Piatigorsky and Barlow Arrive on a Beam of Light

By 1941, the shellac phonograph records of the time had earned a reputation for being noisy and prone to wear from the heavy tonearms that traversed their grooves.

The Philco company, a leading maker of consumer electronics, thought it had an answer. "Music on a Beam of Light!" it proclaimed. "The pointed steel needle that scrapes music from the record is gone! Instead a rounded jewel that never needs changing floats gently over the record grooves and reflects the music on a light beam from a tiny mirror to a Photo-Electric Cell."

The result? Records last 10 times longer with "glorious purity of tone."

1941 ad

So why didn't this revolution sweep the phonograph industry? In just a few months, the US would be at war, and manufacturers such as Philco would switch from consumer products to defense production. After the war, the company concentrated its efforts on its radio line and other consumer electronics and appliances. The "Beam of Light" was forgotten.

Would this product have become popular absent the coming of war? It's hard to say. However, I would note that hobbyists who have attempted to rejuvenate old Beam of Light phonos have found them to be cantankerous beasts. It's possible that unreliability might have sunk the product in the absence of war.

But let's back up to early 1941 and the introduction of this ill-fated instrument. As part of its promotional activities, Philco began the ad campaign you see at left, and supplied its dealers with a special record that would both demonstrate the phono's wondrous tonal qualities and discuss its many attributes. To do this, it enlisted two presumed experts in sound production: Howard Barlow, conductor of the Columbia Broadcasting Symphony, and Gregor Piatigorsky, the eminent cellist. Or, more likely, Philco enlisted Columbia Records and Columbia enlisted its artists Barlow and Piatigorsky for their testimonials.

The idea was for the each side of the record to begin with a musical excerpt, segue to an artist interview about the phonograph, then conclude with another except.

Gregor Piatigorsky

For Piatigorsky, the musical selections were from his 1940 traversal of Schumann's Fantasiestücke. For Barlow, the music was taken from his 1939 recording of Goldmark's Rustic Wedding Symphony. These excerpts and the commentary were pressed on a 78 disc that was provided to dealers, who were duly warned that the record "is to be destroyed after the demonstration period." Fortunately, at least one merchant disobeyed, the record found its way to Internet Archive 80 years later, and then to this blog.

Howard Barlow with Paul Whiteman

A few more words about the artists: in 1941, Howard Barlow probably would have been the better known of the two musicians because he had been on the radio continuously since 1927. In 1943, he switched from CBS to NBC and the Voice of Firestone show, where he would continue for several more years. He was quite a good conductor - I'll have an example of his art on my other blog soon.

Barlow is now a musical footnote, but Gregor Piatigorsky maintains his reputation as a great cellist. He has appeared on the other blog a few times, in music of Shostakovich, Barber and Hindemith.

The Philco company has an interesting history. "Philco" is short for the Philadelphia Storage Battery Co., which started out making batteries for electric cars. When radio came along in the 1920s, all sets were powered by these batteries, which supplied the direct current needed to drive the apparatus. Philco began making batteries for that application, then came out with a converter that would rectify the alternating current from a wall plug into DC.

Philco started manufacturing the radios themselves when internal vacuum tube rectifiers came on the market, eventually branching out into phonographs and the ill-fated "Beam of Light" model.  

More Mary Osborne Vocals (and Guitar)

Mary Osborne is best known as a guitarist, and it is in that guise that she first appeared on the main blog a decade ago. Then three years ago, I discovered that an early record under her own name actually featured her singing. That Signature 78 can be found here.

Today we return to her work as a vocalist, with six songs recorded from 1946 to 1952. Most were issued under her own name, with one as featured vocalist with pianist Mary Lou Williams.

Although she did not have a large voice or range, Osborne was a most talented singer, entirely persuasive in both ballads and swingers, both represented here.

The first song, "(She's) He's Funny That Way," dates from the late 1920s, but, as noted on the label, was used in the steamy 1946 noir, The Postman Always Rings Twice. On this record, Osborne received top billing over the group, Mary Lou Williams' Girl Stars. That combo had been assembled for Williams by Leonard Feather. One of the "Girl Stars" on this date was actually a Boy Star, bassist Billy Taylor, disguised on the label as "Bea Taylor." It's a very good performance, with Osborne showing an appealing wistful quality.

The second selection is also with Mary Lou Williams' Girl Stars, although here Williams is top-billed and Osborne is credited with the "vocal refrain." The song is "It Must Be True," which Bing Crosby had recorded with the song's author, Gus Arnheim, in 1933. By this time the Girl Stars had moved from the small Continental label to RCA Victor. This number has a fine Osborne guitar solo.

Mary Lou Williams was an important jazz figure, who made her name as pianist, composer and arranger for Andy Kirk's Twelve Clouds of Joy (including one of my favorite big band records, "Froggy Bottom").

In late 1947, Osborne had a solo date for Decca, with a small group that included longtime studio pianist and arranger Jack Pleis (uncredited on the label). It produced "You're Gonna Get My Letter in the Morning" (which has an excellent guitar break) and "Wonder Where's My Man Tonight," both good songs and nicely done.

Our final items come from a single on M-G-M released in late 1952. For these, the label (or Osborne?) reached back to two 1936 films, and selected "Twilight on the Trail" (from The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, where it was sung by Fuzzy Knight) and "Easy to Love" (from Born to Dance, where it was awkwardly introduced by James Stewart). Osborne does wonders with "Twilight on the Trail," which is actually a beautiful song, even with the clip-clop backing! And her take on "Easy to Love" is terrific, first moody, then swinging.

All items are in excellent sound, with the basic rips remastered from Internet Archive's big stash.

Austin Introduces Its Postwar Models

In 1947 the Austin Motor Company was preparing to introduce its first postwar models, dubbed the "A40" line to denote its 40 horsepower engine. To herald its new fleet, Austin sent an understated 78 rpm record to its dealers and distributors. One side was a straightforward explanation of its features from Leonard P. Lord, the head of the company; the other a report on a road test from race driver George Eyston.

These were two of the most important figures in the British motor industry. Lord had been head of Morris before becoming he chairman of Austin. Starting in 1952, he led the combined Austin-Morris operation, which took the name British Motor Corp. Eyston was best known for breaking the land-speed record three times between 1937 and 1939 in his car Thunderbolt.

Leonard Lord; George Eyston and Thunderbolt

The A40 was a small car. Its 92.5 inch wheelbase was 7.5 inches shorter than the smallest postwar American cars (the Henry J and the Nash Rambler), other than the miniature Crosley. When the car came to be sold in the US, the illustrations promoting it used artistic license to stretch it about 20 percent, giving it more the silhouette of a Packard than an Austin.

UK ad

George Eyston was complimentary about the car after his road trip through the Alps. (One hopes Austin lent him the model with the optional heater.) But you have to wonder how impressed he really was. After all, the A40 had a top speed of only 70 mph and its 0-60 mph time was a leisurely 37 seconds. And to stop the A40, you had to rely on a combination of hydraulic and mechanical brakes, which required an impressive amount of pedal force to operate. Times have changed, and there are many cars today that accelerate ten times as fast as the Austin, and many more that get better gas mileage (28 mpg). None have mechanical brakes. 

Of course, the Austin was a small car and relatively inexpensive. It cost about £500, or about US$22,000 today. Here are some of the currrent vehicles you can purchase for that amount. I suspect they all have heaters.

The reviewers were not taken with the looks of the A40, thinking it old fashioned. It is clearly based on the American cars of the late 1930s, but also is not that dissimilar from postwar American cars, although the latter are gargantuan in comparison. The A40 did well in the market, and was sold until 1952.

It's instructive to compare this introductory record for dealers to the one the Ford Motor Company issued to promote its new Edsel in 1957. That was the souvenir of a touring musical extravaganza that had been presented in five regions and later in 24 more cities. On the first side, there was a story line about "Adam and Eve," the first Edsel customers. Side 2 shared the tale of a dealer and his family, and the great if fleeting prestige they derived from being associated with Edsel.

I'm not so sure that Lord and Eyston, with their clear recitation of the features and benefits of the new model, were not more helpful and persuasive than Ford with its dancers and chorus - and no particular point of view as to why the Edsel was superior to any other car.

This 78 from the Internet Archive stash was very noisy; it took some effort to subdue the commotion. My thanks once again to Ernie for alerting me to this item.

Julie London's Bethlehem Recordings

Singer Julie London made literally dozens of LPs for the Liberty label, but before them she recorded four songs for Bethlehem.

London was a protégé (and later wife) of singer-songwriter-pianist Bobby Troup, who brought her to both labels and accompanied her with his quintet. Her success with Liberty was immediate - her version of "Cry Me a River" became famous for her hyper-cool vocals.

The Bethlehem sides have a similar approach - and appropriately "You're Blasé" is one of the selections. Also on the bill are "A Foggy Day," "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child" and "Don't Worry 'Bout Me."

These recordings come from a March 2, 1955 session, per James Harrod's informative article, Bobby Troup on Record, 1948-55. The backing musicians were Troup's usual accomplices (Bob Enevoldsen, bass, Howard Roberts, guitar, and Don Heath, drums, augmented by the excellent Buddy Collette on flute. (Collette became one of the founding members of the Chico Hamilton Quartet at about the same time.)

Bethlehem issued the four London songs on singles, on the EP shown above, and on an LP called Bethlehem's Girl Friends, where she shared the grooves with Carmen McRae and Chris Connor. My transfers come from the LP. The songs also appeared on a variety of budget labels after the demise of Bethlehem. 

These recordings weren't a success in the market, but London's first Liberty disc, "Cry Me a River," was, very much so. Parenthetically, my two favorite recordings of "Cry Me a River" take opposite approaches - the cool disdain of Julie London, and the anger and disgust of Barbra Streisand's 1963 version - which led off her debut LP, which made her even more famous than London. This fine song was Arthur Hamilton's greatest hit; London's was the first recording.

This post is a companion to a survey of Troup's Bethlehem recordings, new on my main blog.

The Evolution of 'Time Was'

Miguel Prado

In the past, I've posted two versions of the lovely song, "Time Was" - one by Buddy Clark with Wayne King, and more recently one by Bob Manning on his Lonely Spell LP. "Time Was" has an interesting history, involving three different incarnations, all of which surfaced in the space of a few years. Today we'll look at the various versions in contemporary recordings.

"Time Was" started life as the ballad "Duerme" ("Sleep") by the Mexican composer Miguel Prado (1905-87) with words by Gabriel Luna. Its first recording was likely in June 1937, with the Orquesta Castillito directed by Paulina Alvarez and the vocal by Prado himself. I haven't been able to locate a copy of this recording, which was made in Havana.

Al Bowlly

The following year, "Duerme" turned up in the film Di Que Me Quieres, as sung by Rosita Rios both in the film and for Victor. The recording was made in New York, the setting of the movie. Rios' record is the first in our set.

"Duerme" became "Dreaming" for a 1940 record by the great South African-born English vocalist Al Bowlly, with an orchestra directed by an uncredited Ronnie Munro. This is a well-sung version. The lyrics are standard-issue, although resonant because of the war: "Dreaming, dreaming of you in the firelight's glow / Sweetheart I want you to always know / Each night I dream of you."

Late that same year, Xavier Cugat recorded the song with its original lyrics as sung by his then-wife, Carmen Castillo. Cugat's version did gain some traction. 

Xavier Cugat and Carmen Castillo

Tito Guízar

The next version was by the excellent Mexican vocalist Tito Guízar, resident in the US since 1929. Both Guízar and Cugat used the original Luna lyrics, although both of the copies in this collection were labelled "Time Was (Duerme)." My guess is that these pressings came out after the song became popular with new English lyrics by S.K. Russell.

Perhaps the most successful of those English language records was that of Jimmy Dorsey, which is also the worst of all the renditions featured here. The vocals start with Bob Eberly, who is effortful as usual, but pleasant enough. 

Then Dorsey decides to "swing it," and brings in Helen O'Connell for an up-tempo chorus. She was just not a very good singer, sad to say. The song ends with an elaborate alto solo from the leader.

Helen O'Connell and Bob Eberly

The best record is surely that of Wayne King, from just a month after Dorsey. King leads off with a fine soprano sax solo (at least I assume it is King), followed by a superb vocal by an uncredited Buddy Clark. (He was anonymous because he was under contract with another label.)

Wayne King

Clark makes the most of the Russell lyrics, which aren't great, but much better than what Al Bowlly sang. (The words tell us of "Picnics and sleigh rides / And mid-winter hay rides" and the like.) I passed over this record quickly in my survey of Clark's recordings with Wayne King, so I've included it once again in this compilation. It's well worth hearing a second time.

BONUS - My friend and longtime blog follower Mel has passed along his own favorite interpretation of "Time Was." It is a swinging version by Janet Brace, a very good singer who started with big bands, notably Johnny Long's, then made a few singles for Decca. This comes from her only LP, Special Delivery, issued by ABC-Paramount in 1956. A quartet led by Don Elliott accompanies her.

I don't believe I have this record myself, so I am especially grateful to Mel for his contribution. I should gather up Janet's singles for a post - she was talented!

The link to this item is in the comments.

An Additional Jackie Paris Single

Not long ago on the main blog I posted a 21-song compilation of Jackie Paris sides from single releases. Now I've acquired an additional Coral 45 from 1954 to add to the collection.

This new record couples "Crazy Heart" with "Preach Brother Preach." Both are backed by Neal Hefti and come from the same session that produced "Java Jive" and "True," both in the collection mentioned above.

"Crazy Heart" was apparently the A-side of the 45, and did fairly well for Paris. The song was written by Gil Houston and Lewis Allan. Houston, usually called Cisco Houston, was a folk singer and close associate of Woody Guthrie. Lewis Allan was the pen name of Abel Meeropol, who wrote "Strange Fruit" and (with Earl Robinson) "The House I Live In."

This Music Views item from 1954
promotes a nonexistent Paris record

"Crazy Heart" is a catchy tune in the folk-influenced vein that was a trend in American pop music following the Weavers' 1950 success with "Goodnight, Irene." Paris' forthright singing is not particularly well complimented by Hefti's arrangement, which clothes his voice with a pop chorus and a trombone choir.

The authors of "Preach Brother Preach" were Paris and the team of lyricist Al Stillman and composer Robert Allen. Stillman and Allen's big hit in 1954 was "Home for the Holidays" in Perry Como's recording. They would go on to write major successes for the Four Lads and Johnny Mathis.

"Preach Brother Preach" is a not entreily convincing sermon in song complete with call-and-response choir. Paris, for once, does not sound completely in his element.

The recordings are good.

Is das nicht ein Old Style Beer?

Beer-related music has been an occasional topic of interest on the main blog, just as drinking beer has been a topic of interest to this blogger. So far we have delved into promotional records honoring Budweiser, Carling's Black Label, Schlitz, Hamm's, and Duquesne.

Today's subject is the G. Heileman Brewing Co., late of La Crosse, WI, and a 1955 promotional record offering "The Heileman Beer Song" and "The Heileman Waltz." I don't know how the record was used, but there is a 45 sleeve out there that suggests it may have been a give-away to consumers.

"The Heileman Beer Song" turns out to be that old tavern favorite "Ist das nicht eine Schnitzelbank?", here repurposed to extol the making of Heileman's Old Style Lager, starting with "Is das nicht ein water spring? Ya, das icht ein water spring". This goes on through the brewing process, mercifully leaving out such stages as "Is das nicht ein bottle cap?"

The song is fully as repetitive as "The 12 Days of Christmas," so it's a good thing is lasts less than three minutes, or you would be shouting, "Is das nicht genung Schnitzelbank??"

Circa 1955

[A Schnitzelbank, by the way, is a wood carving bench. I've known the song all my life, and just found that out a few minutes ago. You can learn more here; including that some of the couplets involve an Ochsen Blas (ox bladder) and Haufen Mist (manure pile). The song is theoretically a teaching tool. The teacher is supposed to point to these objects on a poster during the song; one wonders what the point of the lesson could be.]

The other side of the record, "The Heileman Waltz," again praises Old Style, although in three-quarter time. It starts off with a snatch of Leroy Anderson's "Belle of the Ball," but then moves on.

Heileman's Old Style is still brewed, although the rights to the brand have passed through many hands since this record was made. The La Crosse brewery is in use today, but producing other brands.

By the way, the Duquesne song mentioned above ("It Outsells...Because It Excels") is newly remastered and sounding much better. Listening to it again, I am virtually certain that the uncredited singers are the J's with Jamie. There's a download link in the comments to this post.

Most of the previous beer promos have been from my collection. The Heileman record comes from the Internet Archive. And before I forget - let me thank my pal Ernie for hipping me to the Heileman hops.