Marching Against Polio with Perry Como

I was dismayed to read that the dreaded disease polio may be making a comeback. I vividly remember how scared I was about catching the disease as a young child, especially after one of my classmates was affected. 

Polio was a big deal in the 1940s and 1950s, even afflicting US President Franklin D. Roosevelt. His story inspired the creation of the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis (as the disease was then known), which eventually took on the identity of its grassroots fundraising arm, the March of Dimes.

Today's record promotes giving to the 1959 March of Dimes, featuring one of the most popular of 20th century vocalists, Perry Como, along with his frequent collaborators, bandleader Mitchell Ayres and the Ray Charles Chorus.

Perry Como

1959 ad

The Como record was aimed at the New York market, promoting a door-to-door solicitation on March 28, 1959. "When you open the door, be sure to open your heart," Perry advises, via the song penned by well-known writer Bernie Wayne.

The record was appropriately titled "Mothers' March" and even today the March of Dimes is focused on the health of mothers and their babies. By 1959, polio vaccines had been invented and distributed, the disease was in decline, and the March of Dimes' purpose had broadened to combat arthritis, birth defects and viral infections.

As with many such public service promos, this record is not particularly well recorded - but good enough for the AM radio stations that would play it, I suppose.

Early March of Dimes poster

Sokoloff Makes the Skeletons Dance

It's getting close to Halloween, so this might be a good time to upload a performance of Saint-Saëns' popular masterpiece, Danse Macabre, which is set on the night when all hallows come out to dance.

And dance they do in this vivid (if abridged) performance by the vintage Cleveland Orchestra under its first music director, Nikolai Sokoloff. This piece is tailor-made for the conductor's sorcery. 

Its coupling is another splendid (if again abridged) performance, this one of the delightful overture to Nicolai's opera The Merry Wives of Windsor, a work that sparkles rather than scares.

In my previous posts devoted to Sokoloff (here and here), I've described both his improvisatory approach to conducting and his authoritarian manner in leading the orchestra. Both reached their limits after a time in Cleveland, and his contract was not renewed in 1933 despite his molding an excellent ensemble in a short period of time.

Nikolai Sokoloff

Sokoloff went on to direct the depression-era Federal Music Project. I recently came across a 1935 New York Times article (included in the download) that describes the similar labor problems he ran into in Washington, with the musicians union trying to expel him from its ranks and Sokoloff threatening to fire those who didn't agree with him. After these familiar flare-ups, the conductor would move on, again.

But in happier days, Sokoloff and the Clevelanders made a good number of recordings for Brunswick, dating from 1924-28. This disc comes from 1926, during a period when Brunswick was using the so-called GE "Light-Ray" method, which was inferior to the Western Electric process used by other companies. 

Mark Obert-Thorn, who has produced an edition of all Sokoloff's Cleveland recordings for Pristine Classical, wrote of the GE system, "At lower volume levels, the results could be acceptable; however, anything forte and above came out congested and harshly distorted." Actually, the sound on the Light-Ray discs I've processed is not as bad as this might suggest, although I will acknowledge that there is congestion above forte and some distortion. And this particular Internet Archive transfer does retain some surface noise even after my ministrations. [Note (June 2023): This recording is now available in ambient stereo.]

The important matter is the music in the grooves, and it could not be more enjoyable. Please have fun cavorting with the dancing ghouls and merry wives.

1932 GE ad - Sokoloff would move on the following year

Astaire and Guests in 'A Damsel in Distress'

The previous installments in this series of Fred Astaire recordings have included three Astaire-Rogers films, all of which spawned commercial 78s by both Fred and Ginger. Today's entry, 1937's A Damsel in Distress, doesn't offer any Rogers songs because she didn't appear in the film. Her replacement was the limp Joan Fontaine, who didn't dance very well or sing at all. So to fill out the program of four Astaire performances, I have added two contemporary recordings by cabaret artists of the time.

A Damsel in Distress was loosely based on a P.G. Wodehouse story and play, characteristically involving intricate nonsense at an English manor house. Astaire played an American dancer - type casting - with radio favorites George Burns and Gracie Allen as accomplices. English bandleader Ray Noble played the silly-ass Bertie Wooster-type that was a constant in Wodehouse stories.

Beside Astaire, the stars of the show were the Gershwin brothers and their splendid songs. Fred's main numbers are all famed - "Nice Work If You Can Get It," "I Can't Be Bothered Now," "Things Are Looking Up" and particularly "A Foggy Day." These were among the brothers' last songs together - George died during the production at age 37.

Astaire recorded his four numbers in Los Angeles in October 1937 - about a month before the film opened - with backing by Ray Noble's band. These are all superb records. "I Can't Be Bothered Now" starts with Fred dancing and being unsuccessfully interrupted by a vocal group chanting in time, "Telegram for Mr. Astaire" and him responding "I'm dancing and can't be bothered now!" and so forth.

'A Foggy Day'

"A Foggy Day" begins with a mournful trombone, with the arrangement brightening at "Suddenly, I saw you there." "Things Are Looking Up" begins with the verse, usually omitted, which sets off the sunny chorus. Astaire's singing is backed by what sounds like tap dancing, but it was probably effects provided by the drummer.

Fred does dance in "Nice Work If You Can Get It," which again begins with the verse. This features one of Ira Gershwin's best set of lyrics, but all these songs are distinguished both in music and words.

George Byron

The film also includes two mock madrigals, including "The Jolly Tar and the Milkmaid," which has a wonderful Ira Gershwin lyric perhaps more influenced by W.S. Gilbert than the Renaissance masters. In the film, this number is almost a throwaway as Fred joins a madrigal group, but the droll piece stands on its own very well. In this set, I've included a contemporary recording by the West Coast cabaret artist George Byron, who handles the piece nicely. Byron has been heard on my other blog in music of Jerome Kern.

The download also includes a medley of songs from the score as performed by songwriter-pianist Edgar Fairchild for the Liberty Music Shop label. Fairchild has appeared on my other blog in an Oh, Kay! medley with fellow composer-pianist Ralph Rainger. Here he is mated with an unnamed guitarist, perhaps George Van Eps, who was active on the West Coast at the time.

One other song from the score was not to my knowledge recorded at the time but has been since. "Stiff Upper Lip" - introduced by Gracie Allen - has been done by Ella Fitzgerald among others. Gracie sings the number during the extended "fun house" scene. It is one of the best parts of the film, not least because of its spectacular moderne set.

In the fun house with Burns, Allen and Astaire

The download includes the usual passel of stills and posters. The transfers were cleaned up from Internet Archive needle drops. The sound in the Astaire songs is excellent. The Byron and Fairchild pressings are a bit grainy.

A Quartet for King Charles

After my recent tribute to Queen Elizabeth, I thought it only right to  post something associated with King Charles. There's nothing yet for the newly crowned Charles III, so I chose music associated with his namesake Charles II (1630-85).

The composition is by Matthew Locke (c1621-77), a court composer for Charles II. He is said to have presented the subject of today's post, the Consort of ffowre Parts, Suite VI in G, along with its companion suites to Charles sometime after 1660.

But before I go any further, please let me acknowledge the generosity of blog follower Steve Banks, who sent me this and several other interesting recordings, which I will post periodically. I also want to mention the expertise of another friend, Nick Morgan, who is an expert on the National Gramophonic Society, which recorded this disc in 1929. Nick's NGS discography can be found here.

You will note that the label above presents the work as Locke's String Quartet No. 6 rather than a Consort of ffowre Parts. That is because Locke's music had been transcribed for modern string quartet in 1927 by composer Peter Warlock (Philip Heseltine) and edited for performance by André Mangeot, the first violin of the International String Quartet, which performs on the recording at hand.

Matthew Locke

The world of Locke's "String Quartet" is far away from the quartets that would be most familiar to us today. His work is actually a brief suite for four viols, with an opening Fantasia followed by a Courante, Aire and Saraband, all 17th century dances. When Heseltine worked on his transcription, the music of the Restoration was in general little known and played. So he reworked the Locke work for the performers of the time.

At that point, Heseltine had already developed a reputation as a composer and especially as a combative critic. It was during this period that he in his "Warlock" guise wrote his masterpiece, The Curlew, a song cycle to Yeats' poetry. Alexander Young's performance with the Sebastian String Quartet can be found here.

André Mangeot

As I mentioned, Heseltine's Locke transcription was prepared for performance by André Mangeot in 1927. The two had hoped to have it published at that time, but Nick Morgan notes that it was not issued until 1932, after Heseltine's early death.

Mangeot and his quartet were mainstays of the National Gramophonic Society, an important early classical music label that was in effect an offshoot of The Gramophone magazine, which author Compton Mackenzie founded in 1923. Mackenzie soon thereafter began the National Gramophonic Society, which was to issue 166 discs from 1924-31, per Nick.

NGS's final release was a memorial version of The Curlew with artists including Mangeot's string quartet and tenor John Armstrong, as conducted by Heseltine's close friend Constant Lambert.

Peter Warlock, inscribed to André Mangeot, 1927

The personnel of the International String Quartet varied over time; for the Locke recording the group included Mangeot and Albert Voorsanger, violins, Eric Bray, viola, and John Shinebourne, cello.

The download includes several contemporary reviews; thanks to Nick for the citations. And special thanks again to Steve Banks for making this fascinating recording available to us.

FYI - if you would like to hear what a more modern early-music ensemble has made of Locke's consorts, Hespèrion XX's set can be found on YouTube.

Fred and Ginger (and Harriet) Follow the Fleet

Here is one more in the series devoted to the films of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, with the commercial recordings of both artists. Today's subject is Follow the Fleet, a 1936 vessel for their singing and dancing talents. The film also introduced vocalist Harriet Hilliard, who recorded the two Irving Berlin numbers she sang in the film - and which are added to today's playlist.

Astaire and Rogers both recorded two of the score's best and most famous numbers - "Let Yourself Go" and "I'm Putting All My Eggs in One Basket" - Fred for Brunswick and Ginger for English Decca (even though her songs were backed by the American bandleader Jimmy Dorsey).

Astaire had the film's best number - "Let's Face the Music and Dance" - to himself, also the lesser "I'm Building Up to an Awful Let-Down," "We Saw the Sea" and "I'd Rather Lead the Band." Fred is accompanied by Johnny Green and orchestra, who are perfect for the assignment.

Astaire's singing is, as always, wonderful, and three of the songs were hits. Rogers is in better form here than in some of her other outings in this series, aided by the excellent Dorsey band. She's far from a good singer, but it's wonderful to have these souvenirs.

It's also nice to have the Harriet Hillard recordings, made for Brunswick with her bandleader husband, Ozzie Nelson. This was years before Ozzie, Harriet and sons became popular on radio and then television. (That's Harriet in the corner of the poster above, looking innocent with co-star Randolph Scott.)

On these records, Ozzie manages to feature himself over Harriet, confining her to the "vocal chorus by" duties, well after the extended band intros. Hilliard was a better singer than Rogers, certainly, but she had a thin voice and could be inexpressive. She was in tune, though. Nelson's band was typical of the time, proficient but stylistically behind the times, sounding stodgy next to Jimmy Dorsey's troupe and unsophisticated compared to Johnny Green's.

Hilliard's songs are both good Berlin efforts. "But Where Are You?" is a simple tune and it needs more than the On. The. Beat. treatment that the Nelsons provide. Harriet is much better in "Get Thee Behind Me, Satan."

The download, as usual, includes a large number of restored posters, lobby cards and stills. The transfers are cleaned up from raw materials found on Internet Archive.

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.