleton bandleader Lawrence Duchow. Around 1969 he started his own record label, Kobar, and set forth on a series of vinyl discs featuring his performances of old and new favorites on majestic theater pipe organs. Hanson was also seen performing weekend evenings as Simpson's Supper Club in Waupaca. In his role as master organist he became master teacher as well, taking on advanced students for lessons. In the 1970s he was regarded as the oldest master organist still alive, and still active giving concerts and seminars on organ performance. After another decade of successes and accolades, Eddy was honored as a special member of 1980 AMICA (Automatic Musical Instrument Collector's Association) for his earlier piano roll work. In April of 1984 Eddy moved into the Wisconsin Veteran's Home in King, Wisconsin, the very organization for which his father had worked more than 70 years earlier. The master organist died there at the age of 92 in 1986. He was fondly remembered by many from the Midwest at the services that followed. Hanson was buried in the Lakeside Memorial Cemetery in his beloved Waupaca, marking the end of an era of popular organists. Some of the information on Hanson was retrieved from Wisconsin State Archives, and from an article by Alf E. Werolin in the June, 1980 AMICA newsletter. The rest was researched from music archives, radio archives, newspaper listings and public records by the author. | |||||||||||
Often referred to as the "Father of Stride Piano," James P. Johnson was the dominant figure who in the late 1910s and 1920s helped to evolve ragtime into a more ambitious form of composition and performance combined with elements of jazz. Some sources, even those from his own lifetime, show an 1891 birth date. However, virtually all Census and draft records are consistent in stating 1894 as his year of birth, as are his birth and death certificates. Jimmy was born at 6 City Alley in New Brunswick, New Jersey to mechanic William H. Johnson (or so it has been reported) and Virginia native Josephine (Harrison) Johnson who was working as a house maid. Familial circumstances and cryptic Census records make it difficult to sort out his direct siblings, and even the identity and status of William H. Johnson can be called into question. One positive verification, however, is the listing of that name as his father on a 1921 passport application. It appears James had five older step-siblings, as noted below.
Around late 1896 to early 1897, Josephine had remarried to Harry (or Perry) Thompson, who was (depending on which information is trusted) between nine and more likely fifteen years her junior. In 1898 she managed to obtain a piano for their home. Jimmy's earliest musical training was given to him by his mother when he was barely able to reach the keyboard. She was able to show him melodies and simple chords of the current music that she knew of, mostly ragtime and early blues pieces, which he quickly memorized. James also had the dual blessing and curse of perfect pitch, which allowed him to instantly reproduce anything he heard in its original key, or quickly transpose it through relativity. As of the 1900 Census they were living in New Brunswick in a house full of collective offspring. The relationships are hard to sort out, but four siblings with the last name of Nevins ranging from 14 to 21 show as stepchildren to Thompson, then there are two with the last name of Collins aged 4 and 7 that, like Jimmy, are shown as boarders, likely an enumeration error. According to that Census Josephine would have been reportedly 10 when the oldest step-child was born. As it turns out, she had deflated her age just a bit by thirteen years. Josephine had been married to farmer Richard Nevins, shown to be eighteen years her senior, around 1872. Jimmy's older half-siblings were Diana Nevins (1873), William H. Nevins (8/1879), Richard Frank Nevins (6/1882), Clifford Nevins (9/1883), and Isabella Nevins (10/1886). Diana appears to have died before 1900. To further confuse the issue, the record also included Evangeline Collins (10/1892) and Susan Collins (11/1895), with the different last name and boarder status making them harder to identify. Josephine appears to have been widowed in the early 1890s. Given that William H. matches both her oldest son and Jimmy's alleged father, and that she claimed her marriage to Thompson to be her second, the circumstances of James P.'s conception and true identification of his father can logically be called into question. No official record of marriage or positive identification of William H. Johnson was found in the author's research. However, there was one likely candidate who was born in Maryland, and in the 1900 Census serving time in a prison in Trenton, New Jersey. While it would explain some of the story, there is no confirmation that this is the case. There is also a possibility Jimmy was adopted, but in such cases the last name is usually changed, so this seems unlikely. Among the early pieces Jimmy learned while growing up were AME or Methodist Hymns and the song Little Brown Jug, which he simply copied from his mother's rendition. The family was devoted to the church and were involved in the social life that came with it. So James observed everything from musical melees to authentic ring shouts and cotillion dances in his home. The experience instilled in him the joys of music as well as the complexities of some of the rhythmic patterns and dance steps that had been passed down, perhaps only a little less than two generations away from the time of slavery in Virginia. In 1902 the family moved to Jersey City where Jimmy frequently heard early ragtime strains coming from venues throughout the town, including saloons and brothels. He set about trying to duplicate that music at home with some success.
The family moved to New York around 1908, which thrilled Jimmy since he had been going to symphony concerts there for a little while thanks to a friend of his older brother, a pianist named Charlie Cherry. They lived on the west side near Columbus Circle in a questionable neighborhood referred to as "San Juan Hill" because of the battle-like conditions wrought from racial tensions. But the teenager found escape through the piano, and through Charlie's mentoring he was introduced to the more authentic strains of classic ragtime, including that of Scott Joplin. Jimmy soon found musical employment when not in school, working his way up the musician's food chain from brothels and bars to respectable restaurants and private parties. He continued his passion for ragtime, learning in particular the works of Joplin, who was living in New York by then. The 1910 Census found the family living at 152 West 62nd Street. Jimmy was grouped in with his older step-siblings and enumerated as James Nevins. Harry was working as a porter in a theater and Josephine as a laundress, while William and Richard were contracted delivery drivers. Isabella was a hotel maid, but Jimmy, shown as 16, did not have a fixed occupation. The family moved again around 1911 up to 99th Street, about two miles south of Harlem, which was not yet the center of black culture that it would soon become. He kept on working in restaurants, for society dances, at cabarets, and of course in various whore houses. Jimmy's first outside professional engagement other than a brothel or dive was reportedly at Coney Island when he was around 18. There was another possible professional debut playing at the Nickellete Theater in lower Manhattan, an early movie house. In 1913, now 19-years-old, Jimmy got a much more sophisticated gig working at Drake's Dancing Class at 61st Street and 10th Avenue on the west side, a block from his former residence. It was actually more of a nightclub which was also known as The Jungles Casino. It was in this venue that he was once again exposed to the dances he had seen in his mother's parlor, and also started to experiment more in composition to accompany the very specific rhythms requested by the instructors. He also learned about style and content for stage presentation and the relationship between music and dance. One evening there was a "rent party" held just down the block from Drake's, and he was invited. Such parties were organized not just for the entertainment and social aspects, but for the admission charged which served to help pay the rent of the host or a beneficiary. A fairly new concept in the 1910s, they expanded to be great social events by the end of the decade, and the piano was the omnipresent entertainment center at these parties, which often lasted into the night and even until dawn. There was no formal pecking order - just show up and play, which Johnson did. Many times there were spontaneous cutting contests to determine who the best player in the area was. While he did earn a bit for his efforts, reportedly a $1.50, it was not enough for sustenance at that time. However, he soon dominated these parties and his take went up considerably. As it happened, Jimmy's reputation started to grow, and by 1914 it prompted certain introductions to other established performers. Among these were James Hubert "Eubie" Blake, Willie Smith (later Willie "The Lion" Smith), and Charles "Luckey" Roberts. A friend of Roberts, Ernest Green, saw to it that Johnson got some classical training to improve his skills, some of it gratis or greatly discounted. He ended up training with Bruto Giannini [the author was not able to definitively locate a teacher by this name, so it is considered approximate], who Green's mother cleaned house for, for four years. Bruto instilled a great deal of musical discipline in the youth through the insistence that a regiment of scales and performance certain classical pieces be followed. This also gave Johnson a further appreciation for classical themes that would surface in his later compositions. To his great credit, Bruto did not discourage Jimmy's propensities to play ragtime and blues, but did make sure that his fingerings and technique were correct. The experience left Jimmy well versed in not only technique but harmony and theory, all necessary for good composition and arranging. His fingering technique dazzled all who watched, including many competitors who simply ceded to his quiet dominance. Some of that was applied to his early compositions, reportedly originally conceived during his time with Bruto, including the stride piano template Carolina Shout, the bouncy Mule Walk based on a dance of the same name, and the dynamic show-off piece Steeplechase Rag. As his earliest recorded performances would attest, these were still in the rhythmically squared ragtime vein at that time, but by 1920 would evolve into a different feel altogether. In short order Johnson was working in vaudeville, which gave him a wider audience and an early following that allowed him the luxury of a reputation. What he lacked in stage presence he had plenty in terms of playing ability. With that, he was able to collect a band of talented peers to improve the quality of the music he played. Around the time of The Great War (World War I), Jimmy and his colleagues were hired for a couple of touring shows which went to England and Europe (although no passport application for him has been found so the status of that travel is unclear). Still, most people who heard hi play appreciated him largely for his innovative techniques when performing the latest ragtime hits of the day.Johnson stood out during the cutting contests that were still common in the mid 1910s by employing unusual tricks, many picked up by listening carefully to other pianists and improving on what they did. One of the more important developments in this technique came when he started recording piano rolls in 1917 for Aeolian, soon to be one of the dominant producers of that media. Arrangers of rolls did whatever they could to make their work stand out, which often meant trying to create more sound than the notes on the printed page would produce. This included adding tenths or tenths with fifths in the left hand, using lower octaves and higher chords, and developing tricky patterned runs in the right hand. One offshoot of this enhancement was novelty piano, of which Zez Confrey would eventually shine along with Arthur Schutt and Roy Bargy. But Jimmy took a different direction from that same basis. In his playing, Jimmy stuck to more basic expanded techniques that were grounded in rhythm rather than tricks. Among his unique signatures are the backwards tenth, where the higher note of the left hand tenth is sounded before the beat, and the lower note on the beat. In total he cut around fifty-four rolls for Aeolian on their Metro-Art and Universal labels, and later for QRS, more than any other stride pianist. With lyricist Will Farrell Jimmy composed some songs for a group known as the Smart Set, which at that time was heavily supported by Luckey Roberts. They managed to get some of their pieces into that touring show. Three of these pieces, Stop It, Boys of Uncle Sam and the popular and often recorded Mama's Blues, were soon sold to publisher F.B. Haviland for $25 each. Johnson used his share of ths sale, for which there were no subsequent royalties, to secure a better piano. He further shared the vaudeville stage with one of the first names associated with ragtime, now struggling to maintain a career, Ben Harney. One of their tricks was straddling a bench with a piano on each side, both players using one hand on each piano. Jimmy's 1917 draft card shows him simply as a piano player working for a (the writing is difficult to decipher) Mr. Pearson at Douglaston on Long Island. It also shows him as married. Jimmy had known singer Lillie Mae Hughes (4/1889), who was five years older than he was, since around 1914. By Johnson's own admission he did what he could to avoid being drafted, as many of his fellow musicians temporarily disappeared from the scene. One of those things was the indication that he was married when the card was filled out on June 5. However, the official record of marriage was dated August 6, 1917, just over two months later. Jimmy ended continued working as a pianist in the evenings, but also as a worker in a Quartermaster Corps warehouse in order to skirt being sent over the Europe. This way he was in the presence of military officers and could carry his draft card, as required at that time, but be less concerned about suddenly joining his friends in the fighting 369th U.S. Infantry. Ultimately, this group saw few casualties and were among the very first honored in New York City upon their return after the war. The identity of Mr. Pearson is difficult to reconcile, but he may have been associated with or recommended by The Clef Club which was started by James Reese Europe and Ford Dabney (who were both now overseas), as they appeared to be his primary booking agent. For these gigs, which were frequent in 1917 and 1918, Jimmy would gather the best players he could find that could follow his arrangements and his lead, and formed small ensembles that started to garner attention. They would play everything from house parties to extended gigs in off-Broadway shows. Through these groups his reputation among his peers, and even outside of that circle, continued to grow. During and after the war James continued to record the occasional set of piano rolls for Universal, Artemp and Metro-Art between traveling in vaudeville troupes with Lillie. The couple was shown lodging in Toledo, Ohio in the January 1920 Census, there on tour with a vaudeville troupe. Jimmy was listed as a cabaret musician and Lillie as a theater performer. That life would not last much longer as James P. Johnson would become a working pianist in New York City, and celebrity to boot.It was through some piano rolls cut in 1921 and 1922 on the QRS label that Johnson established himself as a stride pianist and composer. He signed on exclusively with the company in 1921 and cut a number of rolls for them over the next five years. These included the ambitious Harlem Strut and the benchmark Carolina Shout, which was considered a test piece for lesser pianists to prove their abilities. Even though he had done an earlier take of Carolina Shout in 1918, which was reportedly around even earlier, the 1921 release clearly shed off much of the square ragtime feel and had much of the stride swing, forecasting the coming piano style. A young disciple of Johnson, Thomas "Fats" Waller, was among those (including Edward "Duke" Ellington) who would sit in front of a player piano pumping Carolina Shout at a very slow tempo, learning the piece note by note. A 1921 Passport application states his purpose for travel to England and France as the "study of music." Whether this was intended through observation or direct instruction is unclear. His address, however, as at 252 West 139th Street, in the heart of Harlem. Of interest is the witness to his identity, pioneering black stage composer Will Marion Cook. He was scheduled to leave on the Imperator on July 4. Although confirmation from a passenger list was difficult to confirm, it is assumed he made this trip, but was back much sooner than the six months he indicated. While Johnson had also done an acoustic phonograph recording during that busy year 1917 for what would become the OKeh label, it was ultimately not released. In 1921 he cut one side of Carolina Shout with a small jazz ensemble on Arto Records, a subsidiary of Standard Music Rolls for which he had also worked. There were also some sides recorded for the Black Swan/Paramount company accompanying singers Eddie Gray and Trixie Smith. Finally, Johnson went back into the OKeh studio to cut some solo tracks, of which a solo piano version of Carolina Shout would see the biggest reception immediately upon its release. As Harlem was growing into a solid African-American community in the 1920s, Johnson was one of the musical leaders giving that area northward from 125th Street its musical identity. For his new home town he added The Harlem Strut which had also been recorded on Black Swan. Soon every pianist in the area was trying to outdo each other showing off their renditions of Johnson's two big hits, while Johnson himself was moving on to other things. The young Mr. Waller soon caught Jimmy's attention and fairly soon would become the heir apparent to the Stride Piano throne. Waller had done most of his early learning on church organs, so even though he was somewhat versed in Johnson's style when they met, he had a relatively weak left hand by virtue of the fact he had learned to use pedals for the bass notes. Jimmy mentored the seventeen-year-old Waller who was spending long periods of time camped out in the master's home. Soon the youth was emerging as a result of his own talent. The two of them reigned at Harlem rent parties as well. It is said that George Gershwin showed up at some of these events just to take in and study their dynamic style. Even Willie Smith, who had been over in the battlefields of France where he allegedly earned his name of "The Lion," was spending a lot of time watching and learning from Johnson. Johnson's influence turned into deeds as he helped Waller secure a recording job with QRS. In 1922, Waller recorded his first two piano sides on OKeh, Muscle Shoals Blues and Birmingham Blues, in which Johnson's influence was clear in the mature renditions of both tunes. The two became life-long friends, but it was clear over the next few years that Waller, with the more dynamic personality and fearless bravado, would be the performer who caught the public's eye, while Jimmy often remained the technician who caught the musician's ear.Johnson made a number of new recordings with ensembles from 1921 on, some using the name of Jimmy Johnson, although his good friends evidently called him James. The audio recordings of his piano solos are often as good as or better than the piano rolls, largely because they convey dynamics that rolls don't capture. As historian Dave Jasen conjectured, for his solo instrumental pieces Johnson was still writing piano rags, but was performing them as jazz pieces. The band work was less structured but still arranged. However, the natural swing in Johnson's playing, when it could be heard, was a stark contrast to many of the "straight-playing" musicians sometimes thrust upon him by the studio who was looking to produce more jazz band recordings. In 1923 Johnson would have another shiny jewel added to his crown. While he had been increasingly busy with piano rolls and records, in April and May Johnson was listed on passenger lists returning from what appears to be trips to London, touring with a subset of the show Plantation Days which had been incorporated into a British show. However, inspired in part on the Broadway success of Shufflin' Along by Eubie Blake and his lyricists partner Noble Sissle, Jimmy teamed with F.E. Miller, Aubrey L. Lyles and lyricist Cecil Mack for a George White produced show. Runnin' Wild toured in the early fall of 1923, and debuted at the Colonial Theater on October 29. In the original incarnation and a re-tooled edition it ran for 228 performances through June 28, 1924, a great achievement during a time when Broadway was at time cluttered with weekly openings. The show yielded several hits but none bigger than the famous Charleston, a piece that defined the sound of the 1920s and spawned countless imitations. When he wasn't writing, recording or playing on Broadway, Jimmy was playing for rent parties, and even ad hoc gatherings. As recounted in Black Bottom Stomp by Jasen and Jones, he had an unofficial agent, Raymond "Lippy" Boyette, who would make sure that Jimmy hit all the best rent parties and got his share of time before moving on to the next one. Duke Ellington remembered those times, and recalled that when there wasn't any party going on, "Lippy would walk up to any man's house at any time of night. He'd ring the doorbell. Finally somebody would wake up and holler out the window about who was it making all the disturbance. Lippy would answer, 'It's Lippy and James P. is here with me.' These magic words opened anybody's door, and we would sit and play all night long."Then again, it was through performance more than anything that Jimmy made his living. While his few songs were selling fairly well, the stride style was not only difficult for many pianists to approach, but even harder to notate given the knowledge of that time. Without a frame of reference, such as constant exposure to the feel of stride, translating the notes on the page into the correct swing rhythm was a challenge unto itself. In the end, all but a few earnest followers of Jimmy preferred to pay to hear him play rather than try to do it themselves. Still, some of his works were published, including Jingles, Snow Morning Blues, Keep Off the Grass, Scoutin' Around and Carolina Shout. As a result of his published work, Johnson was able to gain admission to ASCAP in 1926, twelve years after it was founded.That was also the year of the release and piano roll of one of his biggest hits composed with Henry Creamer, If I Could Be With One (One Hour Tonight), still frequently performed over eight decades later. Some of his best non-solo work was as an accompanist for blues maven Bessie Smith. Johnson ultimately cut fourteen sides with her starting in February 1927. She later mentioned that he was her favorite pianist to work with. He also worked and sometimes recorded with the bands of Perry Bradford, Louis Armstrong, Jabbo Smith, and Joseph "King" Oliver, often uncredited but aurally recognizable. After several years in jazz, Johnson felt he needed to expand his horizons. Inspired by the works of composers George Gershwin and Ferdé Grofé, he started combining jazz and classical music, also calling on Negro folk music and spirituals at times for effect. Among his best known symphonic works were Yamekraw - A Negro Rhapsody, a mix of spirituals and folk pieces compiled/composed in 1927 and named after a black community in Savannah, Georgia, and Harlem Symphony from 1932. In April 1928, W.C. Handy hosted a concert at Carnegie Hall in Manhattan which included Johnson and his new work. According to The Music Trade Review of May 12, 1928: "W.C. Handy, pioneer composer of many varieties of 'blues' and author of several books on the subject, gave a successful concert in Carnegie Hall, New York, recently, assisted by an orchestra and a group of Jubilee Singers. The program included a negro [sic] rhapsody entitled 'Yamecraw,' [sic] composed by James P. Johnson, in which Thomas Waller played the piano solos." A two piano presentation had been planned, but Johnson had a contractual obligation elsewhere that evening, so Waller had to wing it on his own.Returning to the stage in 1928, he contributed some songs to and helped to direct Keep Shufflin', largely a collaborative effort of many Harlem musicians trying to follow the success of the earlier Shuffle Along. It ran for a fairly respectable 104 performances, including over a month at the Eltinge 42nd Street Theatre. Another less successful show the following year was Messin' Around composed with Perry Bradford, which in spite of the novelty of a women's boxing match each night with different results each time, did not do very well in two short runs, the first closing after 33 performances. Johnson was involved in one more musical launched nearly two years into the Great Depression, Sugar Hill composed with Jo Trent. This one barely made it through a week of 11 performances at the end of 1931, but few shows were seeing any appreciable attendance at that time. Sadly, many of these works were truly unappreciated during his lifetime, having seen their first serious recordings or new productions in the 1990s four decades after his death. The 1930 Census lists James as a pianist employed in "private musicals," still married to his wife Lillie. Along the way they had added son James Jr. and daughter Arceola to the family in 1926 and 1928 respectively. Lillie had retired from the stage to be a mom, and showed no profession. They would also add a daughter by adoption in the 1930s, Lillie Mae Jr.. During the 1930 to 1933 period Johnson was also listed in some articles and at least on advertisement as a staff composer for Connie Immerman's organization. Along with his brother Immerman ran the somewhat notorious gangster's hangout Connie's Inn where Fats Waller and Andy Razaf also made their name. However, he contributed substantially less of Connie's revues and shows than Waller and Razaf. Piano rolls and records were difficult commodities to sell in the early to mid 1930s as much of the public simply did not have the funds to purchase them. His hit songs Charleston and If I Could Be With You helped to sustain the family with performance royalties, but Jimmy also continued to contribute to the stage and direct musicals for income. One was The Policy Kings at the tail end of 1938 which collapsed after three performances, even before the copyrights were secure. Johnson even experimented with light blues opera in 1938 composing De Organizer, a socially relevant opera about labor organization with a libretto by Langston Hughes. It had one performance in 1940, then disappeared for nearly 60 years until some of the parts were unearthed and reconstructed with the help of researcher/performer James Dapogny in the early 2000s. He also appeared in two films. In 1938 and 1939, the tenacious jazz promoter John Hammond staged two Spirituals to Swing concert events at Carnegie Hall. As Hammond had been facilitating more recordings by Johnson, some of them unissued until after his death, he also included Jimmy and his music in these epic events. The second one was not nearly so easy, however. It was also in the late 1930s through 1940 that Johnson suffered a series of partial strokes that set him back for a short time. He and his family, Lillie Mae, James P. Jr. and Arceola, were shown as living in Queens in the 1940 Census, with James listed as a composer with his "own practice." Johnson was recording again by 1942 and did some works on V-Discs which were used to entertain the troops overseas.
From the time he acted as a mentor until the 1940s, Jimmy had remained close with his star pupil, Thomas Waller. However, Fats had taken a different direction not only stylistically but in his lifestyle. In November 1943, while working a club in Los Angeles during an unusual heat wave, the overweight and over-indulgent Waller spent a great deal of time sweating next to an air conditioning unit which was chilling his constant perspiration and weakening his immune system. On December 15, while on his way back to the East Coast, Waller succumbed to pneumonia brought on by the chill, dying on the train as it approached Kansas City. Johnson was greatly affected by the death of his long time friend, and recorded a blues for his late friend three days later. Although he remained musically active through the rest of the decade, it was largely as an ambassador of sorts and no major works came from that time. There were a few recordings done with assembled studio bands, but he was usually not a feature in these. However, Johnson and his music were featured in a Carnegie Hall concert in 1945, including a performance of his Harlem Symphony conducted by Joseph Chemiavsky. Another event was held at Town Hall that same year with an integrated band that included Johnson and many other musical luminaries. Turning back to the stage, his last major works involved a musical called Meet Miss Jones at an experimental theater in the Harlem Elks Lodge in 1947, followed a newly rewritten production of Sugar Hill in Los Angeles in 1949, 18 years after the first one had debuted, both with librettos and some additional music by Flournoy Miller. Neither production was met with much enthusiasm or success by the public or the critics. Recordings continued, the last of them captured on early renditions of magnetic tape, but many would remain unheard by the public until the 1970s or later. In 1951, Johnson suffered a debilitating full stroke that ostensibly ended his musical career as it left him bedridden throughout the next four years. He passed on in 1955 while residing at a convalescent home in Jamaica, New York. Left behind were his wife Lillie, who survived him by 11 years, three children, several grandchildren, and a small contingent of grieving fans who had fortunately not forgotten the father of stride piano. James P. Johnson was laid to rest in Mt. Olivet Cemetery in Maspeth, Queens, New York, with a mere 75 people in attendance. As he died with his funds nearly depleted, the grave remained unmarked for nearly six decades, but efforts have been underway to put a proper headstone in place by the end of 2010. By the time of his death, as incredible as it seems, few outside of the music world knew who Johnson was. Fortunately has fame has grown slowly in the decades since. Thanks to Bill's friend historian/performer Dr. Robert Pinsker, who has done extensive research on Johnson as well as created many great transcriptions of his pieces, for forwarding corrected information on a few pieces, plus other titles not found in most lists or libraries. The list here is not complete, but with Bob's help it is fairly comprehensive. As of this writing Bob is in the final stages of preparing a book of Johnson transcriptions of recordings and piano rolls for public release. | ||||||||||||||
Max Kortlander was a composer on a roll. In fact, on several rolls. His role with rolls was truly instrumental in the history of automated and hand-played music of the 1920s to 1950s. Due to his association and career with QRS, any biography of Max Kortlander necessarily needs to include a history of QRS during his tenure, as well as the remarkable work and legacy of his prime arranger, J. (Jean) Lawrence Cook. Big Factory in the Bronx Most Modern in Every Particular, With Plenty of Daylight, Latest Machine Equipment, Direct Shipping Facilities and Other Important Features to Stimulate Production — New York Now Made the Headquarters for the Company's Recording Work
...This plant, which is of the most modern construction, is a five-story fireproof structure, with daylight pouring in on all four sides, giving the entire interior enough light so that artificial illumination is practically unnecessary in any part of the building. In order that this daylight plant will never be obstructed by nearby buildings and also in order to allow for future expansion, the Q R S people purchased the entire block, bounded by 134th street, 135th street and by Locust avenue and Walnut street. The plans of the building have been so arranged as to allow the construction of a duplicate plant on the block, whenever the demand for Q R S music rolls becomes sufficient to demand such an expansion. The new building has a floor space of approximately one hundred thousand square feet. The executive offices are located on the top floor, access to which is gained by the passenger elevator just inside the main entrance. Besides the executive offices there are also the recording rooms, the cafeteria and rest rooms on the fifth floor. The recording rooms are built in the most modern style, with heavy partitions separating them, in order to make them absolutely sound-proof. In this way recording can be going on in any or all of the rooms at the same time without interference. The recording is in charge of Max Kortlander, who has transferred practically all of the recording work from the Chicago factory to New York. Among those who may be found using these recording rooms are such popular pianists as Victor Arden, Russell Robinson, Phil Ohman and Pete Wendling. Another nationally known pianiste who is often present is Mme. Sturkow-Ryder, of Chicago, who assists in playing and editing Q R S story rolls. Mme. Marguerite Volavy, widely known as a concert pianiste, and whose splendidly edited reproducing rolls have made her name and musicianship well known to thousands of instrument owners, has charge of the reproducing roll department. This department is one of distinct importance in the Q R S organization and is housed in handsome offices especially constructed for its particular requirements. The cafeteria is one of the finest examples of modern lunch-rooms for employes [sic]. It is capable of taking care of the entire factory force, which now numbers over five hundred, during the noon hour. The meals are sold at cost, and an idea of the popularity of the place may be gained from statistics which show that 95 per cent of the employes [sic] take advantage of this delightful place to sojourn during the noon-hour. The second, third and fourth floors are devoted to the manufacture of music rolls. On these floors twenty or more of the most modern double perforating machines have been installed. For the handling of the cut sheets, and for the boxing of same, the most up-to-date labor-saving devices have been introduced. An idea of efficiency in this plant can be gained from its capacity output, which is thirty-five thousand rolls per day. All of the machinery is electrically operated and is practically noiseless in operation. The ground floor is used for storage and shipping. The rolls are stored on racks especially designed for the purpose, which have a capacity of more than eight hundred thousand rolls. The shipping room is designed so that as orders are filled the factory trucks can be pushed directly into freight cars on the company's double-track siding, or upon motor trucks which back inside of the building to the loading platform. There, is no doubt but this factory will be able to take care of and give prompt attention to the increasing demand for Q R S rolls. It is a splendid addition to the Q R S chain of factories, extending from coast to coast, the other factories being in Chicago and San Francisco. Another fine performer and songwriter, Pete Wendling, had joined QRS a couple of years after Max, but had already been living in New York City. The pair got together after Max relocated, and soon started writing tunes together, creating a bounty of them both on rolls and in printed form. Max and Pete were two of the bigger stars of QRS in the 1920s, arguably even more popular than their boss, Lee S. Roberts. Another star of both piano rolls and recordings, soon to conquer radio, was former Imperial and Ampico employee Lewis J. Fuiks, now working as Victor Arden. Max and Victor, who did several rolls together, recorded a pair of duets in 1920 on the Pathé label, the only commercial audio recordings completed by Kortlander.Pete was working for composer/publisher Irving Berlin at that time, so most of the co-written works went through Berlin. However, Max signed on with a different publisher for his own works, as announced in the Music Trade Review of April 28, 1923: "Max Kortlander, general manager of the recording department of the Q R S Music Co., has closed a contract with Jack Mills, Inc., whereby that firm will publish all his piano compositions for a period of two years. The first of these new releases has been added to the Mills 'Pianolog Series' and are entitled 'Deuces Wild' and 'Red Clover.'" Other stars in the QRS universe included Lee S. Roberts, stride pianist Thomas "Fats" Waller, and novelty composer Zez Confrey. However, one additional primary roll artist, more of a prominent background figure in a sense, would join QRS, and would not only help to keep the company alive in future years, but would take on multiple performer's personalities in the process of doing so. In 1923, Max helped facilitate the signing of J. Lawrence Cook to QSR. Cook and Kortlander would become the core of QRS by the end of the decade. While Max was good at playing and editing the markups he created, Cook became expert at his own marking piano, which allowed him to punch the rolls in step time rather than real time, even four-handed rolls. Cook also had a gift of being able to imitate the style of pretty much any pianist from a recording or live performance. While this has caused some confusion and speculation among historians about what was a Cook edit of somebody else's performance and what was entirely Cook's work, including on rolls with Kortlander's name, it helped QRS to steadily grow in popularity and consistency, eventually dominating the piano roll industry by the late 1920s. QRS under Pletcher and, and often either with the assistance of or against the advice given by Kortlander, branched into other areas of music production as well in the 1920s, including a sponsored involvement in radio programming which went over well with fans, and likely sold additional rolls, although in spurts. One such venture was reported on in the Music Trade Review of August 2, 1924, when radio broadcasting was still fairly new: ![]() Applause letters from radio fans in all sections of the country are pouring into the office of WGR, broadcasting station of the Federal Telephone & Telegraph Co. here [Buffalo, New York], expressing delight over the recent Q R S musical program arranged by Bob Hollinshead, local manager of the roll company's distributing warerooms. The program was sent through the ether Monday night, July 21 [1924]. Q R S artists, composers and singers of international note took part in the program, which is proclaimed by scores of fans, and by the vast audience in the ballroom of the Statler Hotel from where the program was broadcasted, to be one of the most artistic and entertaining programs ever heard outside of New York City.
It was announced at the beginning and close of the program that selections being heard were obtained on Q R S rolls. Special invitations were issued by Mr. Hollinshead to scores of persons in Buffalo who owned player pianos, but who did not own a radio, to attend the concert given in the ballroom of the hotel. An invitation was also extended the New Thought Alliance convention which was being held in the hotel, thereby filling the ballroom to capacity with an appreciative representative audience. Sales persons from roll departments of music stores of the city were also present. Peter Wendling, Max Kortlander and Victor Arden, well-known songwriters and makers of Q R S rolls, were sent by the company to Buffalo to head the program. Their piano selections were followed by deafening applause from the audience and hundreds of letters from fans expressed particular interest in these three artists... The three composers and artists sent from New York by the Q R S Co., Messrs. Kortlander, Arden and Wendling, visited the trade following the concert and witnessed hundreds of sales of their rolls and autographed many rolls for purchasers. Mr. Hollinshead said that success of the concert greatly exceeded his expectations and sales in Q R S rolls took a spurt on the day immediately following the concert. Fan letters were replete with such expressions as "Come again, Bob Hollinshead," "Give us a little more of this sort of thing," "I have just heard one of the most professional concerts ever received by my radio." Kortlander and Cook worked diligently during the second half of the 1920s to make QRS the clear leader in the industry. The company was able to buy up faltering concerns from time to time, including Connorized, Vocalstyle, U.S. Music and Imperial.
Twenty-four hours after Max Kortlander, recording manager for the Q R S Music Co., received the big Triangle Music Co.'s song hit, "The Miami Storm," he had word rolls all made and ready for shipment. This is said to be the first time that anything like this has been accomplished in the music roll industry and it shows the confidence the Q R S Music Co. has in this new waltz song. Joe Davis, head of the Triangle Music Co., feels sure he will have a sensational sheet music, record and roll seller in this new publication.
In spite of his successes both as a composer and arranger, Max's responsibilities in running the roll department at QRS and also participating in public relations for the firm started to overtake his other musical pursuits. He and Wendling had composed infrequently starting in 1922, but their two pieces from 1926 comprised half of Kortlander's dwindling output. Between 1916 and 1926, Max had recorded and/or edited approximately one thousand rolls. Many were released under the pseudonyms of Ted Baxter and Jeff Watters. Max also used these additional names when he did extra passes to record four-hand arrangement and needed to infer that there was a second performer playing with him. Also, sensitive to the impact of race on sales, he used names that the white public of the 1920s would deem more acceptable when they were less sure about pieces recorded or written by black artists. However, Kortlander's steady output also started to drop. The exact time line is uncertain, but it is likely that most of the rolls from 1927 and all of them from 1931 forward with Max's name on them were actually arranged by Cook. Max was still composing, however, and in 1928 with Pete and their friend Alfred Bryan, they released a musical tribute to the most famous feline of the silent cartoons,
In addition to the difficult task of acquiring other companies and assimilating their products into the QRS line, Max also helped manage QRS operations in San Francisco, California; Toronto, Canada; and Sydney, Australia. There were external headaches to deal with as well, including one case of an imposter reported on in the Music Trade Review of May 26, 1928: The Q R S Co., Chicago, reports that last week a party representing himself to be Max Kortlander, of the Q R S Co., and claiming to be checking up on royalties, was working in Cincinnati. This party is of light complexion, about five feet seven and a half inches, weighs about 160 pounds and has a cheap printed card with just "Max Kortlander" printed on it.
The real Max Kortlander is recording manager of the Q R S roll department, makes his headquarters at the company's New York plant and has not been in Cincinnati for over a year. He is about six feet tall, dark complexion and weighs about 190 pounds. The Q R S Co. is unable to ascertain what this person's object is, and has wired Cincinnati to try and locate him. The company also would appreciate a wire at the Chicago office sent collect notifying if this party visits any music store on this mission.
The Great Depression could easily have dealt a fatal blow to QRS in 1930 or 1931. They were already coping with dropping sales. After a sales peak year of around 200,000 player pianos in 1923, the saturation of automated instruments in the home was able to sustain increases in QRS sales for around four years, peaking at around ten million units in 1927. But other media were competing with piano rolls and making them less viable to an increasingly sophisticated musical consumer. The first of these was radio, which made great advances between 1922 and 1927 in both the quality of the instruments and the broadcast content. Radio led directly to the advent of electrical recordings around 1925, which represented a leap in audio quality over the previous acoustically recorded discs. By 1927, the sales of electric radio-phonograph units was far outpacing that of player pianos. After an earlier merge with the Z-Nith Electronics Company, QRS put forward their superior line of "Red Top" radio tubes. However, the tube business did not work out as well as Pletcher hoped, brought down in part by patent suits from Raytheon. The radio and tube business was spun off into what became the Zenith Corporation with Pletcher as a vice president, but QRS had no licensing stake in it and therefore reaped none of the rising Zenith profits. Another effort was made by Pletcher to keep pace with the trend to diversify, and in early 1929 he merged QRS Music with the DeVry Company, a camera manufacturer. The combined concern now was involved in the production of neon signs, DeVry still cameras, home movie cameras and projectors, and even a short-lived record label with three different lines from 1928 to 1930. Sound films had entered the picture, overtaking the film industry between 1927 and 1929. Given the price of piano rolls, which were often a dollar or more, and comparing that with other entertainments, including cheaper records that did not require manual pumping to play, movies for ten cents that were changed often at the local theater, and radio which was ostensibly free once the radio had been acquired, piano roll and sheet music sales had started to suffer even before the Wall Street crash of October 1929.
QRS-DeVry was heading into bankruptcy in 1931. Pletcher's heavy investment in Zenith stock took it's toll after the crash, and he had to sell off all of the remaining QRS-DeVry divisions or let them go into receivership. Max took advantage of this situation because he knew QRS was the only viable piano roll company still alive, and he truly believed in his product. So Kortlander mortgaged his Westchester home, combined it with much of his earned fortuned, and leveraged a buyout for the roll division of the company. Then he put it into a reorganization mode, as reported in two notices in the August 1931 Music Trade Review: Mr. Kortlander, who has been connected with the QRS Co. division for the past fifteen years, has a thorough understanding of all departments of the business and is firm in the belief that there is an opportunity for a substantial increase in music roll sales provided both manufacturers and dealers show a proper amount of interest in player pianos and their servicing. As a matter of fact, he holds there is a big roll market lying at the dealer's door right now among people who own player pianos but have stopped buying rolls because no attempts have been made to sell them. The manufacture of rolls will be conducted in the QRS factories both in Chicago and New York, Mr. Kortlander making his headquarters in [New York] city. The music roll business of the QRS Co. including the equipment, master rolls, etc., has been sold to the Imperial Industrial Co., of New York City, Max Kortlander, president. Mr. Kortlander is well known as a veteran of the music roll business, and for years was the technical head of the QRS roll plant. It is understood that he made this purchase for himself and business associates and has already announced his intention to increase the interest of the public and the trade in player-piano rolls. The QRS catalog contains many thousand selections, embracing all classes of music. The Imperial Industrial Corporation was named that because if the roll business did fail, Max would be able to change their product without changing the name.
The business model for QRS under Kortlander and Imperial Industrial changed nearly overnight. There were no more hand-played rolls, such as those made popular by artists such as "Fats" Waller. From that point on for over three decades, the rolls were hand arranged by J. Lawrence Cook, often augmented by at least one other staff arranger. With fewer arrangers and no players, perforators, which were sometimes expensive to maintain, were sold off.In addition to making their own piano rolls and the new Imperial label, Imperial Industrial produced rolls for the few smaller concerns that were still around, with the exception of Aeolian who still used their own plants. They also used some of the same equipment to make rolls for automated office printers. Also in 1931, Max recruited his younger brother Herman, who had lost his job at a Grand Rapids newspaper, to help him manage the new concern through a variety of front office responsibilities. Most of the support staff was let go, but a few of the perforator specialists, all men, were retained, as was a minimal staff of around 25 low-paid women who helped with packaging and secretarial duties. The staff was beefed up only in the fall anticipation of increased holiday volume. Max also realized that the promotion of the largest remaining roll company and the value of their product had not been well handled. He also realized there was probably only enough business during the financial crisis to keep just one roll company alive, and without current product that would never happen. J. Lawrence Cook was literally instrumental in keeping the product line current and vital, with the help of a few other selected arrangers throughout the next three decades. But to sell the product, now that he had cut costs, Max started wholesaling piano rolls at 25 cents each. This allowed the dealers to sell rolls from 33 to 50 cents each, which brought in customers who still wanted to enjoy old classics or the latest hits on their home piano. At a time when a good meal was a necessary commodity at 25 cents, a piano roll that sold for any more than that was considered a luxury, but it was one that many customers continued to enjoy. Kortlander was able to pay back on his mortgaged home in less than two years. While the market for the more elaborate reproducing pianos, such as Duo-Arts and Ampicos, was only a small piece of the automated music pie, Max still saw an opportunity in that market for the third major reproducing system, the first one on the market, and bought it, as announced in the Music Trade Review of December 1932: In a 1985 interview with Bill Burkhardt, Herman was asked about the Welte-Mignon acquisition. "Max bought the Welte rolls and machines and that was it. These companies were failing. We bought a lot of different companies, junked the machines and used the stock. That's all you could do. We couldn't carry on because they were losing money.
While he had buckled down during the Depression, Herman said his brother still enjoyed the fruits of his arduous labors. After the hectic holiday season they often retreated to Florida for a month at a time. Appreciative of his opportunities and his life, Max was also a social host who enjoyed giving parties complete with good entertainment, sometimes in conjunction with promotional events. He avoided anything ostentatious, perhaps aware that publicity focusing on lavish expenditures might alienate consumers and dealers alike. He simply invested well and treated his employees well. Having divorced in 1931, Max remarried in 1933 to Gertrude (Williams) Begoon, acquiring a stepson, Jackson Begoon in the deal. Gertrude was also well-liked by most QRS personnel. They, along with Max's own adopted teenage children, took a two week cruise to Europe in the winter of 1934 aboard the Mauretania. The most important and fruitful relationship that Max had was also perhaps the trickiest one to maintain. J. Lawrence Cook loved his work, and without it QRS clearly would not have survived the Great Depression. Given that he was black, and being cognizant of the climate of race relations in the United States in the 1930s, theirs seemed to more a relationship of respect than anything else. Cook did pretty much whatever was asked of him, including rush jobs, rearrangements of older pieces, or direct imitations of audio recordings. Yet based in part on recollections of some personnel, and a CBS television show in which they appeared, it also appeared that their roles were defined as Lawrence and Mr. Kortlander. Although the exact figures and the context of when they apply are hard to pinpoint, Herman talked about Cook's pay and a couple of other aspects of his tenure with QRS: "Well, [he was not paid] a great deal. Maybe $50 or $60 a week [in the early 1950s]. I mean, he was satisfied, so that was it. It was a good salary. The factory girls only got $20 a week. He worked at the Post Office. He was working for the pension, and he was doing all right. That was after hours, too, in the evening. He worked for us all day." Cook recalled something similar, but noted that in later years he was making around $200 per week. Given the number of people that Max had laid off, Cook long considered himself to be one of the lucky few who was spared.
By the same token, Max, whose name was still appearing on rolls thanks to Cook's emulation of his style, did not totally abandon his musical acumen in exchange for micromanaging a struggling business. He had a hand in choosing the content that QRS put out, whether they were re-arrangements of older tunes or current pieces being pushed by publishers. His experience and intuition were well enough developed that he could see how a piece was being promoted by a publisher or how the public might respond to it on radio and record, and was therefore selective enough to have Cook and other arrangers produce rolls that were also usually popular and sold well. Speed was also paramount, as they wanted to get rolls on the market while a hit song was still on the Billboard charts. There were a few other primary arrangers that worked for QRS along with or under Cook. From 1940 to 1947 there was Frank Milne (pronounced Mil-nee), who had record for Rythmodik and Aeolian. He did a particularly fine job with ballads, and in reimaging many older tunes in new styles. Living in Belmar, New Jersey, Milne had a commute of around two hours each way, but was dedicated to his work nearly until his death from smoking-induced lung cancer. Another veteran was Rudy Erlebach, who had enjoyed over two decades of experience when he succeeded Milne at QRS in 1947. He worked for them sporadically until his death around 1955. Dick Watson was hired 1961 to arrange current popular tunes, and worked through the end of the decade. Herman Babich (a.k.a. Hi Babit) was hired almost simultaneously with Dick, and continued the QRS arranging legacy after Max's death, working from 1960 to around 1967. Another musician who paralleled Babit's tenure was Rudy Martin, starting there in 1964 to help run machinery, and continuing from the late 1960 into the 1990s as an arranger. There was only the one punching piano, so all of the arrangers had to do some time sharing. Kortlander continued to write and publish compositions sporadically until around 1940. His last known published work, Something to Live For, was a dynamic ballad that was recorded by a number of artists over the next two decades, including Judy Garland, Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. At fifty-years-old Max decided to focus entirely on business, and the next business at hand was the shot in the arm that both QRS and the United States needed. In the 1940 Census Max, Gertrude and Jackson were living with two servants in Rye, Westchester County, New York, with Max appropriately lists as the President and manufacturer of "Piano Player Rolls." The economic recovery was already underway in 1940 and 1941 as America looked towards Europe and the ongoing war there. As the U.S. started gearing up for what seemed to be inevitable, the increase in the defense industry activity put more money into the economy, and luxury items again were less out of reach. On the other side of the coin, many player pianos were 25 to 35 years old at that point and in need of repair, while new ones were not being built, the Depression having shut down that part of the industry. Still, the majority of automated pianos built in the bustling 1920s were operational, and Kortlander saw the opportunity to not only continue as they had over the past decade, but even expand a bit by playing to the current world situation.
Directly after the war there was another lull in sales as the country settled down. There were more cutbacks in the late 1940s. Then nostalgia in music became the rage. Post-war America was in a bit of a musical identity crisis, since there was no particular popular form that dominated. Swing had become be-bop, rhythm and blues were not yet rock and roll or culturally accessible to much of the white population, and the crooners were less inspiring during this period. Then came the phenomenal success of the 1948 recording of Pee Wee Hunt's band playing 12th Street Rag, and the subsequent resurrection of ragtime in general thanks to Lou Busch and Capitol Records. He was joined by Johnny Maddox, Frankie Carle, Marvin Ash, and other fine pianists, in making the new generation of Americans, made up in part by WWII veterans, yearn for and enjoy the happy music of their youth. Max saw and seized on this opportunity, and was helped out musically as well. In 1949 composer Cy Coben composed The Old Piano Roll Blues. Whether this was spontaneous or commissioned by Aeolian, Wurlitzer or QRS has been hard to lock down. However, it was around this same time that Aeolian and Wurlitzer introduced new electrically driven and more compact player pianos. QRS was right there with more software for those pianos, which included The Old Piano Roll Blues brilliantly interpreted by Cook,
Imperial Industrial, in conjunction with Hardman, Peck & Company, also got in on the act by developing an even smaller console [some histories have erroneously claimed it was a spinet] player piano that allowed the user to either flip a switch or pull out the pedals and pump, just as they had three decades prior. While it came out in the Spring of 1957 after the nostalgia surge had died down, the Hardman DUO (a nod to the older Duo-Art name, whose rolls it could accommodate) nonetheless did fairly well. In their advertising, Hardman and Imperial Industrial aimed at the modern suburban family of the space age, yet called on nostalgia for sales as well: The DUO is an ideal family piano, one that every member can play even those who have never had a lesson. Lyrics are printed right on the music rolls, so everyone can sing along as well. This adds greatly to the fun of family gatherings and parties. The young student in the family will find he learns faster on the DUO. He can play it manually for practice lessons, and as a player-piano to observe the technique of more advanced arrangements.
Herman had also contributed to an increase in sales from QRS through his Personality Series of rolls. Given Cook's extraordinary ability, and either the cooperation or tolerance of a number of piano artists, the series was comprised of rolls "played as arranged" by well-known artists. This often meant a paraphrase or nearly exact replication of an artists' recording or at least his style for some well known works. Herman later admitted that the practice may not have been entirely ethical, but the labels were worded in such a way as to be open to interpretation. As the 1960s started, things were looking bright for QRS. Even after Aeolian's secondary reintroduction into the roll market in the 1950s, QRS was still the dominant leader of popular piano rolls, many featuring the latest top forty hits.
Herman continued to run the company under Gertrude's direction, taking care of the front office responsibilities and royalties. Cook ran the rest of the factory, making most of the decisions concerning what songs to arrange and release, but left by late 1961 due to strained relations with Mrs. Kortlander. Around 1967 Gertrude sold the firm to player piano restorer and enthusiast Ramsi Tick, and QRS Music, including all the stock and the machines and its original corporate name, was relocated to Buffalo, New York. Herman followed J. Lawrence Cook to Aeolian on 57th Street in New York City. Both of them eventually became frustrated with the slow and disorganized way in which they felt Aeolian was operating, with no central office or facility, and left the company in the 1970s. He remained in New York until 1984 when he retired back to Michigan, dying in July 1987. Stephen Kortlander never got involved in his dad's business, and died in June 1973 in Santa Monica, California. His mother Jean, Max's first wife, followed in 1975. Their adopted daughter is still assumed to be alive in 2010. Gertrude Kortlander, who had lived off of royalties and the sale of QRS, passed on in Rye, New York on March 11, 1981. QRS Music is still an independent company, although they have been involved with the Story and Clark Piano Company for over two decades. The famous marking piano that was used by Cook and his peers is now part of the factory tour, which thousands of curious tourists and aficionados take every year. Piano rolls are still selling at a rate of over 200,000 per year, although software-driven music and downloads have clearly overtaken the paper market. Today the legacy of Max Kortlander and QRS are very much alive, albeit in altered form. The company still makes paper rolls, albeit after a temporary shutdown in late 2009, but concentrate more on digital media. The early performances by Max and his staff can now be played back from MIDI, a special Compact Disc, or even a wireless internet connection on a QRS Pianomation System and PNOScan attached to nearly any piano, and even accompanied by instruments or vocals played through an integrated speaker. But the intent is still the same as the pioneers of the industry, including Max Kortlander and Melville Clark, had hoped for. They wanted to bring well-played music into the average household on a device that allowed for the upgrading of the music simply by obtaining new software, or piano rolls. The piano roll is every bit as digital as MIDI on CD is, and in that regard, QRS Music continues to keep Max's long term goals of musical entertainment in the home both current and exciting. Some of the information on Kortlander was retrieved from the exceptional Billings Rollography, which includes the first authentic history of QRS. Another very useful source was the 1985 interview of Herman Kortlander by Bill Burkhardt, which can be found in its entiriety on the AMICA website at http://www.amica.org/Live/Organization/Honor-Roll/KortlanderHerman.htm.Additional information on Max was presented by author and Michigan historian Lee Barnett, formerly with the Michigan State Archives, in an article published on the remarkable Doctor Jazz site run by Mike Meddings. The rest was researched from music archives, radio archives, newspaper listings and public records by the author. Be sure to visit QRS Music for more information on the company. | |||||||||||||||||||
If there isn't already enough in the way of spurious claims about who invented jazz, trumpet player Nick La Rocca and clarinetist Larry Shields certainly added to the fray with a string of hits that came out almost simultaneously with the newly coined. And his direct claim of the invention of jazz by white people was also controversial with its blunt racist overtones.
Dominic [Domenici] James La Rocca (often shown as LaRocca) was born in New Orleans to Italian immigrants James (Giarolomo) La Rocca and Victoria (Vita Demina) La Rocca. He was the fourth of six siblings including Rosario (12/1882), Antonia (9/1884), Marie (6/1887), Bartholomew (8/1891) and Leonardo (10/1893). Nick's father was a maker and retailer of shoes, and his older brother had followed suit by 1900. As of 1910 Victoria had been widowed, but was still running the shoe store. Rosario was listed as a street car conductor, but Nick showed no occupation, even at the age of 21. He was likely experimenting with or playing music, but not for a living at that point. Lawrence Shields was born over four years after La Rocca, also in New Orleans, to James Shields, a professional painter, and Emma (Puneky Ruth) Shields. He had three older siblings by a different father and was the second of four boys from his natural father. The large family included John Ruth (7/1876), Maggie Ruth (2/1879), Mary Ruth (6/1881), James Ruth (10/1884), Patrick (2/1888), Edward (9/1896) and Harris (7/1899). As of the 1910 census Lawrence and some of his brothers are shown as apprentice painters working with their (step)father.Henry Ragas was born the only child to Louisiana natives Hypolite Ragas and Emily (Masson) Ragas. He still grew up in a crowded household as at least six of Hypolite's nieces and nephews resided with the family. The cause of this is unknown, perhaps a tragedy with their parents, but the youngest in 1900 was merely 9 months old. Hypolite worked as a motorman for the New Orleans trolley system. He was difficult to locate in the 1910 Census. He had received adequate training on the piano, and may have been working or on the road performing at that time. All three boys grew up in an environment in New Orleans that was fostering a musical identity for the area, and where before 1900 around which time certain laws were enacted, the Creole and white musicians were able to perform together. New Orleans was also a busy town in part because of the creation of Alfred Story's legislated district of 1897 outside of which prostitution was illegal, making it tacitly within the law within the boundaries of what became known as Storyville. Even within the distance of a few blocks from one ward to another, the mix of races was evident, and downtown New Orleans was teeming with musical activity, particularly south of Storyville in the French Quarter. Even standing outside many of the establishments there, it was not hard to get a basic music education of improvisation and rhythm. So even though music may not have been an established profession for the trio by 1910, it does not mean that they weren't soaking it all in and playing it. As early as 1914 Nick, Larry and Henry may have been working together in a band that La Rocca had formed from the remants of Papa Jack Laine's bands in New Orleans. The new group then picked up their cases in 1916 and went north to Chicago where opportunities to play jazz for money were increasing weekly. They secured a gig at the Booster Club playing under the name Stein's Dixie Jass Band under the leadership of drummer Johnny Stein. At the end of their first season, La Rocca had creative or personal conflicts with the group's clarinetist Alcide Nunez. They agreed to a trade with another band, and La Rocca acquired Shields as a permanent member. By late 1916, the group had also dropped Stein and moved to New York City where they were now billed as The Original Dixieland Jass Band, "Creators of Jass." The new group was comprised of leader La Rocca on cornet, Shields on clarinet, Ragas at the piano, Eddie Edwards on trombone, and Tony Sbarbaro on the drums. A steady gig was obtained for them by an enthusiastic Al Jolson, one of their early fans, at Reisenweber's Cafe on Columbus Circle in midtown Manhattan. They were known for wild stage antics and general musical unruliness, which made them an instant hit in the jazz deprived city. It didn't hurt that they got press coverage, and LaRocca always had something provacative to say. "Jazz is the assassination of the melody, it's the slaying of syncopation." While playing they would dance, assume awkward positions, or play their instruments in an unusual manner, such trombonist Edwards sliding the trombone with his foot After a successful start at Reisenweber's, the group secured an opportunity to be the first jazz band to record for Columbia Records in early 1917 While that recording session turned out to be a bust, a subsequent session with Victor Talking Machine on February 26, 1917, begat two of their recorded compositions, the Livery Stable Blues and Dixie Jass Band One Step (later the Original Dixieland Jazz Band One Step. Since La Rocca had used part of Joe Jordan's That Teasin' Rag, he was required to add Jordan's name to the piece and have the records recalled and relabeled with "Introducing That Teasin' Rag by Joe Jordan." This record was followed by their most enduring effort, the wildly popular Tiger Rag. Both La Rocca and Shields' respective June 1917 draft records show them as an "actor (theatrical)", and Henry's as a "vaudeville actor.". La Rocca now showed as married (Victoria Shields), as did Henry (Mrs. Ragas' name is not listed) and while Henry gave a Manhattan address, the other two both appear to still be based in New Orleans based on their addresses. All of them declared that they were employed by Reisenwebber's in New York City.The controversy behind the origin of jazz was long spurred on by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band's leader, Nick La Rocca, who blatantly insisted that not only was it he who had coined the name jass/jazz, but that he and his group had all but invented the music as well. He further stated that not only was it a white music form since the negro was not inherently capable of such complex compositions, but that negroes were merely copying the white musicians as they had in so many other musical forms. This arrogant and ignorant statement understandably incensed a large sector of both races of the music community, who rightly considered the ODJB as "a bunch of white guys playing colored music." Still, their recordings sold well thanks to good distribution and advertising. As for the genre name - jass was a black euphemism long associated with the act of sexual intercourse, and somewhat commonly as the male by-product of the act. Some believe that the word had earlier origins in France, and that the meaning actually translates into "somewhat disorganized" or "loose". The term Jasper, a disparaging name used by field bosses to refer to field hands by other than their name, is also cited as a possible origin. The word "jass" first appeared in late 1916, but quickly was rechristened "jazz" because of problems the band was having with vandals blotting out the "J" on their advertising posters. Early jazz music, now known as traditional jazz, was essentially ragtime music with a section that allowed for improvisation of the solo instruments. Tiger Rag was little more than themes that La Rocca and Shields, with help from Ragas, assembled from known French quadrilles that were popular in New Orleans. It was the style of playing that set it apart from other music of the time, and made La Rocca and Shields so successful. Ragas also contributed pieces to the band's repertoire, not always getting due credit. His playing was often lost in the cacophony of the horns in the front line, in part because of the limited recording scope of the acoustic horns used at that time, but also because he was providing the bass line and chords in the absence of a tuba and banjo. In the format that the band used for a typical three minute recording, Henry usually did not take any solos. His contribution to Tiger Rag and other ODJB pieces, however, may have been very useful in condensing what the band played into a printable format for sheet music. The question of ownership of tunes of an improvised nature became an issue for the courts to have to deal with in October 1917,
There were many recording sessions that followed the Victor sessions in 1917 and 1918, including some more for Columbia and Aeolian-Vocalion, a number of which were never issued. In spite of their jazz fame, the band was equally well known for their stage performances that featured novelty and comedy numbers. It was on stage that they found success both in the United States and Europe. La Rocca tried to keep their name in the public eye with constant interviews containing even more outrageous claims and phrases. Following their run at Reisenweber's they went a few miles north to the Alamo Cafe on 148th Street, then out to bustling Coney Island at the famous College Inn. Near the end of 1918 trombonist Eddie Edwards left the group and was replaced by Emile Christian. But as jazz music started to mature into the styles of the roaring twenties, the band became a thing of the past. The first tragedy for the band came in 1919 when Ragas died of the Spanish Flu pandemic. He was replaced in short order by J. Russel Robinson, one of a number of contenders for the spot including pioneer champion ragtime pianist Mike Bernard. La Rocca retreated with the band to the Hippodrome in London that March to renewed acclaim, recording a number of sides for Columbia there. Of those tracks, Soudan became a major hit. They returned to the U.S. in mid 1920, having missed the 1920 Census. Then the group made a few more recordings for Victor before starting out on four years of arduous touring, underoing personnel changes throughout that time. After a few tumultuous trips, La Rocca had a mental breakdown in 1925 and the band finally dissolved. While the other band members went on to continue their careers in jazz performance, La Rocca ended up as a building contractor in New Orleans. He was shown in the 1930 Census in New Orleans with his wife Victoria, employed as a "house carpenter." Nick did live to see a great rediscovery and revival of his early works from the late 1940s through the 1950s. Either LaRocca or Shields reformed the group in the mid 1930s in Chicago (stories vary as to who initiated the move). They played in New York and New Orleans and recorded some more sides for Victor with La Rocca, Shields and Robinson in the lineup, even staging their comeback in a somewhat fictionalized March of Time newsreel in early 1937. In late 1939 Larry tried one more short stint with surviving members and his brother Harry, recording six sides for the secondary Victor label Bluebird Records. The ODJB was defunct by early 1940. In the 1940 Census Dominick and Victoria were back in New Orleans, showing that they had both been living in Manhattan in 1935. Nick was back in the construction business working as a carpenter. Larry and Harry Shields were both located in New Orleans for the 1940 record, living with their widowed mother Emma and sister Margaret. Both were listed as orchestra musicians. Larry retired to California in the early 1940s. He died in Los Angeles at age 60. The early performances of the ODJB, even though they often sound a bit stilted or stage in comparison to those of King Oliver or Louis Armstrong's groups, still informed and influenced many musicians to follow. Larry's early playing was cited as an inspiration by a number of swing era players, including Artie Shaw and Benny Goodman. Ragas set some standards for jazz arrangements and laying down a good solid foundation, even though his career was cut tragically short. La Rocca died in 1961 in Louisiana just short of 74. To this day, there is little evidence that the ODJB founders invented jazz, but there is more than enough to verify that they contributed greatly to its early and continuing success. | |||||||||||
George Anderson Lewis and Hattie (Johnson) Lewis, Meade grew up in the hotbed of hot jazz and showy piano playing. While reportedly born in Chicago, Illinois, which he stated on most documents from the 1920s on, his obituary noted that he might have been born in Louisville, Kentucky, his father's native area. Meade was the oldest of five boys, including Joseph (1908), George (1911), Lee (1913) and Julius (1919).
Once the family moved to Chicago, George Lewis worked for the postal system there. In the 1920 census Meade is shown working as a door boy for a shoe store, and not in school. He acquired the nickname "Lux" because as a child he liked to imitate the excessively polite comic strip characters Alphonse and Gaston, and ended up calling himself the "Duke of Luxembourg."In spite of his desire to play piano, Meade's father insisted he learn the more refined violin. George Lewis died when Meade was 16, and he went right into the piano, influenced by Chicago pianist and eventual mentor Jimmy Yancey, and would never turn back. In his early twenties, Lewis met Albert Ammons, a fellow starving pianist and taxi driver by trade. They soon shared an apartment together that was coincidentally in the same building where another pianist, "Pine Top" Smith, resided. They became inseparable pianistic sparring partners, sharing ideas and jamming together for rent parties. In fact, Lewis' Honky Tonk Train Blues is close in structure and sound to Smith's Pine Top's Boogie-Woogie. His first major recording, Honky Tonk Train Blues, was first cut in 1927 on Paramount Records, but not released until 1929. Although his earliest style of the mid 1920's is considered boogie, which is the Boogie rhythm with a non-moving bass line, Lewis and his companions soon developed their own style of boogie-woogie, a hard-driving "eight to the bar" blues that had originated in the deep South, particularly New Orleans. The players had added a moving bass line to the boogie pattern, often with blue notes in the left hand. The recordings of Lewis helped establish boogie-woogie as a major blues piano style in the late l920's and early 1930s. In 1929, "Pine Top" was accidently killed at the age of 25. With his demise and the onset of the world-wide depression, interest in his music started to fade as people turned to swing music and movie musicals for entertainment. Lewis was again working at non-playing jobs to help supplement what little he made from performing. he eventually worked as a studio musician.
Lewis, Ammons and Johnson followed Benny Goodman's historic 1938 swing concert at Carnegie Hall with two of their own arranged by Hammond, one in December 1938 and another by popular demand in 1939. It sparked a whole new interest in the genre and cultivated the boogie woogie craze of the 1940s. The three pianists worked for at least two years at Cafe Society, a Greenwich Village nightclub in Lower Manhattan. In the middle of the 1940s, Lewis moved to Los Angeles and spent the remainder of his life based there doing occasional recording sessions and club gigs in both California and Illinois. Meade was also involved in the successful Piano Parade tour of 1952 with Pete Johnson, Erroll Garner and Art Tatum. Meade's weight of 290-plus pounds became a serious issue near the end of his life, forcing him to give up alcohol and restrict his diet just to maintain his health. Lewis continued to perform his signature piece, although at increasingly faster tempos, live and on recordings to the end of his life. He was killed after an evening performance at the end of a three week engagement in Minneapolis, Minnesota, when his car was struck from the rear at 80 miles per hour, pinning Lewis between his car and a tree. Although he was still living in Los Angeles at 629 East 116th Street, the pianist had been pondering a move back to the Midwest, where he sadly met his demise. His music still lives on with us, however, through countless performances either of his work or influenced by his driving dynamic style. | |||||||
Born in San Mateo, California in 1931 to first generation American Henry Lieberknecht and his Austrian born second wife Roberta Lieberknecht, Gilbert Lieberknecht was destined to be a musician and composer. His parents played the zither and were performing artists in the San Francisco Bay area in the 1930s. Gil's father, a printer by trade, performed and composed under the professional name of "Don Henry." He had a son, George W. Lieberknecht, from a previous marriage to Ada M. Lieberknecht, but George does not appear to have lived in the same household as his half brother. Henry met Roberta in 1925 in Berkeley, with the zither as their main common interest. At the end of the year she had to return to her current home of Switzerland as her visa was expiring. Henry was about to take on another job in Reno, Nevada, but instead sold his car so he could get to New York and intercept Roberta before she sailed. Once he found her there, Henry surprised her with a proposal and she accepted. She still had to go back to Europe, but three months later came to the United States for good as Henry's wife. After five years they had their only child.
The family moved several times in Gil's first two years, staying mostly around the San Francisco Bay area. Roberta decided to take on piano teaching to supplement the family income during the Great Depression, and had a piano shipped from Switzerland for that purpose. Given the mix of musical interests between his parents Gilbert spent his childhood immersed in traditional Austrian folk music and American jazz, and studied classical piano for a number of years, initially with his mother. He was born with gift of perfect pitch, which could sometimes be a curse as well, but also suffered from bronchitis. After a move north to San Anselmo in Marin County, California to improve his health, Gil took lessons with Leslie Covey. Since he felt he worked better on Mr. Covey's grand piano, his parents somehow found a way to bring a McPhail grand into their house in 1940. During the next several years he took lessons from Mr. Covey, as well as a Mr. Siefort and Mr. Bauer. Even though there was much in the way of popular music available, Roberta and Henry insisted he remain embedded in classical works, of which Frederic Chopin was one of his favorites. In the 1940 Census taken in San Anselmo, 61-year-old Henry was shown working as a printing typesetter. In June 1946, Roberta died at 54 after a long battle with cancer. After the tragic and untimely death of his mother, Gil and his father took an extended vacation, which included a visit to relatives in Henry's native Omaha. When they returned to California, they moved first to Los Angeles where Henry married the private nurse that had cared for Roberta to the end. The marriage lasted only a short time, and father and son then moved briefly to San Antonio, Texas. In late 1947, they finally settled in Omaha, Nebraska where Henry had been born in 1879, a city rich in Bohemian culture and tradition. Henry settled back in to the printing business. While Gil's lessons had ceased before Roberta's death, he continued to play, particularly at special programs at school, but was not a part of standard musical activities like orchestra, band or choir. After high school he held a couple of jobs until he was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1952 during the Korean conflict. It was over before he was out of basic training, so Gil ended up staying in the U.S. until he was discharged in 1954 after his standard two years of service. At that time he became part of the door to door Fuller Brush work force in Omaha, and within two years had become the top company salesman in the city. But another force had already started to creep in to his life.While still playing the piano, the classics were getting less attention. Henry referred to his late wife in chastising Gil on this point - "What would your mother say?" But he persisted on following this direction. According to Gil, at the age of 23, "...in 1955, I got caught up in the Crazy Otto craze." [Whether this refers to American Johnny Maddox or German Fritz Schulz-Reichel is unclear.] He also listened to Del Wood and Lou Busch a.k.a. Joe "Fingers" Carr. "I started playing ragtime in 1959, after hearing [the late] Bob Darch [who was performing nightly at the classic Fontanelle Hotel opened in 1915]. By 1960, I was composing my own ragtime". The first rag he presented to Bob, Deer Park Rag, was reportedly based on Wood's hit recording of Down Yonder. It fell with a thud to Bob's ears, who said it wasn't terrible, "It's Horrible." Darch still encouraged him to continue to try, even giving him a copy of Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag to learn, the final blow that hooked him on the genre. Gil's following composition was South Omaha Rag in 1960. From that point on, Lieby ultimately composed more than 60 ragtime, novelty and stride piano pieces. One of his first moves towards a more musically structured life in 1960 was to obtain a job in a music store selling pianos and organs. Through the advice of his employer, Roger Critchett, Gil learned more about the art of composition and was able to correct many of his shortcomings in short order. His dedication to ragtime performance and writing increased. When Darch returned to Omaha in 1964 he heard Gil's Spring Lake Rag and Trophy Rag, which prompted Bob, who thought they were good works, to instill in Gil the need to copyright his works, which he did so from that point on. Most of his compositions document an important event or location in his life. Katrina Rag, composed in 1965 and copyrighted a few years later, had its origins at an early rendition of the St. Louis Ragtime Festival. It is a commemoration of his meeting life-long friend and sometimes co-composer, Kathi Backus of Santa Barbara, California. Another piece from the following year was the Goldenrod Rag, which referred to the Goldenrod Showboat, built in 1909 and restored in the early 1960s through the efforts of Dave Jasen and Trebor Tichenor,
In 1971 Gil was driving a Star Route mail truck when a briefcase containing all of his music manuscripts to that time was stolen from the truck. There were no other copies, so he learned a painful lesson in that loss, reflected in Lost Music Rag. Continuing to compose, he came out with pieces like Lil White Fuzzy Rag, which exemplified his love for cats. His pure devotion to his pets is also found in Little Guys. Lost Fuzzies was written as a memorial to his beloved pets when all were tragically lost in a house fire in January of 1985. He also lost family pictures, ragtime records and two pianos. Surprisingly, his manuscripts survived the fire even though they were in a cardboard suitcase over the center of the blaze. A contrasting work, Good News On Zero Street was a joyous account of the building of a new church he was associated with. Composed in tribute to his dear mother Roberta, Goodbye Mama, lamented her untimely death and the deep and the indescribable sadness felt in the heart of a fourteen year old boy, a pain which remained for decades. One of his more interesting works was Anathema Blues. Gil was staying at a lodge with a piano of questionable integrity that had several non-functioning notes, particularly in the bass, and rose to the challenge by writing an unusual low-bass driven work that utilized the notes that actually did work. Fresno Frolics was based on a theme by Gil's father Henry, which is used as the final section of the piece. The most popular of his compositions was the Carter Laker, recorded and performed by many ragtime artists. Then came a miracle. In May 1985, four months after he had lost almost everything, Gil received a telephone call. The briefcase with the music stolen in 1971 had been found. A man hired in 1983 to clean out the rental house of a prison-bound criminal had located it in the basement, taken it home, and forgotten about it for two years. In perspective, had the man returned the music any earlier, it potentially could have been lost in the fire. Gil felt that there was some special reason that his music survived several potential catastrophes. As an implementation of a better backup system, from that point on he mailed a copy of each new composition to Kathi Backus. Kathi has preserved copies of everything Gil has composed. Another friend, Burns Davis of Nebraska, also was frequently sent back-up copies of Gil’s compositions. More than just a ragtime-playing truck-driving cat-loving kind of guy, Gil also enjoyed water skiing, often serving as a boat driver for competitions or exhibitions. He was a member of the board of the Carter Lake Water Ski Club in Iowa for nearly a decade, part of the time as Vice President and one year as President, for which he composed the Carter Laker. Among his supporters were David and Jeannie Wright, co-founders of the Cascade Ragtime Society in Oregon. He met them in 1983 at one of the first annual incarnations of the modern day Scott Joplin Ragtime Festival held in Sedalia, Missouri. David took quickly to Gil's music, playing and promoting it wherever he could. In 1987 Gil played for the Cascade Ragtime Society during which his performances were recorded. Gil composed Umpquight Moments that year in honor of the couple. In 1995, Iowa native ragtime performer Marty Mincer recorded an album of many of Gil's works at the composer's behest, featuring the Goldenrod Rag as the title cut, the only such complete album that exists to date. Others who have since recorded some of his pieces include Brian Keenan, Keith Taylor, Bill Edwards, the inimitable West Coast ragtimer Tom Brier, and Sister Jean and Paul Huling (a.k.a. Laundry Fat). Within a decade, Gil would be retired from truck driving and still living in Omaha, attending local ragtime events whenever he could. He also managed to travel out to the Sutter Creek Ragtime Festival for many years, and wrote a number of pieces commemorating the festival, including the popular Sutter Creek Strut. His final public performance outside of Omaha was at Sutter Creek in August of 2005. Gil Lieby spent his last year in poor health due to Parkinson's disease, but still had a healthy sense of humor and his passion for ragtime remained. He died peacefully in his father's home town of Omaha. The collection of works he left behind also speak to his passions and his life in a biographical manner, and through artists like Kathi Backus, Marty Mincer and Tom Brier will remain so for many years. I would like to add a personal note of thanks to my friend and ragtime performer Nan Bostick who provided some of the details found in this biography in addition to my research and conversations with Gil, and to playing partner and performer Marty Mincer who provided some of the dates and a couple of anecdotes. | |||||||
Paul Lingle was one of the benchmark performers of ragtime on the Barbary Coast (Northern California) during the first revival of traditional jazz and ragtime in the 1940s and 1950s, yet he left surprisingly little behind in terms of legacy, all of it of the best possible quality and pianistic passion. He was born in Denver, Colorado, at the beginning of the ragtime era, to Ohio native and cigar maker Curtis R. Lingle, and his wife, Michigan native Cora M. (Harrison). Paul was the youngest of four out of five surviving children, including his older brother Roy, born in Nebraska in September, 1887, and sister Della, born in Michigan in March, 1890. At the time of Paul's birth the Lingle family lived at 5046 W. 36th Avenue in Denver.
Taking to the piano at around five or six years of age, Paul actually had the benefit of listening and learning from great pianists of the ragtime era who passed through Denver when his dad, a fine cornetist, played with them. Much of his training was classical, of course, and he kept some of those pieces, such as the works of Chopin and Liszt, under his fingers throughout his life.
However, the composer/performer that influenced Paul the most was "Jelly Roll" Morton, who was making a name for himself on the west coast during that period. Lingle also attended the 1915 World's Fair in San Francisco with his father, where the New York dynamo Mike Bernard and local Oakland whiz kid Jay Roberts performed. Near the end of the fair he encountered Morton's live performances for the first time and was hooked. Something Paul also learned while on the road was that musicians without a familiar name only get paid for playing what's in style, so he made sure to always adapt. He continued on his own after World War One, and in spite of his love for ragtime, quickly learned that jazz was taking over, so simply shifted his style a bit. By 1919 Lingle had moved to California where he would spend the next three decades. He started working in some of the mining areas of Central and Southern California. In 1920, Paul is shown in San Bernardino in Southern California as a pianist/musician, at the slightly inflated age of 19, and on his own. That same year found him at the Del Mar club up in San Francisco. During that stint he availed himself of the opportunity as often as he could to hear Joseph "King" Oliver and his New Orleans jazz band playing at the Pagoda Ballroom on Market Street. After drifting around several venues in California, Paul settled in Los Angeles for a while, playing with the Oaks Tavern Players, a small orchestra managed by Oaks Tavern owner Frank Relter. Paul finally worked started his own group in 1925 at Mike Lyman's Tent Café in Los Angeles that featured Larry Shields of the Original Dixieland Jazz Band on clarinet. The following year found him at Balboa Island with the orchestra of Jimmy Grier, a clarinetist who had recently left Gus Arnheim's orchestra, in a group that included trombonist Glenn Miller. In 1928 Paul was back in San Francisco fronting his own small band at Fior D'Italia, but he also worked on some ocean cruise lines from time to time over the next decade as indicated by ship's manifests, preferring cruises to the Orient and back. Paul's propensity for ragtime rhythms and his work in both Southern and Northern California got Lingle an invitation to come to Warner Brothers Studios to perform behind none other than Al Jolson in a couple of his early films, including The Singing Fool (sometimes referred to as Sonny Boy) in 1928 and Mammy in 1930. There are rumors that he had also played for the single live dialog scene in The Jazz Singer but that was actually his colleague Bert Fisk. Lingle seems to have favored the Barbary Coast over Los Angeles, and commented later that he felt that Hollywood was becoming too commercial and wasn't fun anymore." By mid 1930 he was a Bay Area resident. Paul was living in San Francisco with his singer wife of at around three years, Bertha "Betty" Lingle (of Russian parentage), listed as a musician who was employed "anywhere." This was essentially true as Lingle was seen virtually everywhere in the Bay Area for the next 22 years. During the 1930s Lingle became a regular with trumpeter Al Zohn's jazz band, and was soon frequently employed by many radio stations either for background or foreground piano, primarily as a staff pianist at KPO. Most of what he played was contemporary to the time, but he would break out in a rag or two with his heavy left-hand keeping a steady thumping rhythm, one of the few players who continued to do so during the largely ragtime-deficit decade. In order to supplement the playing work during the lean years of the Great Depression, Paul also took up piano tuning as a trade, some weeks preferring that to the rigors of late night performance. Just the same, associates say that he could drink with the best of them and still play flawlessly. One story concerns when he was rooming with another musician in an apartment with Murphy-bed variations that stored under a nook in the wall. He evidently came home plastered, so a couple of the guys there pushed his bed into its nook and locked it up for the night. When he woke with a hangover to find solid wood only a couple of inches from his face, he evidently shouted out "Oh my God! They've buried me alive!"Another fine Lingle story that could be about any number of pianists, including his associate Burt Bales, was about an odd noise. When he was doing one of his regular shows at KPO a disturbing noise kept coming over the speakers in addition to the piano. The engineers apparently took apart and reassembled much of the electronic pathway to find the offending noise, in the end someone discovered it by standing in the studio as Lingle performed. It was Paul who was humming - somewhat out of tune - as he played. This comes across clearly in some of the rare recordings left behind. Paul was also known to be moody with effervescent highs and depressive lows, often taking visible offense if the listening audience simply didn't seem to appreciate what he was playing. Lingle was, perhaps (unsubstantiated but representative), a victim of mild bi-polar disorder. In the 1940 Census, taken in San Francisco, Paul was listed as a musician in a dance orchestra, and Betty (as Bertha) working as a cashier in a theater. By the early 1940s Lingle was actually tuning much more than playing, having moved down south from the Bay Area to Santa Cruz. He felt that tuning was a much more profitable and respectable profession. This was the time when trumpeter Lu Watters, who had worked with Lingle several times in the 1930s, and fellow ragtime pianist Wally Rose were building up a head of steam for what would be come the great traditional jazz revival of the 1940s. They formed the Yerba Buena Jazz Band in 1939 or 1940, and Paul had been part of the original core of that group until Watters chose Rose to replace him. The group started making recordings in late 1941 and early 1942. World War II interrupted any normalcy that was to be had, and they would not fully reassemble until 1946. During the war when Rose was off in the United States Navy, as much of the group as possible was performing locally using Burt Bales and Forrest Brown as fill-in pianists. Lingle and Watters, both very strong-headed and uncompromising, were often at odds, and ended up not speaking for several years. Bob Helm postulated that it was because Paul, being primarily a solo pianist, might have tried to control the tempo and dynamics of a tune from his position at the keyboard. Otherwise there would have potentially been recordings of Lingle with the group. Moving back to the Bay Area from Santa Cruz in late 1943, he worked for a while at a 24 hour bar in Richmond, California, near the Kaiser ship yards. In 1943 and 1944 jazz historian Rudi Blesh held a series of concerts and seminars at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and Lingle played in ensembles for several of those concerts. According to trombonist Bill Bardin, Paul had a method of accenting chords that involved a brief rise from the bench so he could throw most of his body weight behind the crashing chord. It was not used often, but made its point when exercised. War time gigs were not always plentiful, but musicians were necessary for both civilian and military morale, especially in Oakland and San Francisco were both the Navy and Marines had bases. One of the places with which he fronted small ensembles to orchestras was the Broadway Dancing Academy in Oakland. It was literally a grind and referred to either as a "dime jig" or a "grind." The work was tedious and grueling, where the band played 90 to 120 second tunes for the dime-a-dance crowd, sometimes playing as many as 200 a night. His core ensemble consisted of himself, Bill Bardin on trombone, Al Zohn on trumpet, and Ellis Horne on clarinet. Paul had to pick the repetoire, set the tempo, and play almost the entire time, certainly more than anybody else. However, Bardin was of the opinion that Paul held the position because he could play however he wanted with dictation from the management. He was always there with his trusty tuning hammer and a case full of lead sheets. After a long time on the gig, Paul had a falling out with Ellis and the ensemble started to crumble from that time. He eventually left the grueling dance work for a new gig Oakland's Jug Club. That Lingle truly loved the material of the ragtime era and just beyond was quite clear. On V-J Day in 1945, Lingle told his wife Betty, "I'm glad the war is over." She was a little surprised he even knew of the event since Paul was often in his own world. "Why, Paul?" she asked. "Because now I can play 'Japanese Sandman' again." As the post-war traditional jazz revival grew, so did Lingle's reputation for his highly original ragtime and Jelly Roll Morton interpretations. He again became a fixture in San Francisco and a hot ticket in the clubs, usually as a solo performer. Evidently he was in demand based on his reputation, as blues guitarist Leadbelly (Huddie Ledbetter) had asked him to be his accompanist while performing in town, and cornetist Bunk Johnson befriended Lingle, teaching him many of the old New Orleans tunes he had been playing for so many years. Paul's range was also extraordinary, as he could play at a whisper one moment then break strings or hammers the next (it's a good thing he was a piano technician!). While he had often been hard to find by his fans, Paul found steady gigs for fairly long periods at the Jug Club in Oakland and, in 1949, the Paper Doll club on Union Street in San Francisco, a place that he said catered to "all three sexes." At some point in the early 1950s Paul and Betty were divorced. The one thing his fans were not able to find were recordings of the legendary Lingle at their local record store. While he felt all right live and in a radio studio, Paul shied away from the traditional recording studios for a long time. He told people that he just did not feel he was ready to record anything for posterity. However, in addition to a few surviving radio show transcriptions, some friends and fans managed to make some wire recordings and early magnetic tape recordings of Lingle in action from 1947 to 1951. While hardly under the best of conditions, and with dropouts and background noise limiting the fidelity, they still captured his range well. The best of these were made by an associate, Charles Campbell, in 1951 at the Jug Club. In order to get past Lingle's paranoia of recording equipment, Campbell let Lingle know simply that he would be recording, but did not say when. On the night he got the bulk of his tapes, Campbell and recordist Stan Page made sure the equipment was fairly well hidden so as to not throw Paul off. The fare from that session was mostly ragtime, which had recently come back into national vogue through the widespread popularity of Lou Busch at Capitol Records, and includes pieces not likely recorded in years, such as Good Gravy Rag and Pastime Rag #3. Also included were two of his own compositions, Black and Blue Rag and Dance of the Witch Hazels, the latter which incorporates elements of another Barbary Coast pianist's work, Jay Robert's Entertainer's Rag. Through the diligence of Paul Affeldt and his Euphonic label, most of these tracks were released from the 1970s to the 1990s on three albums, and many are still available on CD, even if out of print.The person who first brought the Yerba Buena Jazz Band to the public through recordings on Watter's West Coast Jazz label, Lester Koenig, now had his own record company in 1951, Good Time Jazz. Koenig had hoped for over a decade to get Lingle into a studio just so something more "professional" could be released of his work. He was offered the Jug Club tapes but preferred to have the studio recordings. After some persistence on Lester's part, Lingle finally relented and came down to Hollywood in February of 1952. He recorded at least eleven cuts during three sessions at Radio Recorders, essentially the primary studio of Capitol Records, from February 11-13. Eight of these tracks were released on Good Time Jazz GTJ-13 in 1953 and two on a single. The remaining cut, Maple Leaf Rag, would surface many years later. By 1953, however, Lingle, who had long held the theory that as one gets older they simply should go to a warmer climate, had picked up his belongings and escaped the mainland to Hawaii where he would spend his remaining years. Although Paul's original intent was to resume life as a piano tuner, he soon remarried, opened a small piano instruction studio, and eventually worked with bands entertaining tourists in Honolulu throughout the rest of the 1950s. Years of alcohol consumption, reportedly heavy at time, finally caught up with the dynamic pianist. Paul Lingle died just short of his 60th birthday in 1962. Thanks to Koenig, and following his initial efforts, others who have released the various nightclub recordings, transcriptions and private acetates, his legacy remains with us. Virtually any ragtime pianist who got their start in the 1950s and 1960s, including the author, will cite Paul Lingle as one of their primary influences; if not for style, at least for content and passion - all that from a few stories and ten storied cuts on vinyl. If you want to hear Paul Lingle's dynamic playing, please consider the following two fine CD Recordings: Some of the information contained within this biography came from liner notes by Robert Helm, Charles Campbell, Paul Affeldt and Lester Koenig, and a couple of stories related by historian Richard Zimmerman. The remaining information was researched by the author from accounts found in periodicals of the time and other public records. |
England's crown jewel of novelty and syncopated piano compositions, Billy Mayerl, was born in 1902 on London's West End. Many sources cite his birth name as Joseph William, but the birth registry for Greater London April through June 1902 clearly shows William Joseph. In his early years, the Mayerl family was living on Tottenham Court Road near London's fabled theater district. | ||||||
The self-proclaimed inventor of Jazz and Stomp music, Morton grew up in the right environment to absorb a variety of musical influences: New Orleans, Louisiana. Born out of wedlock to Edward Joseph Lamothe and Louise Hermance Monette (the month of September is disputed as the baptismal record shows October 20), he eventually adopted for his own a variation of his stepfather William Mouton's last name. Considered a true Creole, he was a mulatto, which created its own set of difficulties, as the darker communities did not always accept light skinned blacks, yet they were still too black for the white communities. Ferdinand got past this by communicating through music. He learned guitar at age 7, and piano at 10. As of the 1900 Census the family was located in New Orleans with Ferd's half-sister Eugénie Amède added to the home in late 1897. Another sister, Frances a.k.a. Mimi, arrived in mid-1900. In his teens, Morton became one of the most renowned pianists in Storyville, the red light district of New Orleans. This is only an overview of Morton's life, peripheral to ragtime in many respects. For a much more complete look at this piano great's life and music, please spend some time at Mike Meddings' extraordinary site, www.doctorjazz.co.uk. | ||||||
Born a bit late for ragtime, but just in time for hot piano jazz, Fillmore W. Ohman was born in New Britain, Connecticut, to Swedish immigrant minister Sven G. Ohman and his Illinois-born wife of Swedish parents, Hulda C. Ohman. He was the second of four boys, including his older brother Rudolph B. (11/1892) and younger brothers George W. (1905) and Ernest (1917). Many sources cite Philmore as his birth name, but it appears as Fillmore on the 1900, 1910, 1920 and 1930 Census records as well as his 1917 draft record, a form that is usually very precise with such details. Sven Ohman was the pastor of St. Mary's Evangelical Swedish Lutheran Church in New Britain, and was found there in directories through the late 1910s as well as in the 1920 Census. There was a good-sized Swedish population in this central Connecticut town where the auburn-haired blue-eyed youth grew up.
Fillmore studied music in secondary school, and his aptitude was such that his teachers recommended sending their son off to Europe for further study, a fairly common practice at that time. However, on a pastor's salary this was not quite so easy. The compromise was to have him study music locally with Edward Laubin for four years, then an additional two years with local pipe organ master Alexander Russell, although with more focus on harmony and theory than organ work. Once he was 18, Phil, as he now preferred to be called, took off south for New York City and accidently found work as a piano salesman and demonstrator for the world famous Wannamaker's Department Store. He reportedly had ducked into the store during a heavy snow storm, found the pianos, and played one to pass the time. This casual event resulted in a job offer on the spot. Given that the original Philadelphia Wannamaker's housed the great pipe organ taken from the Cascades building of the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair, it is not hard to imagine that Phil may have ventured there on one or more occasions for performances on the instrument, given his prior instruction. He is listed on his 1917 draft record as employed by John Wannamaker on Broadway. Given the wide range of experiences and training Phil had, he still lack focus in terms of the genre of music he would soon specialize in, popular dance fiels. He was obviously eager to work, however, and in addition to occasional small concerts Phil served as accompanist and sole pianist for Marie Sundelius, Reinald Werrenrath, Rafelo Diaz, John Barnes Wells and other celebrated singers. These relationships lasted into the early 1920s as he continued to find his niche. He also toured with Wells early in 1921. But even before that good fortune fell into his lap. Ohman's big break and introduction into show business came in early 1919 when he secured a position at QRS arranging and recording piano rolls. That summer he met up with another young performer and arranger who had been recording some popular music rolls for Rythmodik and Ampico, and was now employed by QRS, Victor Arden (a.k.a. Lewis Fuiks). They found they had similar backgrounds, abilities and points of view concerning performance, and neither lacked the energy to explore new ways to play things. The duo quickly found they could produce some amazing roll arrangements with little effort, and were soon inseparable. Their first QRS rolls started to appear within weeks off Arden joining the firm. Ohman sketched out the general direction of what they would play without full notation, then they would record with Arden in the bass and Ohman in the treble.One critic who observed them up close found Ohman to be the "wag and clown of the pair," calling Arden the "serious minded, painstaking musician." While a slightly imbalanced point of view, Ohman's humor was more likely to come out in his playing, even during serious classical recitals that he accompanied. Both quickly became celebrities both in and outside the circle of jazz performers, and the public proved to be thirsty for their duet piano rolls. In addition to his QRS work, Phil was also a solo pianist at the Capitol Theatre in Manhattan for some time, which would lead him into a job with great readio exposure in the coming years. The QRS gig was going well for both of them, together and separately. However, Ohman got married in 1920 (the 1930 Census suggests 1919 but he is shown as single in January, 1920) to Mildred Ohman, a woman who had an identical parental heritage to his, her father from Sweden and mother from Illinois. He shows in the 1920 Census simply as working for a musical company, which could be QRS or any of the record labels he and Victor were recording on. Now with a wife, Ohman needed some additional income to pay the bills, so he started to accompany both classical and popular singers on recordings. This led to a position in the fast-rising orchestra of Paul Whiteman, the so-called "King of Jazz." Not able to keep all his positions, Ohman had to quit QRS and break up the duo for a while. But before he left, he turned out three amazing novelty tunes in 1922, of which the tauntingly-named Try and Play It was one of the best. In 1923 pianist/composer Arthur Schutt would make a signature recording of the piece during a London recording session. In his absence, QRS artist Max Kortlander played many great duets with Arden. While the job with Whiteman was both good for his exposure as well as making connections, Ohman realized, as did Arden, that it was less fulfilling than their duo performances. So after a year or so he quite Whiteman's orchestra - which would soon premiere George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and concentrated on local gigs with Arden. They built their repertoire playing in clubs in midtown Manhattan, particularly on 52nd Street, and finally went into the studio late in 1923 to record live as a duo. Among their eclectic choices were the 1888 galop Dance of the Demons by multi-piano composer Eduard Holst and the popular rag turned song Canadian Capers. They were also one of the earliest piano duos to appear on radio as early as 1922, and were featured in one notable broadcast on wireless Chicago station KYW on April 11, 1925, for an estimated audience of 300,000 listeners. Phil also worked separately for some time on the popular Sunday night show [later moved to Monday] Roxy and His Gang starring entertainer Samuel L. Rothafel, which started broadcasting from the Capitol Theatre in 1923. He brought Arden on for occasional appearances on the show. The performances were a sensation, and Broadway soon discovered them as well, knowing that they would be an additional draw to certain shows. The use of dual pianists or pianos was not new on Broadway, but their reputation was about as solid as their first Broadway employer/collaborator, Gershwin himself. So it was that they co-led the pit orchestra for Lady Be Good in 1924. According to the January 3, 1925 edition of The Music Trade Review: "An interesting anecdote relative to the two Story & Clark small grands being used by Phil Ohman and Victor Arden in the musical show 'Lady Be Good,'... was told this week by L. Schoenewald, New York district manager of the Story & Clark Piano Co. 'The original arrangement was that two of our pianos were to be used by the show when it opened in Philadelphia... but an error on the part of the stage carpenters resulted in building of the special moving platform too small to hold them. Although they had requested Story & Clark grands, Ohman and Arden were compelled to play their duet numbers on two 4 feet 8 grands of different make during the Philadelphia engagement.
Gershwin started what would become a popular trend throughout the remainder of the 1920s and into the 1930s, supported in the end by the economy of having two pianists and requiring less orchestra personnel. This trend was noted in The Music Trade Review of July 16, 1927, in the following excerpt: Piano Duos Featured in Both Productions and Over the Radio as Well as in Moving Picture Theatres—Wide Variety of Effects Obtainable
A FORM of presentation of popular numbers which during the past season has reached a new point of popularity is the piano duo as exemplified by nearly half a dozen teams of pianists featured in the orchestra pits of the leading musical comedy successes. The use of specially arranged numbers for four hands is a practice older than jazz itself and originated many years ago in the recording studios of the pioneers in music roll making. Since that time, with the development of the augmented dance orchestra, the employment of two pianos has followed the trend of the day and the sparkle of special choruses for the pianists in skillful teamwork has become one of the bright spots of an evening at the dance floor or cabaret. About three years ago Phil Ohman and Victor Arden, seasoned recording pianists, were featured in a specialty in "Lady, Be Good," a George Gershwin musical show. This started things for the theatrical presentation of piano duos and the same team appeared the following year in the pit of the Gershwin show, "Tip Toes." Here the effect was more impressive than in the previous engagement, where they had appeared on the stage but only for a short time. In the second show the two pianos were an integral part of the orchestra during the entire evening. Anyone susceptible at all to rhythmic and harmonic effects in popular music will not soon forget the thrill of hearing the arpeggio passages of Phil Ohman on the upper register of his piano in the number, "That Certain Feeling," of Gershwin. The pianists had carefully gone over the entire score with the composer in rehearsals and every place that afforded a pianistic "break" or embellishment was so treated. The result was a score far more brilliant and individual than is customarily heard from the orchestra pit and a new custom was started... But the spread of popularity of the piano due has not ended in the theatre. The radio, too, has developed favorites in four-hand interpretation of the latest hits. After six years with QRS, Phil moved on to the Aeolian company to cut Duo-Art reproducing piano rolls, effectively ending the run of Ohman and Arden piano rolls. As noted in the July 11, 1925 edition of the trade magazine Presto: "Phil Ohman, most brilliant of all exponents of 'pianistic jazz,' has [contracted] with the Aeolian Company to record his playing of the newest popular hits exclusively for the Duo-Art Reproducing Piano. This artist is more than a player of jazz music. He is an "all-round" pianist of exceptional skill, dexterity, musical understanding and constructive cleverness. His training as a pianist is founded upon long study of the classics. But Ohman's chief characteristic as a jazz soloist is his astounding technical brilliance. He was among the first to be hailed as a real virtuoso of dance music... For the Duo-Art, Ohman will record both dance music and popular ballad selections." Ohman must have had quite a backlog of recordings with QRS since "new" rolls appeared on that label as late as December, 1925.
Ohman and Arden's first Broadway success would be followed by more Gershwin shows such as Tip Toes in 1925, Oh, Kay in 1926, and Funny Face in 1927. Other shows included Treasure Girl in 1928, both Spring is Here and Heads Up in 1929. In between the Broadway shoes they recorded and performed on the road on the vaudeville circuits. Among the labels Ohman and Arden appeared on were Columbia, Victor (soon to be RCA Victor) and Gramophone.There were just a few occasions in the years of Arden and Ohman that Phil recorded on his own. One session that was recently brought to light by California performer/historian Frederick Hodges through a discovery by New York bandleader Peter Mintun were two unreleased tracks, possibly done for Brunswick but not fully determined. Broken Glass and Jacquet were not published or even sketched out on a manuscript as far as Hodges knows. Neither piece saw the light of day publicly until late 2008 when Hodges transcribed and recorded these two fine novelties. The reason for their retention is unclear, but since Ohman had a few other projects of his own during the tenure of the team, it seems unlikely that there were any issues in that regard. It should be noted that when Phil and Victor were billed in any venue that the order of their names did not matter to them, the sign of a solid partnership. They were also sought out in the late 1920s, as many New York acts were, by Warner Brothers for a few Vitaphone sound shorts, one of the first being The Piano Dualists in 1927. They were later seen and heard playing Dancing the Devil Away in the 1930 RKO musical The Cuckoos. Arden turned out many interesting arrangements during the 1920s of dance tunes on record, many sold very cheaply in Woolworths and similar outlets, making his name perhaps even better known than Ohman's. One of their contemporary critics, Gay Stevens, said the following concerning this formidable duo: "There is not a piano player in the land who, after hearing Ohman and Arden interpret a piece of jazz music on their two pianos, has not wanted to throw his piano out of the window. The keyboard magic of this duo-team has been the inspiration and despair of every real American youngster who sedulously practiced his Czerny with a secret desire to win excited gasps of admiration from the fair young things in his circle by his jazz piano playing." Arden, Ohman and Kortlander appeared together often for QRS promotions in the mid 1920s, playing live performances of their collective solo and duet piano rolls in addition the occasional trio. While Victor and Phil often performed just with the piano, the Arden-Ohman orchestra was started in 1925, initially for recording but later for both live performance and radio work. It was the latter that gave them their best overall exposure in the late 1920s through the first part of the Great Depression. For a brief period around 1928, when Arden went to work for the Ampico roll company, fellow roll artist Adam Carroll who was now recording rolls with Arden joined both of them to create a trio for a few performances on radio and for special functions. It was radio that gave Arden and Ohman their best overall exposure in the late 1920s through the first part of the Great Depression. Ohman was still personally a bit modest about this, as in the 1930 Census, living in Manhattan with Mildred and no children, he lists himself simply as a band musician. Realizing that the best possible future for success was on the radio, the most effective medium of the 1930s, the dynamic piano duo re-teamed and hit the airwaves. Arden and Ohman had no issue finding good sponsorship, playing for everything from news programs to two or three numbers advertising toothpaste or fine watches. Some of their musical shows included The Bayer Music Review, The Buick Program, and the landmark American Album of Familiar Music.
After the Brunswick sessions, Ohman had no trouble finding work with his own orchestra, mostly the remains of the duo's group, and was soon in Los Angeles, California plying Latin and Hawaiian rhythms at the famous Trocadero Nightclub on Sunset Boulevard. Phil and Mildred were located in Hollywood for the 1940 Census, living on Hollywood Blvd. in fact, with Phil listed as a musician-composer working at home. Among his first song collaborators in Hollywood was a young Johnny Mercer who would start Capitol Records in 1942. Their big hit was the song Lost in 1936. Given his new proximity to Hollywood, it wasn't long before Ohman was working with writing or arranging film scores, and even playing for, and eventually in some films, most appearing during the first half of the 1940s. While Ohman did not write many popular songs, concentrating more on performance, he did manage another fine tune with Each Time You Say "Good Bye", a big hit during the Swing Era and beyond. One film in which he was clearly visible was the 1939 film The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, which required a pianist who knew what he was doing on camera. As of the 1940 Census taken in Hollywood where Phil and Mildred were residing, he listed himself as a musician-composer working at home. Along with fellow performers Ray Turner and Oscar Levant, Ohman was one off the most prominent film pianists of the late 1930s through the 1940s. He also formed an orchestra for the 1949 film Million Dollar Weekend which, according to a Stars and Stripes newspaper review, was shot largely at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel in Honolulu. The reviewer also noted that Ohman was an "authority on Hawaiian Rhythms." Soon after this he retired from films, but still played for radio on occasion over the next few years and made some appearances on Los Angeles television stations. One of his favorite haunts was Players Restaurant on Sunset Boulevard, not far from the Trocadero. Phil died at age 57 from complications of a kidney ailment. He and Mildred did not have any children. His former partner, Victor Arden, followed almost exactly eight years later. While certainly not a prominent figure as a composer, he, as well as Arden, was able to bring alive the music of many other writers during the 1920s and 1930s in a way that still resonates well with us today in its vitality. | ||||||||||||
Joseph Oliver was born about 50 miles west of New Orleans in Aben, Louisiana (a vast majority of sources erroneously cite Abend) to Nathan Oliver and Virginia (Jennie Jones) Oliver. His actual birth location may have been the Salsburg Plantation where Nathan may have been employed as a laborer. Note that the difficult-to-read 1900 Census appears to have perpetuated a misspelling for her as Jessie in many write-ups on Oliver, an understandable error, and very few use the corrective derivative Jinnie). His year of birth is also disputed as the 1900 Census indicates a probable 1885 birth (although the 5 looks like it was written over a 4), and his 1918 draft record states 1881. The 1920 Census puts him at 1884, which seems the most likely, even though an older sister had been born exactly a year before. Jennie had apparently been married to or involved with four different men, as Joseph's older siblings were Fanny Davis (11/1878) and Adele Hadford (12/1883), and her last name as of 1900 was Jones, showing as divorced. Out of fifteen children born to her only six survived to 1900. The other three were difficult to locate in the Census records.
Joe's mother and sisters moved to New Orleans, the future hotbed of early jazz, soon after his birth. Growing up in the Crescent City, Oliver was surrounded by the influence of the melting pot of music. It was here that styles ranging from French compositions and Cakewalks were mixed with early Creole music and Mariachi instrumental influences, to eventually become jazz. Given the constant flux of his mother's and sisters' partners, his home life may not have been very stable in the early years. Joe initially learned to play trombone, but quickly switched to the cornet. An accident in his late teens blinded Oliver in his left eye, so he took to playing while sitting in a chair or leaning against the wall, keeping a derby hat tilted over the bad eye. As of 1900 Jennie and her children were living at 1106 Nashville Avenue in the 14th Ward of New Orleans, along with two grandchildren who were born to Fanny. Jennie and Fanny were working as cooks, Adele as a servant, and Joe as a day laborer.
While it seems less likely that Joe was married in the 1910 record, on July 13, 1911 Oliver did marry Estelle [Stella] Dominick, who was already a single mother with a 6 year old daughter, Ruby. His age showed this time as 26, which further reinforces the 1884 year of birth. Joe played where there was work, including marching bands, various brass bands, second lines and occasional small ensembles. As his notoriety increased, particularly after the demise of the fabled Buddy Bolden, Oliver was sought out not just to perform but to mentor as well. He became the primary mentor and teacher of young Louis Armstrong, who affectionately dubbed him "Papa Joe." Joe even gave Satchmo the first cornet that he would own, which is now in the Smithsonian Institution. Oliver also cited his influences in turn during this period as Bunk Johnson, Freddie Keppard and Manuel Perez, all first rate New Orleans cornetists. Joe was also reportedly intimidated by these players for some time, slowly gaining confidence throughout the 1910s. It is clear that he eventually caught on, as illustrated by an incident relayed in an interview by New Orleans pianist and bandleader Richard M. Jones: "Freddie Keppard was playin' in a spot across the street and was drawin' all the crowds. I was sittin' at the piano, and Joe Oliver came over to me and commanded in a nervous harsh voice, 'Get in B-flat.' He didn't even mention a tune ... Joe walked out on the sidewalk, lifted his horn to his lips, and blew the most beautiful stuff I have ever heard. People started pouring out of the other spots along the street to see who was blowing all that horn. Before long, our place was full and Joe came in smiling, and he said, 'Now, that bastard won't bother me no more.' From then on, our place was full every night." Among the groups that Joe played with in New Orleans were the Onward Brass Band, Original Superior Orchestra, Eagle Band, The Magnolia, the Olympia Band, and the band of Edward "Kid" Ory playing at Pete Lala's. It was Ory who dubbed Joe as "King" Oliver while they were still in New Orleans, forming the Kid Ory and King Oliver Band. Joe also had a fascination with musical textures that led to experimentation using variety of improvised mutes, including hats, bottles, cups, and hand shapes to alter or enhance the sound of his horn. By the dawn of jazz in 1917, Oliver and his peers had already been playing it for a few years, and continued to advance the improvisatory aspects of it. That same year Oliver would form a band of his own playing at Lala's. Early in 1918, the U.S. Navy closed down the well-organized if somewhat notorious Storyville District brothels in New Orleans, putting more than just the prostitutes out of work. With some of the lure of the district gone, and with the war in full swing, the number of paying visitors to New Orleans and its many drinking venues dropped off markedly. So in mid 1918 both Oliver and Ory moved to Chicago along with scores of other musicians both to find steadier gigs and some escape from growing racial prejudice in the South.
Joe toured with these bands at various times, and spent most of mid 1921 through early 1922 in the San Francisco area in groups of his own construction, including an early incarnation of King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band. When he returned to Chicago in May 1922 Joe restructured a bit and King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band was soon based at the former Royal Gardens which was now called Lincoln Gardens. Among the first moves he made was to send a telegram to his former student who now reigned as New Orleans' finest trumpeter, Louis Armstrong. Louis had not played outside of New Orleans except for a brief stint in St. Louis, so when he arrived in Chicago in August 1922 it was a totally new venture for him Joe also recruited or retained Honore Dutrey on trombone, Lil Hardin on piano, Stump Evans on C-melody saxophone, Johnny St. Cyr on banjo and guitar, his former leader Bill Johnson on bass, Johnny Dodds on clarinet, and Johnny's brother Baby Dodds on drums. This group set the standard for what would eventually be termed "Traditional Jazz." Oliver's Creole Jazz Band was a big draw virtually every night they played during the next two years. The group's 1923 sessions for the Gennett label created jazz benchmarks that many groups still follow, and they helped to spread the joyful playing of both Oliver and Armstrong to enthusiasts all around the country. Musicians, both black and white, would venture out to Lincoln Gardens after their own gigs were over just to hear the duets and duels between Armstrong and Oliver. Some players actually wrote down notes of riffs on their cuffs or napkins, hoping to recreate them. After hours, which were already late, some of the musicians would retreat elsewhere for prohibition alcohol (not always very good) and muggles (marijuana cigarettes) while exchanging even more musical ideas. The April through December 1923 acoustic recordings for Gennett Records in Richmond, Indiana, were among the first recordings of jazz played by an African American band, a field in which the pioneering label was ahead of the game. They showed amazing agility and cohesiveness within the group, and primarily between its two leaders. Among the standouts were Chimes Blues, featuring Armstrong's first solo chorus, and Canal Street Blues, which has since become a standard. The relaxed atmosphere and casual air of Chicago both emboldened Oliver and wreaked havoc with him as well. He enjoyed baseball games, but also pool games and gambling. He started to consume great quantities of food as well and grew in size while also in stature. His habits would eventually lead him to physical and medical difficulties, compounded by financial problems. However, some of his initial downfall came from other egos within the band.Lincoln Gardens burned down shortly after the band's debut there, which added to rising tensions within the group. Feeling they weren't receiving their fair share of composition and recording royalties, many members of Oliver's band, reportedly led by Baby Dodds, split with him in mid 1924. While Louis and Lil, who were both now married, remained behind, Mrs. Armstrong was increasingly put off by her talented husband still playing second trumpet to Oliver. With Lil's urging, and perhaps intervention, Louis being lured to New York by composer/arranger/bandleader Fletcher Henderson, in order to form his own legendary band. Left nearly alone by this abandonment, he found other musicians and played as King Oliver's Jazz Band through the remainder of the year, cutting some tracks on the same labels as he had previously. The removal of the word Creole may have been an intentional move to negate any racial identification of the group. They were now recording on OKeh, Columbia and the local Paramount label. A typical advertisement found in the Reading Eagle of May 13, 1924, indicated that they toured as a dance band: "King Oliver and His Original Jazz Band, recording for Columbia, Okeh and Gennett records, will appear at the Casino, on Wednesday evening. It is one of the biggest attractions of the season. For [dancers] to miss this musical organization is to miss one of the best dance treats of the season. The orchestra at the musical convention at the Drake Hotel, Chicago, won instant recognition and was booked for a tour of the East." As that group dissolved late in 1924, Joe then played with Dave Peyton's Orchestra at the Plantation Café, located at 35th Street and Grand Boulevard in Chicago. As that group was reformed, complete with a three saxophone section, Oliver took it over in 1925, renaming it the Dixie Syncopators. They continued to play at the Plantation, and made recordings for Brunswick Records and its Vocalion subsidiary. However, the new group was unable to capture or recreate the spirit of the early Creole Jazz Band. Among the friendships that Oliver had was an on and off relationship with fellow New Orleans musician Ferdinand "Jelly Roll" Morton. Both had been working with the Melrose Brothers publishing firm to put their pieces in print, and Oliver incorporated Morton tunes in his band's repertoire. Morton did come to hear, and at least once get on stage and start playing with Oliver's band. In December 1924 Oliver and Morton laid down a pair of duets at (Orlando R.) Marsh Laboratories in Chicago for the short-lived Autograph label, using Marsh's new electrical recording process that would quickly become the industry standard. Although the company quit recording within a year, the Morton/Oliver duets remained best sellers beyond that time. After two years at the Plantation Café, Oliver's nightly venue burned down and he was left again with no place to play. So he took his Dixie Syncopators on the road for a while. Their tour ultimately went to the Savoy Ballroom in Harlem, New York City, in May 1927, where he played as Joe Oliver's Jazz Demons. The band was supposedly there on "an indefinite engagement."
While allured by the rapidly expanding music scene in New York, and having briefly reunited with Armstrong, though not as a performer, Oliver seriously considered the merits of staying there, but continued to return to Chicago with his group. There they recorded his West End Blues in July, 1928, which Armstrong would grab immediately and turn into one of the finest jazz classics of the era, complete with a difficult to copy opening fanfare. Given that the King Oliver group's final recording date for Vocalion in Chicago was in September 1928, he likely made his move east that month or in October. One recording date for the Dixie Syncopators on Brunswick was logged in New York in mid November, but with some change in personnel. From there on, Oliver's career started on a downward slide. He managed to be excised from the Savoy after demanding more than they were willing to pay for his group, although this may have been a management issue. Joe had a problem with managers who constantly stole from him or give him raw deals. Through one of them he inexplicably turned down a regular gig at the famous Cotton Club, again reportedly over the amount of pay. That opened up a spot for Edward "Duke" Ellington who would quickly rise to fame there, and for Cab Calloway who would be Harlem's voice of the 1930s. Most of his income at this time was from pick-up gigs and recording dates. In addition to his large appetite, Oliver also had a sweet tooth that led lead to serious dental problems, making cornet playing quite painful. He lost leadership of his band in late 1928 to pianist Luis Russell who kept the Dixie Syncopators name. Victim of yet another mutiny, did a little recording on his own as well as with friend and sometimes co-composer Clarence William's groups. The new King Oliver Orchestra signed a contract with Victor in early 1929 and recorded a number of tracks for that company from early 1929 to late 1930. However, many of Joe's investments and life savings had disappeared with the stock market crash of 1929 and 1930, as well as the collapse of the Chicago bank that held his funds, complicating his financial situation.
Oliver formed yet another new band in Nashville in late 1931, the last year he would record. In spite of frequent circuit tours in the American South over the next few years, King Oliver was quickly becoming a forgotten name. Some of the advertising for the group may have been exaggerated or false, or referred to performance venues played at by individual members, as this one concerning a theater group dance at a local women's club from the Spartanburg, South Carolina Herald-Journal of December 23, 1936, indicates: "Dancing will begin at 10 o'clock and continue until 2:30 o'clock with King Oliver and his orchestra, now touring the South after a long engagement at Manhattan's Cotton club. These musicians are also well known as Victor recording artists." As the "long run" at the Cotton Club at any time with a couple of years of that performance was not confirmed, some of the information is suspect. As the career of Armstrong continued to soar through the 1930s, The dethroned King eventually could play no longer without extreme pain, went broke, and settled in Savannah, Georgia, after being stranded there during his final tour. It was later reported that Armstrong, on tour with his group in Savannah, encountered the rapidly deteriorating Oliver while he was there and provided him with new clothes and some money before moving on. It was likely the last time they ever saw each other. Joe worked as a janitor in a poolroom, Wimberly's Recreation Hall, with a schedule of up to fifteen hours most days. Joe remained in Savannah at a rooming house at 508 Montgomery Street until his untimely death at 52 in April 1938. In what has long been perceived as an insult by jazz fans everywhere, there were no immediate obituaries printed in the major papers. That may have simply been a matter of practicality, as those in Savannah who handled the death simply did not know who to inform or how important Oliver had been to the music world. His body was transported to New York City where Joseph "King" Oliver was buried at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. The funeral was attended by only a few of his close friends. Some of them would also later be interred at Woodlawn. It was three years later in San Francisco that Lu Watters, Turk Murphy and Wally Rose would form the Yerba Buena Jazz Band, which was dedicated to reviving the works of the great traditional jazz masters with some ragtime thrown in. Both King Oliver and Louis Armstrong were their primary targets in their recordings of 1941, 1942 and 1946. Through the efforts of the YBJB, and later such Oliver contemporaries including his friend Kid Ory, King Oliver's music once again was once again swinging and hasn't stopped since. He got more of his full due in the Ken Burns documentary Jazz which further introduced him to a new generation in the 1990s. Nearly a century later revelers still enjoy the Sugar Foot Stomp or singing along with Doctor Jazz. In 2007 Oliver was honored as a charter member of the Gennett Records Walk of Fame where the earliest black jazz records were made in Richmond, Indiana, some nine decades prior. Long live the King. Most of the information for this biography was taken from public and government records, recording logs and labels, directories, newspapers and periodicals of the era. Some additional helpful information was derived from the stupendous Jelly Roll Morton-centric website of Mike Meddings, doctorjazz.co.uk, from the autobiography of Louis Armstrong, and from the book Jazz, compiled from the PBS series of the same name. Many of Oliver's recordings can be heard at RedHotJazz.com. | ||||||||||||||||
J. Russel Robinson represents one of the late entries into the famous Indiana school of ragtime composers, but his influence went far beyond the ragtime era and left a mark on American music. He was also successful in the integration of black and white music forms, sometimes passing as black in his compositions in spite of his being white. Born Joseph Russel in Indianapolis to Marcus (or Marquis) and Elizabeth Robinson, he was brought up in a mixed environment both musically and in his family life. Joseph's brother John Conrad Robinson, one year older, would also be musically inclined. | ||||||
Arthur Schutt was an extraordinary talent who frankly did not get enough spotlight in proportion to that talent, but he was doing what he loved, so in the end it comes out OK for him even if we feel deprived of some of the possibilities. He was born in Reading, Pennsylvania to German immigrant John G.L. Schutt and his Pennsylvanian wife Ella (Ray) Schutt just as ragtime was gearing up. Arthur was the oldest of three children, including his brother Allen A. and sister Carrie B. He was taught the piano early on by his father John, a musician and music teacher, and became so adept at it that he became a movie pianist before he was even 13.
During this period - 1918 to 1924 - Arthur was not only recording but also writing the occasional novelty tune. He also worked with a small subset of the Specht group called The Georgians which took on some more challenging ensemble numbers. In spite of all the travel, the 1920 Census still lists him living with his mother, sister and two brothers in Reading City, Pennsylvania. Arthur made two trips to London in 1923 with the organization. On his second visit he was listed on the passenger manifest as Vithus Schutt, which may have been an error in transcription between the written and typed copy. Suggestions that it was an alternate name are weak at best. It also was one of the early appearances of his childhood sweetheart wife Virginia M. Schlosser, who he had recently wed. While in London in May of 1923 Schutt recorded four novelty solos including Roy Bargy's Pianoflage, Phil Ohman's Try and Play It, and his own pieces Teasin' the Ivories and his signature Ghost of the Piano. While not entirely true, his obituary suggested that his early recording of All Muddled Up with Specht was one of the first improvised piano solos ever recorded. In spite of the terrific result of these sides he still opted for the steady employment of band life. After his time with Specht, Arthur worked with the bands of Roger Wolfe Khan and Don Voorhees. At some point in either 1922 or 1923, Schutt also recorded some piano rolls for Arto Word Rolls. It was in this period that Arthur published his most challenging work, Bluin' the Black Keys, which vexes pianists into the 21st Century. Delirium, from 1927, was also recorded many times over the next decade by various artists and orchestras.In 1926 after a brief break, Schutt had stints with trumpeter Red Nichols and a number of assembled groups including core members from the Nichols band, usually called The Charleston Chasers for the purpose of studio sides. Other members at times included Benny Goodman (with whom he co-composed Georgia Jubilee), Jimmy Dorsey and Tommy Dorsey, plus one 1931 session with Charlie Teagarden, Jack Teagarden, Glenn Miller and Gene Krupa, so he was in good company. Schutt also recorded for Okeh/Parlophone Records under the pseudonym of Cyril Merrivale. Somewhere along the line Arthur, sometimes called Artie and nicknamed "The Baron," started spending more time as a studio pianist than with traveling orchestras, and usually served as session leader and arranger for the various studio recordings. In spite of his brilliant interpretations, his recordings did not influence other pianists the way those by Billy Mayerl or Zez Confrey did. Notices of him playing everything from classics to novelty live on the radio start to appear in New York papers in 1929, including with a group called The Troubadours and a saxohpone ensemble derived from the Ingram Shavers. There were regular appearances throughout 1931 on the airwaves, primarily on the NBC network. Schutt was frequently called upon to perform George Gershwin's challenging Rhapsody in Blue with radio orchestras. The 1930 Census shows Arthur and Virginia living in Manhattan with Arthur listed as a musician. Their son Robert had been added to the family around 1926, and Virginia's parents were residing with them. Starting in the early 1930's, Schutt performed live with various incarnations of his own band in New York, staying more in the novelty or hot piano genre than the coming swing music. His group did a number of sides for the Crown and Okeh labels, many of which were re-released on Odeon and Parlophone records, all affiliates of giant Columbia Records. Another set of recordings was done with various incarnations of the Adrian Schubert Dance Orchestra (a house musical director for the Imperial, Banner, Crown and Apex labels) between 1928 and 1933, but Schutt's presence is hard to notice. After Artie cut his last two studio piano solo sides in 1934, he recorded only in larger groups. In 1934 the Schutts had moved to Hollywood and Arthur spent much of the next two and a half decades working in recording studios. Even though he was sought out often for his solid work, he was rarely featured in such sessoin. In 1939 he spent a few months playing with Bud Freeman's group. He was on the music staff doing and some film soundtrack work with MGM from 1934 to 1949, but rarely in the jazz idiom where he had showed so much promise. There are some exceptions, however. In 1936 Arthur did some live radio broadcasts of piano duets with Peggy Keenan. According to a notice in the Los Angeles Times of August 23, 1936,
Then in 1942 he recorded a series of popular songs and medleys from previous decades arranged for two pianos with Marlene Fingerle. These were released in a pair of multiple disc sets loosely centered around songs of 1926 and 1942, and are true treasures that readily engage the listener. The pair also revisited some classics, such as Maurice Ravel's famed Bolero. Some sources claim they recorded beyond 1942, but no definitive material has surfaced. This likely reflects the release of their recordings in sets in 1948. Two 16" broadcast transcription discs for the Keystone Broadcasting System (KBS) radio network were also recorded, including a rare performance by the novelty performer of a Chopin Polonaise and Gershwin's Second Piano Prelude, and a set of duets with composer and fellow Pennsylvanian, also from Reading, Paul Mertz. Arthur frequently performed in concerts with the Symphony Orchestra of Los Angeles as well, many times featured as a soloist or with an orchestra at the Hollywood Bowl. George Gershwin and Férde Grofé were among the composers whose works he visited often in these concerts, with a continued emphasis on the major works such as Rhapsody in Blue. He was listed frequently in the Los Angeles times from the early 1940s on, appearing with any number of other fine pianists, including Earl Brent, Walter Ruick and Artur Rubinstein. While Schutt was rarely if ever directly involved in films during his tenure in Los Angeles, he finally did make it into one somehow. In the summer of 1959 the movie The Five Pennies was released from the independent company Dena Productions. Starring Danny Kaye as the band's leader Red Nichols and Louis Armstrong as himself, jazz pianist and composer Bobby Troup (Route 66) played the part of Schutt on screen. It was difficult to determine if Arthur played for any of the soundtrack, but he may have already left town by that time. The Schutts moved to San Francisco some time in the late 1950s, home to some of the great jazz revival bands of that time. There Arthur worked literally until the day he died for a lunch crowd in the financial district. Some July 1961 notices in the Los Angeles Times show him playing intermissions at Jim's Roaring 20s, a Los Angeles jazz club. A few final recordings of Schutt's solo work were made in the early 1960s at private parties, largely of 1920s novelties and standards. Arthur Schutt died at age 62 after a long illness. He had been cared for in the end by Dr. Benny Zeitlin, who was also a jazz pianist in the 1920s and 1930s. Schutt's music was thankfully rediscovered in compilations made in the 1980s and 1990s, though he is more remembered by performing pianists for his challenging scores than for his remarkable playing. The majority of information found here on Schutt was from public and government records, magazine and newspaper articles, sheet music and similar sources. Some of his last informal yet extraordinary recordings from 1962 and 1963 at the home of a Mr. and Mrs. Davidson on their Steinway A can be heard at www.inluxeditions.com/htmlfiles/ArthurSchutt.html One of the highlights is an ex | ||||||||||||