The mystery of Lambert cylinders

After speaking with my friend Ryan Wishner last evening, we discussed the Lambert cylinder company for a brief period of time, and it got me thinking. Lambert records were the most ingenious invention of the brown wax era, as they were cylinder records that weren't brown wax. These amazingly innovative cylinders began to be sold in 1900, as alternatives to the fragile and subject to wear brown wax cylinders. They did not catch on as easily, as they had strangely dyed colours, that weren't brown wax, as this was at the height of the brown wax era when this happened. Their queer shades of pink, beige, and blue perplexed record buyers. They were a company with strange amounts of repertoire, ranging from specialties by the popular brown wax performers, to strange performances of operatic music by their house orchestra. 

One thing that is so wonderfully distinct about Lambert records was the very well-recorded and loud piano accompaniment. Many collectors wonder how they were able to so well-capture the piano playing better on their records. The piano accompaniment always sounded very loud and clear on these records, better than the clearest Edison with Frank P. Banta, and the loudest Columbia with Spencer and Hylands. 

Who was that pianist? That's really what this comes to here, and being the pianist nut, I must divert to the pianists' styles in order to make more sense of Lambert's friends in record companies. Knowing who the pianist was for Lambert not only says who their pianist was, it also says they they might have had some allies in the record business, as it's certain that they would have employed a pianist from an allied company on the eastern coast of the U. S. But which one? Well, we know that Lambert was not at all allied with Edison, so that immediately eliminates Frank P. Banta, Albert Benzler and Fred Bachmann. Since those three are out, that leaves Booth and Hylands. In fact, those two left are the ones who I have long thought to have been there. Hylands really sounds like he was there, and he wouldn't have minded making special trips out to their studio to make records, especially since he knew they he could be better heard on these records than his Columbia's. just for a good example of this, here's Murray singing "Up in Cocoanut Tree" from 1903. Now this one has some suspicious accompaniment there. The style sounds an awful lot like the 1903 take by: 

you can hear that here.
The two different versions sounds very similar. In fact, they sound more similar to each other than Murray's Victor of it. On Murray's Victor, I can easily tell that it it someone else playing piano, in that, it's probably Fred Bachmann, as Murray once said was his pianist on all those early Victors. 

It really helps when the singers themselves actually said who their pianist was at a certain period of time, it really makes it so much easier. This is exactly why I wish that Jim Walsh didn't eliminate Hylands from his writings, as he would without a doubt be there quite a lot.  

Anyhow, back to those Lamberts. The next one I  will share is one by: 

Len Spencer. 
Now this is a cylinder that I have used on this blog before, but it's very important when trying to understand the piano accompaniments on Lambert records. There aren't too many Rag-Time pieces out there on Lamberts by singers that usually recorded Rag-Time, but this is one of them. 
Here's Spencer's "You've Been a Good Old Wagon" recorded in 1902. 
Now This cylinder has been subjected to debate for many years, since the first time it was used on a CD about 15 years ago. This is one of those few records where collectors immediately were drawn to the piano accompaniment. There aren't too many of those out there, but this one is one of them. It's a record where it's by a singer that most collectors have heard, and the singer is what draws in the collectors, until they listen to the piano accompaniment, which is full of Ragged melodies, without any sort of break in the syncopation. Then they wonder, "Who's that pianist? They're really good!" 

I would assume that the obvious guess was used for the pianist on this--Frank P. Banta. Though, as we know, that cannot be so, for many reasons. It is evident that Spencer was somewhat bitter toward Hylands after the who publishing firm venture in 1900, but they still worked together, as the whole reason that they began the firm in the first place was because they worked well together. It is very possible that Hylands is on this disputed cylinder, and I am convinced that it is him, as Spencer wouldn't have done a hot piece of Rag-Time like this with Banta being in that studio, or Fred Bachmann for that matter. Many of the small things that are played in the accompaniment were Hylands things also, such as how he ends the song, which is really the best indicator on this record, as Spencer is very loud here, and muffles out much of the piano accompaniment. It is not Banta, that's all that needs to be said here, and also that Spencer's rendition of this is very historically accurate to Ben Harney's actual singing style(according to personal accounts from the era). 

This next one is by: 

Yes indeed, Arthur Collins' first recording partner. 

Now this is another one that has caused some debate, mostly because the singer's name is not announced at the beginning, though it's obviously Joe Natus. Here's Natus' "A Bird in the Gilded Cage" recorded in 1900. The piano was very well recorded in this one, which is fantastic! Pretty much every note can be heard here, even with the singer.  Much of the style heard on this cylinder is like----you guessed it, Hylands! It really is though, no kidding. There are almost all of Hylands' stylings on this record, which makes it even easier to identify him here. Other than the obviously revealing solo at the end, there's also some right hand syncopation at some points, that I have only heard Hylands play when recording waltzes. Syncopating waltzes was a very strange thing that Hylands did often, and on this cylinder it's pretty easy to tell, if you're listening closely to the piano that is. Also, that weird chromatic thing that begins at the second chorus is also a Hylands characteristic, as If you've listened to any of the early Columbia records I have used in the past, you would have heard some of that syncopated waltz thing, such as on Myers' "Minnie-Ha-Ha" from 1902(with Hylands). This sort of playing can also be heard even earlier on an 1899 take of "She is More to Be Pitied than Censured", also on this Charles P. Lowe recording of "The Carnival of Venice" from 1898.
I hope that all of those cylinders are enough evidence for that Lambert, and since this next one is also a waltz, these can also be used for the next Lambert.

This next one is by Harry MacDonough, who is not exactly one of my favourites, but he's good to listen to, as he never really missed any notes, and always had good piano accompaniment behind him at Edison and Victor(that would be Banta by the way!). Here's MacDonough (announced as Frank Morgan) "Always in the Way" from 1902-03. Now this one is a dead giveaway to me. The out-of-sync waltz playing with lots if right hand sixteenth notes really is something that Banta never did, and that can be heard in the cylinders listed in the previous paragraph. The ending is also one of Hylands' signature endings. He had about four different endings that he always played, and one of them is the very last thing that he plays on the cylinder above. Just before that last arpeggio, that rolled chord thing is really pretty, and I wish he did that more often, as it has a really rare sound to it that the piano creates that I have never heard any of the other studio pianos at that time make. The only other cylinder that comes to mind right now of Hylands doing that rolled chord thing is on this 1899 cylinder here. He does it primarily at the beginning, but is can be heard a little here and there throughout. I know I've heard more examples of this, I just cannot think of them at the moment. 

While searching around a few minutes ago, I found a great comparison to the Natus cylinder, Steve Porter's version of "A Bird in a Gilded" cage. This one showcases Hylands' frantic playing more than pretty playing in the MacDonough Lambert above. He also makes one very audible mistake at 2:17, that sounds pretty interesting, but it's obviously a mistake. It's sure that Hylands is on the Porter take though, considering the date of the recording(1900). 

Now these next two are cylinders by: 

Collins and Harlan. 
Now these two are very interesting ones, as they may have been recorded on the same day, or at least not far from each other in date. 
Here you go:
Their Lambert of "Hurrah for Baffin's Bay"(music begins at just after 4 minutes...)

their 1903 recording of "Marriage is Sublime"

The first one sounds like Hylands is on piano because of the solo at the end, also from the bars full of sixteenth notes, which as you can kind of hear in the last 30 seconds of Quinn's 1899 cylinder of "She's All-Right". Now the reason I think Hylands is on the second on here is because of that specific way that he plays that twelfth chord at the beginning of the intro. That is something that Hylands often put into one of his signature endings, and in intros just like the one on this very cylinder. The second cylinder listed can be very well compared with this 1903 cylinder here. It's not only transferred in the same key, and, once again, he does that twelfth thing that I just spoke of in the intro! The cylinders are also from the same year, so that helps. Next step for comparison would be to find Collins and Harlan's Columbia of "Marriage is Sublime", which was recorded around the same time, that way, we'd be pretty set and sure here. But really, when I saw that these two Lamberts were made by Collins and Harlan, I immediately thought that Hylands was probably on piano, considering their very good relationship in the studio, at Columbia that is. 

Now since I have done all this comparing, listen to these Lamberts and find out for yourself if you think it's Hylands.

S. H. Dudley's "Whistling Bowery Boy" from 1903

Harry MacDounough's "My Own United States" from 1903
here's a Columbia take of this: http://cylinders.library.ucsb.edu/search.php?queryType=@attr+1=1020&num=1&start=1&query=cylinder7430

Ossman's "Hunky Dory" recorded in 1902(there's some good Ragged piano playing here!)




Before I end for the day, I must share a fun Silas Leachman record that a kind record collector put up a few days ago. Now it's a fun song, with some wild Ragged piano playing! 
Leachman's "I Don't Care if I Never Wake Up" from 1901
Of the few Leachman Victor's I think Hylands is on, this is one of them. 
That wild solo at the beginning give it away, as I have heard him do that at the beginning of Gaskin's "My Wild Irish Rose" from 1899. I don't really know what he's trying to do in that weird solo at the beginning... But it's strange and interesting all the same! Now in case any of you didn't notice the lyrics in this song, other than it being a typical "coon song", there were these lines:

"At a Chinese Laundry he hangs around..."
and also, "A pipe full of dope he bought."

There you go folks, that's 1901 for ya. How ironic that Fred Hylands is playing so wildly behind Leahcman here! Anyway it's a great piece of Rag-Time nonetheless. 

I won't be able to post until about next Tuesday, because I'm taking a trip to Missouri for the Scott Joplin Festival! Until then, keep listening geeks! 

Hope you enjoyed this! 

Character Studies--The Columbia orchestra(1897-1905)

That's half of the Columbia orchestra. 

I just know that doing a post on this group solely would be hard. Despite that, I will try my hand at it anyway. Now before I get into the describing, I must point something out that I did not notice until a few minutes before I began this post. 

See that chair the trombone player is sitting in? Right here:

(that's David Dana by the way!)

That chair looks like a familiarly queer-looking one from a picture I recognise:

 Which chair? 

That obviously miserable chair. 

Hmm, I wonder whose idea it was to give Fred that chair for the exhibition hall of all places at Columbia's Broadway address? There's a strong possibility that Fred obliged. That chair is very different from all the other ones, I wonder what its specific use was? It wasn't just Fred's chair, as David Dana can be seen in that picture(with Hylands!) sitting in that strange chair. 


Anyhow, sorry to get side-tracked, back to the Columbia orchestra. This group, as I have explained, was formed by all of the leftover musicians from the fall of the U. S. Phonograph company in early 1897, and unfortunately, Edward Issler was filtered out after this transition, which meant the end of Issler's orchestra at Columbia. Without Issler, the members of his orchestra blossomed in this new group of musicians. 


The Columbia house orchestra was a stew of musical misfits, from confident and classical William Tuson, to ragged and rough Fred Hylands. They were all selected by the bewitching hands of Master Edward Easton himself, each getting his approval one-by-one, so it's assured that they were well-liked musicians among the picky management. Most of them were Germans, with some odd sprinkles of English and Bohemian here-and-there, so they were a mix of European stew. Much of their repertoire before Fred Hylands came along was popular music, with the arrangements made by Tom Clark, and older ones that were handwritten by Issler. Many more soloists were recorded with the Columbia orchestra in their earliest days, as for some reason, this idea faded away as the years went on. Though Len Spencer was not one of the musicians in the orchestra, he was a member regardless, as he did all of the sound effects, many announcements, and even sung some choruses on the popular vocal selections they recorded in 1897-1899. Hylands was not the first pianist under this new orchestra in 1897, as it was originally Issler, but after about a month or two, they got their new trial-pianist some work, by playing in their house orchestra. Leader man Tom Clark found Hylands a complicated character, and did not like a lot of his habits, as did many who worked at Columbia during Hylands' term. Hylands made some of the arrangements they recorded in 1898, though Clark was the one who did the arrangements, Hylands still did many of them, and his arrangement of "The Darkey Volunteer(s)" was a real doozy. After an exhibition one night in July 1898, Hylands came in the next morning exhausted and hungover, but with something new written down for the orchestra. The first to see it was Clark, who at once got out his cornet to try and play this piece as written. It was fully of comical quotes, and had runs of notes practically spilled in long streams in the melodies. This piece was:

Yes indeed. 
Everyone else in the orchestra looked at it with unsure scowls, as when they got to practicing the piece, it sounded very strange to them, but Hylands yelled out to them and stopped them when something wasn't right. When they recorded Hylands' tunes, he owned the room, and all the people in it. There were few times when it was hard for the musicians in this group to stay together, but when recording this tune, this was very much a problem. 
Here's the band recording of it(with Hylands on piano): 
Recorded in 1898(not sure who the announcer is...)
It's like the man was messing with them. The tune is already hard enough to play on piano, then try to get twelve musicians to stay together playing it. He must have told Clark, "Oh no, it's not too difficult. It will sound perfect!" In the orchestra recording of it, George Schweinfest and William Tuson can be heard very well playing those ridiculous lines in unison. 1898 was the peak year for the Columbia orchestra, as they had all their best musicians playing great always, and they could play anything they Mr. Clark picked out from the old pile or created new ones. In many recordings of Rag-Time they did, oftentimes Hylands was wanting to play a different rhythm than the one chosen, so everything sounded all weird, such as on their take of Monroe Rosenfeld's "The Virginia Skedaddle" from 1898(begins at 8:05!). The rhythm sounds all out of whack at some points here. From what I can hear, it's the piano that's causing this. but of course, nothing was as bad as their 1899 take of "Smokey Mokes" from 1899(begins at 57:48!). I don't think it could get as bad as that one. At many points, Hylands is a measure behind them. He might have counted off wrong, or he wasn't paying attention to the rest of the orchestra. It's especially bad toward the beginning, but he remains a little out-of-whack throughout. The rest of the orchestra is fantastic though despite Hylands' strange ignorance. The problem is that the piano is so loud on this one, that it's hard to avoid. This was a problem that leader man Clark ran into when learning how to manipulate stubborn Hylands, and the evidence in clearly stated. After 1900, some special recordings with vocalists and the Columbia orchestra began to show up more, such as Dan Quinn singing "Pretty as a Picture" in 1900, and Spencer singing Hylands' "You Don't Stop the World from Goin Round". After 1901, they were recording many instrumental Rag-Time pieces, and re-recording some older takes as well, such as their 1902 recording of "The Darkey Tickle"(from 1892!), and their 1901 take of "The Darkey's Dream". They also took on the classic Rag-Time cake-walk "Creole Belles" recorded in 1902, and this strange recording of an oriental dance called "Obaja" recorded in 1904. They also recorded "Peaceful Henry" in 1903, but the people who put that up took it down from their site, which is really frustrating, because that was a masterful piece of early Rag-Time. By 1903, their specialty for "descriptive selections" was beginning to fade, as they were not as popular to record buyers by then, though they did come up with a few new ones, along with recording old ones. Here's Len Spencer's specialty with the Columbia orchestra called "The Levee Scene" from 1903. They ran out of time at the end, and this time is was a bad failure, before their last chord, the record cuts out. As we know, the Columbia orchestra had been known for their variety of fun "descriptive selections" since the formation in 1897, with a strange mix from "Charge of the Rough Riders"(hear Hylands sing!), to their "The Village Orchestra". The spark of playfulness that was had when they made these had faded by 1903 and 1904. They still had many of the same musicians, but they were not exclusively in the Columbia studio by that time, so these selections were not as much needed. By 1904, they were mostly recording popular dance numbers, such as many popular marches and songs such as "Hiawatha".  By 1905, the Columbia band led by Charles Prince was taking over the old orchestra spot. Only a handful of columbia orchestra selections were offered in 1905 and 1906, and with many of the original musicians dropped by the end of 1905, it was inevitable that the group would end by 1906. They were a unique and fantastic group of musicians who we now have the absolute pleasure to hear on hundreds of records from 1897 to 1905. Many of their selections were unique to only Columbia's orchestra, not any others, like the Peerless orchestra, or the Edison orchestra.

Here are two of their great selections from every year they made records:

1897:  "The Jealous Blackbird" with George Schweinfest
"I thought I Was a Winner" with Len Spencer

1898: "Jolly Fellows Waltz"
two takes of "Schubert's Serenade"

1899:a recording with the Imperial Minstrels(listen for that yell at 35 seconds in!)
"Upon the Golden Shore" with the Imperial Minstrels(Hylands is kind of out of sync again...)

1900:Ethelbert Nevin's " Narcissus" 
"The Santiago Waltz"
1901: "Kentucky Jubillee Singers Scottiche" announced by Dan Quinn
"The Sea Flower Polka" by Tom Clark and the Columbia orchestra

1902: their re-recording of "La Serenata Waltz"
"Smokey Mokes" played a little too slow on the trasnfer

1903: Their re-recording of "The Darkey's Dream"
a hot piece of Rag-Time called "The Dixieland March" 

1904: a hot "Slow Drag Cake-walk" called "Jovial Joe"
their re-recording of their famous descriptive selection "The Bugler's Dream"

1905: This is the last one I have found with Hylands still on piano in the orchestra, "Selections from 'The Yankee Consul'''
The other ones I have found from '05 don't have the piano accompaniment, and that was actually a very important aspect of their unique sound. 

Hope you enjoyed this! 

Character Studies--George Schwienfest (c.1862-1949)

in c.1898

in 1894

This Issler "dropout" as I call Issler's orchestra performers who literally dropped out of that group for the Columbia orchestra, began working under the obliging of Edward Issler in 1889 for Edison's phonograph company, then in only a few months, he and the rest of the group were all working for North American, then later Columbia, and so forth. One of the first prominent things that Schweinfest ever did in ways of recording was making a handful of piano solos and duets with Issler in 1889. It's strange to think that they had so much trust and friendship in each other, but the fact that they specifically chose to make these duets shows an element of trust in them. 

To begin with Schweinfest, it is unknown where or what his origins were, but one thing is for sure, he had the same origins that Issler did, as they probably met around 1886, or many a few years before that. It must have been the ideas of Schweinfest and Issler that began their orchestra in 1888. Issler was a first generation American in his family, as both his parents were born in Germany, and he was the first to be born in the U.S., with this, Schweinfest probably had the same situation within his family. Schweinfest was a fantastic musician, with the ability to play at least five instruments; piccolo, flute, violin, piano, clarinet, and maybe more. It is not known what he began playing on first, though violin is a likely possibility. He must have been a very good man as far as the early recording stars go, very musically focused, cooperative, and patient. As from these traits, it earned him a long life, and many music directors wanting him. He was well-liked among the record staff, and Issler used him as an important tool of his, as on the many recordings by Issler's orchestra, you can hear Schweinfest playing different instruments, possibly changing in the middle of a take. With this cooperative nature, all the studio pianists liked him, but they all had to respect him, since he was one of their subs, and back-up pianist if one of them was out for a day, to a few days, to a week, or even if the inevitable happened--one of them died. He knew all the studio pianists, from Gaisberg to Bachmann, even if they didn't work at the same company, he still would have known them, and built kind relations with them, as he was no Fred Hylands. His times in the studio were always a breeze, save for the times when he apologized for his piccolo being horridly out of tune, as at Columbia it would be Hylands complaining about that of course. When he worked for Victor, his records were well made always, save for some times when the pianist was not playing the correct chords or just right notes. That, as we know was not Schweinfest's fault, that was Banta, Hylands or Bachmann's problem. He never missed a note, all of the notes he ever played on those solos were right, nothing was missed, ever. If you go through any multitude of his recordings, the conclusion might be made that he never missed any note anywhere. With that being said, it can amplify any mistakes the pianist makes behind him. Once Issler dropped his orchestra from Columbia's catalog, all his musicians weren't exactly sure of what he was going to be doing, so he told them that they were part of the Columbia orchestra from there onward. With this change, we get recordings like this one here:
"The Jealous Blackbird" by Schweinfest and the Columbia orchestra(1897)
As we know, Issler didn't disappear from there, though he wasn't leading his orchestra at Columbia anymore. 
That left Schweinfest, Tuson, and Dana under the rule of Thomas Clark, who was a different man than Issler. First of all, he wasn't German, and that immediately rid of many traditionally Germanic ideals and ways of musicality. Secondly, Clark wasn't a pianist primarily, so that also created differing viewpoints. Schweinfest was perfectly fine with this transition, as he quickly came to befriend the new director and pianist. Clark was fond of Schweinfest, as he was not only a great soloist, but also a fantastic player in a group, and  had that great sense of rhythm that must have come from working with Issler for so long. Hylands was a different tale. Schweinfest was on of the pianists that was replaced by Hylands, which created something there. He wasn't angered over this, as he was one who understood why Master Easton and Vic Emerson chose a low-life Rag-Time pianist to be their main pianist at that point in time. Despite all of this agreeing, he did have to get used to Hylands being there, with all his "baggage", and social issues. Being a member of the Columbia orchestra meant that Schweinfest had to attend things like this:

This is that section I use from The Phonoscope with the ridiculous amount of spelling mistakes. 
Anyhow, the Columbia orchestra is listed, Tom Clark is specifically listed as the orchestra director(of the few times he was!), and Fred Hylands is listed(love it!). As I have explained before, Master Easton held two of these gatherings, one in 1898 and the other in 1899, and considering the circumstances, they must have been very expensive to host, but at least the performers got to perform for their boss at the most expensive hotel in New York City at the time, and probably got some of the most exquisite courses of food they got for a while. Schweinfest had to go to both of these, as he is listed in both of them, not just inevitably part of the Columbia orchestra, but also as a soloist. Schweinfest remained making records as a soloist and with the Columbia orchestra after 1900, though his work outside of the studio remains a mystery to this date. He probably remained working with Issler after 1900, as there's not a doubt in my mind that the two remained friends until Issler died in 1942. He worked with Hylands primarily after 1900, as all of his solo records have Hylands still on piano behind him which probably was not an issue with him. Hylands was still Hylands, even if it wasn't 1898 anymore. It is not known what happened to Schweinfest after he ended recording solos, though he may have remained in some studio orchestra a few years after that. Which studio orchestra? I don't know, but I hope that it was Hager's orchestra! 
Whatever Schweinfest decided to do after he ended recording, it surely did him well, as he lived to be 87, and that's pretty much outliving everyone he knew in the earliest days of recording. He didn't out live Clark though, Clark was 89 when he died, and that makes him the oldest of the all the earliest studio stars, though Schweinfest lived the longest into the 20th century. 

It's amazing to think that Schweinfest outlived pretty much everyone in the Columbia orchestra(from Hylands to David Dana), and everyone in Issler's original ensemble. He also outlived most of the regular studio singers, Len Spencer, Edward Favor, Myers, Dan Quinn, Steve Porter, Russell Hunting, Edward Easton, Vic Emerson, and even Frank Dorian(who lived from 1869 to 1940). 

He even outlived all his managers and bosses. Heh, that's great. 

Hope you enjoyed this! 

The stage fight and Respectable Gentlemen

With a title as strange as the one just above, the subject matter of this post must be interesting, as it certainly is to some extent. I spoke with Charlie Judkins yesterday, and many great ideas were shared between the two of us, as it always is when we talk. Some of these things were fantastically outrageous theories that just had to be true, much like many things that are discussed among few record geeks. Before I get to the theories, a strangely funny thing was spoken of about Len Spencer. 

We know of Spencer being a frightening-faced man, and rough when absolutely needed. We also know that Ada Jones once recalled that he had a scar on his face from a knife fight in his youth, which makes sense fully. Aside from all of this, he was a kind man really, with a very fun and pleasing personality. 

(Spencer in c.1891, from Tim Brooks' Lost Sounds)

Even at about 24, Spencer was frightening, and looked like someone lesser than to be trusted. Anyway, with this obvious side of fight in Spencer, we can easily assume that he got into some fistfights, whether they be with a knife, or without any sort of weapon. From the scar thing is where this all stems from, as he would have had that cut on his face in the picture just above, but, thanks to retouching, we can't see it at all. In case you are wondering, it was just off center on his chin, and skews leftward, tapering off a little. Anyhow, this thing that we discussed was another documented battle, that Spencer just happened to get tangled in, at a theater that he later was part of. 

Without any further a-d0, here's that article:

Yes indeed. What a fight! 

This was a surprising thing to read, while at the same time, was not surprised at all about something like this happening. Spencer would rarely snap like this, but when he did, it was hell. I would have realised right away if Spencer was my manager that it would be a terrible idea to get him fired up, as he certainly could kill someone without too much effort. He wouldn't, but how he'd make threats. Of the few incidents that he get to read about in the sense of early recording stars, this one is a real gem. It's good to read something about Spencer that hasn't anything to do with The Phonoscope or anything with recording, that way, there's not any bias with recording companies. 

The next step to learning more about this would be to find a transcript of the trial, which would be fantastic. That way, we'd be able to know what it was they were fighting about. It would have to have been something that made Spencer snap in an instant. Hmm, that would have made him snap that quickly?... I am not sure, but it would be something big, as little things didn't get to him, though I have the feeling that his brother Harry was a little more temper-mental. Spencer probably didn't want to resort to fighting, but it must have escalated too quickly for him to step down. I hope someone will be able to find the transcript of the trial some time. 
Really, all I need to say about this is--

typical Len Spencer....

Anyhow, the second subject matter I'd like to discuss is something that Charlie and I spoke of last evening, it's another one of those crazy theories that most older record collectors would think is just a bunch of mush. Most of those theories I have don't get very far because of older collectors who are so stuck in their ways and mindset that these notions are far to wild and abhorrent for them. Though Fred Hylands being Columbia's prized pianist is not at all a crazy theory.
This theory was simply that in the early recording business, regardless of company, there was a sort of class structure in the sense that on one end, there were the respectable studio stars, and on the other, there were the more despicable ones. In thinking of these two sections, here's who would go where:

Respectable: Harry Spencer, Dan W. Quinn, Frank P. Banta, Edward Issler, George Schweinfest, Steve Porter, Byron Harlan,  Edward M. Favor, J. W. Myers, Frank Dorian, Tom Clark, John Yorke AtLee, Fred Gaisberg, C. H. H. Booth, Cal Stewart, and a few more studio workers, like engineers and electricians. The women who worked at these companies also belong here. 

Non-respectable: Fred Hylands, Will F. Denny, George P. Watson, George Graham, Arthur Collins, Russell Hunting, Roger Harding, George Gaskin, Henry Burr, Victor Emerson, S. H. Dudley(S. Holland Rous), Billy Golden, and a few more. 

Now I thought long about each name I listed in these sections,and there are some that I cannot exactly place in either of these, like Vess Ossman and Len Spencer. Spencer belongs in the middle of these, as both the Spencer's were very well-respected at first, from their highly regarded background, but Len was really the one who kicked up more trouble, and rambled with the wild ones. Vess Ossman earned respect from winning all those banjo contests in the early 1890's and therefore had respect and status, but he was infamous for being narcissistic and mean to fellow banjoists as well as studio performers. Some names might be surprising to see in certain categories, like Will F. Denny, and Arthur Collins. 
Denny, like all of those in the non-respectable section, was a smoker, but when thinking of his wildly loud and energetic recordings, one may wonder if it was more than just tobacco... maybe opium...
Whatever it was, it can be confirmed that he was a smoker, as one of the contributions to what killed him was an excess of smoking. It makes much more sense now. This is why you have to wonder on recordings of his like:
His 1893 recording of "You Can't Think of Everything"
His 1901 recording of "Ain't You Ma Lulu"
Yep, these and many more of records have gotten me suspicious, and this time it's not just in the piano accompaniment.
I think we all know why Hylands is listed first. Well, if you don't agree with all of the things I've said about him, the only easily seen piece of evidence of this is that he wasn't mentioned anywhere in Jim Walsh's writings, and pretty much everyone Walsh spoke to mentioned him at some point, as Walsh himself said that he recalled people mentioning Hylands as a prominent studio pianist. It is also indicated that he was to much likeness of Banta as a studio pianist, not at all as a human being. Hylands drank, smoked(who knows what!), ate far too much, gambled, and wasn't good with his money. All of those things were things that the respectable studio workers never did, or did very little of. 

Dan Quinn was the most respectable of all of them, as being a strong supporter of the temperance movement, and being a devout Christian, those were two traits that earned everyone's admiration, especially since he witnessed the downfalls of many of his fellows in the studio. Banta was not far behind Quinn in this matter, as he probably drank very little, and was a kind little man, who had a thoughtful and a widely agreeable sense of humor. The "family men" of the early recording business were the respectable ones, if you think about it, if they were family oriented--- they didn't drink, and/or had highly regarded jobs outside of the studio, or came into the business with economic status(that would be the Spencer's and Steve Porter in this case). 

We know why Russell Hunting is placed where he is, as that whole "smut-cylinder" case of 1896 says everything, and his sense of humor and politics was not always agreeable with the respectable workers. Henry Burr, Arthur Collins and S. H. Dudley are placed there for the same reason, being obviously vain, and not the nicest people in the world, who even had bad reputations in Jim Walsh's writings, which in itself is amazing if you've read any of Walsh's articles. 

Roger Harding is one of those who is hard to place in either of these categories, as he gambled with Fred Hylands, and obviously drank also, though he was well-respected for being a prominent stage performer(much like Hylands mind you), and was in fair competition with the famous Irish song writer Chauncey Olcott, which is no small thing for a recording star in that time. He is a hard one to pinpoint, since so little is known about him, it can be hard to know, but anyone who willingly associated with Fred Hylands in his time of the publishing firm dove into that mess that Hylands created. I don't think I need to explain why George Graham is there, and unfortunately, even in his time of recording, many thought of him as that drunk with the weird voice, that recorded well for some reason.

Anyhow, I will leave it at that for now, until I speak with Charlie once again about this, and we sort out a whole lot more. 

Hope you enjoyed this! 

Columbia's prized Pianist, and the Mystery of Edward Issler

Fred Hylands

This man is still a fascinating specimen as far as this whole early recording business goes, and I am still trying to understand his complicated personality. 

Reading through Tim Brooks' masterpiece Lost Sounds really made me realise more of Hylands' strange doings, that in so many ways were really well-hidden from most of the recording staff. He was a hustler, almost to the high degree that Len Spencer had in this aspect. He did feel he had to make Spencer his primary salesman however, so something odd comes into question there. He always was in everyone's business, and from learning that he had a hand in The People v. George W. Johnson, really tells me that he had that in him. In the May, 1900 issue of The Phonoscope, it is mentioned that Hylands sold much of his sheet music catalog while out on tour during that month. The section that I used a while back about Spencer leading a minstrel show out in Dyker Heights was part of this tour. If you'll recall, Hylands was the bones player, and did some piano playing as well, as expected. I bet Harry Yeager managed this show, along with others they did on this tour. 

Hylands' under-the-table deals were sometimes inconsiderate and somewhat evil, as they were all for his own benefit, and for his father's and for his wife's. His father was head of their household, which indicates that he didn't allow for Fred to manage the bills and money needed to be paid. That's somewhat comical to think of, but it was true, and it was true from a typical father-son relationship. Charles did not trust his son, even when his son was 26, in 1898. I explained in my last post that I thought George W. Johnson and Hylands had a similar personal life dynamic. Hylands was said by all sources from the time in which he lived to have been a very amiable and comical character, who made friends wherever he went. This may be true, but the thing that deceived those who befriended him was that soon after becoming acquainted, he would become a different man. He was a man who was different when he drank, much like George W. Johnson was. When sober, he was kind, amiable, quick, and alert, clearly showing his intelligence. However, when intoxicated, he was moody, insolent, and violent. All of these would certainly end many friendships, but his playing was so highly regarded that no one wanted to lose his services. This is why, despite all of these obvious faults, Columbia's staff kept him for so many years. It is still surprising to me that Columbia was willing to keep him for as long as they did, as it really shows a sense of trust that they had in him, even though he wasn't always one to be trusted. It also shows how important piano accompaniment was in the business for so many years. 
It remained essential to have a studio pianist for much longer than many would think, as some believe that the piano accompaniment era ended in 1903, and from there on, only orchestra accompaniment was used, which is true only to some extent. The death of Frank P. Banta prompted a forced change on the Edison staff, they still had two other pianists, but Banta was the most prominent of them they had, and the most irreplaceable. When Columbia dropped Hylands, they were completely done with him, and all regular studio pianists. That was in about September of 1905, very late on for piano to still be used, later than I would have thought. Many records from earlier in 1905 still had that piano accompaniment, with the same style that was heard back in 1899 and 1900. It's strange to think that he was still willing to come in to Columbia in 1904 and 1905, as he was beginning to perform on Broadway by then, you'd think that he had enough of Columbia by that time. Apparently not. He was needed for Rag-Time songs, which were still very popular, and in that, his style still fit the slightly different style. 




I still don't know what happened to Edward Issler. I still have the feeling that Columbia didn't exactly drop him in 1897. I go back and listen to some Columbia's feeling like the pianist is someone else, other than Hylands that is. The only two people who worked at Columbia in 1897 and 1898 who would be willing to play piano regularly would be these two:

Edward Issler, and 

We know very well that Schweinfest worked at Columbia, as well as Issler, but most who know anything about Issler would know that Issler's orchestra stopped making records regularly in 1897, and in very small batches after that. All Issler's orchestra records disappear from any catalogs by 1901. Issler's doing after 1900 are unknown, and it's possible that he remained working for Columbia as a second for Hylands. If that is what he did, he probably didn't like being a second to Fred Hylands, for a variety of reasons. It's very possible though, as Columbia certainly had at least two other pianists while Hylands worked there, and Issler was probably one of them. Now come to think of it, I have just realised something...

I just listened to this cylinder here, and caught something I didn't before. Hmm, that trill sort of thing that I know of Hylands doing, well, I heard Issler doing it here. That's really strange! Somehow, it makes sense, as when Columbia was looking for a pianist in 1897, they were looking for a pianist that was at least vaguely similar to Issler, their then-sitting pianist at the time. It's starting to make some sense now. The next question is:

Where's Issler when Hylands was working there?

That's a hard question to answer, but we would have to look back at some of Issler's accompaniments to distinguish a specific style. I know I have done this before, but Issler's a little hard to catch for some reason, though he was what Fred Hylands became at Columbia a few years later. 
You know what, Gaskin's cylinder of "After the Ball" is a fantastic example of Issler's style, of which you can hear here:
http://cylinders.library.ucsb.edu/search.php?queryType=@attr+1=1020&num=1&start=1&query=cylinder8097
There's a lot to listen for here, but it's very well recorded, to pretty much everything can be heard clearly. much of what I hear on this cylinder sounds like an early version of Hylands' more "straight" accompaniments that were on songs that weren't labelled as "coon songs" or Rag-Time songs. That does make sense. So, with this very odd trait, it seems that I've found the pianist on that infernal recording of "Uncle Jefferson" by Billy Golden. Here is that cylinder:
http://cylinders.library.ucsb.edu/search.php?queryType=@attr+1=1020&num=1&start=1&query=cylinder11728
I just knew that it couldn't be Hylands. 
From this picture here:

It already seemed pretty obvious to me that Issler was their regular pianist. That's the same piano that can be seen in that Columbia orchestra picture that I use so often. The slightly syncopation is still very odd, even if it is Issler, it's still odd to her him try it out. 

The one thing that made me really think it was Hylands on "Uncle Jefferson" was that strange twelfth chord thing the the final chord. Really take a few listens to that solo at the end, it's very strange. It pretty much sounds like a stiff Fred Hylands, that must be the way to describe Issler's playing. One thing is for sure, Issler is not on this one here:
http://cylinders.library.ucsb.edu/search.php?queryType=@attr+1=1020&num=1&start=1&query=cylinder8436
We know that this one is Hylands of course. That is exactly the style that they were describing in The Phonoscope, that is what they were advertising here:

"Mr. Hyland's[typo] rag-time piano accompaniment..."
That's right. 
When that was said, no more Issler(well, for the time being, he came back soon...). Since that picture above of George W. Johnson with Issler was taken in 1897, and this was taken in later 1897:

it seems that the transition was made in that timeframe. We knew that was true, but these two pictures say a lot just being what they are. By the way, it must be noted that these two pictures were listed on the same page in the July 1898 issue of The Phonoscope.  One certainly is older than the other here. 
I still hope to find out what happened to the studio genius Edward Issler, and it hope it wasn't something awful, as he certainly deserves recognition for the amazing studio work he did. I hope that Columbia still employed Issler after his orchestra was dropped from their catalog, as he certainly needed it, and Hylands certainly needed a few days off here and there...

Hope you enjoyed this! 

The trial of George W. Johnson, and the Doings of his fellows

We know very well of this great black man, and of the struggle he had to have some credibility among a bevy of white recording artists in the 1890's. Johnson had a fascinating past, one that was overlooked by everyone that he worked with at the Columbia and Edison studios. With this ignorance of his hardship, his fellows treated him as they would any man of colour in that time. Most of them did, of course, we know that Len Spencer did the least he could to help out this man, not regarding his race as any sort of contribution to any disadvantage or hard luck he happened to have. Spencer was a die-hard republican(this is in the late-1890's mind you!), and believed in the mindset and social justice of Abraham Lincoln, which fared well when befriending Johnson. This must have been one of the reasons that the two stuck together for so many years. 

Spencer did justice to any unequal or wrong situation, and tried his best to change anything that could be so. This may have been so when Johnson was involved in a huge Columbia scandal in 1899. 




In December, 1899, George W. Johnson, or "The Whistling Coon", was accused of murdering his possibly mulatto wife(maybe girl-friend? this is still unconfirmed...), and the record companies after hearing of this stepped in quivering from the stress and worry of the amount of money that would have been lost. Victor Emerson went absolutely mad over learning of this, and he scrambled to raise a fund and start a following for the seemingly obvious innocence of Johnson. The case opened on December 20, 1899, amid a courtroom full of just over 100, and half of them being Columbia associates and studio artists, on the side of the innocence of Johnson. The prosecutor, John Cowan, was up for an extremely powerful standing of almost all the staff at Columbia, as Columbia had been in numerous risky legal battles before then, and Emerson threw in an immense pile of money, $2,000 in fact, from all sorts of national sources (most of them being Columbia dealers). Johnson had been in some trouble before this very case however, as he was accused of pushing his wife out a second story window and badly injuring her in early 1898, but he went free to go after that one, this was reported as a joke in the Our Tattler section in the February, 1898 issue of The Phonoscope:

This is undoubtedly Johnson that they are referring to here, as to according  the many reports in the local papers about this case. Though, as we know from The Phonoscope , they all acted as this was a joke. It's odd to think though that Johnson's name was not at all mentioned, though the titles listed can give some obvious connotations to those who read this magazine. This was really the first of the suspicion that began to surround Johnson, as the woman he was living with since 1896, Roskin Stuart, was always said to have been a wild and absolutely mad woman, who was an awful drunkard, and would often fight Johnson. One thing is for sure about their relationship, is that they often quarreled, and it often got violent, regardless of which one of them was drunk, though more often it would be Stuart. Johnson was a hard drinker too, regardless of what Vic Emerson stated, which was this: 

Johnson was always sober, industrious, and gentlemanly, and nobody believed that Johnson would do it on account of the risk involved. 

That may be Vic Emerson himself stating that, but that still doesn't sway my feelings completely, as Len Spencer, when he was a Lyceum owner, stated that Johnson was a man who liked to drink, and that he didn't give him too much money, as he would be absent from his place as the doorman for almost a week ofttimes. Len Spencer's account has a little more credibility in this case, as Spencer housed the man for several years, not just seeing him a few times during weekdays like Emerson did. Spencer got to know Johnson much better than Emerson, and he had known him for longer. 




When came this second case around the end of 1899, all of Columbia were in a frenzy, digging around for support for Johnson to be surely declared innocent. Of those who testified included Lena Small, one of Johnson's upstairs neighbors, who painted a clear picture of a quarrel only of words, and said that they often fought, as though it was something they had all tired of. Officer Michael McManus was then called up, as he was an officer of whom Johnson approached on the afternoon of the day after. McManus stated that Johnson had approached him and told the officer that she came home drunk at 2am, and when he awoke at 6, he laid her down on the sofa where she was when the officer came to investigate. McManus stated that Johnson told him she was out with some of her friends and got into a fight with them, which explained the blood seeping from her mouth, the hatpin strike, and the awfully dark bruises all over her. McManus suspected something strange, so he then arrested Johnson and "rang up an ambulance".The next up was another neighbor who was Hattie Thomas, who stated that she spoke with Johnson not long after the supposed battle, Johnson told her that both of them were drunk, more so was Stuart though, and that she ought to take a look at her. She stated that she yelled, "This woman is dying!" and Johnson replied, "Do you think so?" she replied, "Yes! And you had better call a doctor!" 
Madame Thomas then continued onward to say that Stuart was not a very kind person, which fits the previous descriptions of her. 
The next up was William Beveridge, who was a doctor at the hospital where Stuart was at last admitted into. Beveridge spoke of more specifics to her injuries, which is to be expected, and they were pretty much identical to those described before. One item pointed out before then was that Stuart was heard singing at around 8am the morning after, which conflicted with the prosecutor's statements before. This suggested much more in the case, but no one was exactly sure what it said then. The defender, Edward Hymes, by this time moved for acquittal, and from there, much of the case remained a mystery. 

It is a little odd that Johnson did not testify(it was suggested by the defense though), nor did any of his recording friends, or his manager, to give a candid viewpoint of Johnson. Though, if this were to happen, much of the statements would have been biased, as much of the case already was, even without this. 

This whole case has often seemed a little slimy to me, for many reasons, as one of these is the fact that a man by the name of Rollin C. Wooster was one of the non-testifying attorneys in this battle. What might be the significance of this? Well, I immediately thought the date that this all happened was a very turbulent time already for much of Columbia's staff, as Hylands was running his famed publishing firm, involving pretty much everyone at Columbia----

including...Rollin C. Wooster. 

That fact immediately made me boil over with suspicion that something was not right here. Hylands did not first mention Wooster, but now I understand why he hired him for the firm...as Wooster was a lawyer, and a good one who had stood by Columbia for years and had a fantastic reputation with Emerson and Master Easton. When Hylands learned of this happening, he must have had an absolute break-down, so nervous he couldn't think straight, as Johnson was helping his music sell, and getting him plenty of money. Hylands probably had a long and very serious talk with Wooster about him diving into this case and learning everything he could about it. Since Hylands worked behind Johnson, he, probably gathered information and eavesdropped in on any sort of talk about Johnson, from either his own mouth, or others. Wooster studied the case to death, and by the day of trial, he and Hylands went to the court stone-faced, or just Wooster, to later report back to Hylands. It could have really worked either way. 
Though in the book I got all of this from Lost Sounds, Tim Brooks did not at all mention the significance of Wooster being involved, other than he was an attorney for Columbia, nothing about his silent and somewhat secretive partnership with pianist Fred Hylands. Vic Emerson probably spread the word around to everyone to throw in some money to the mass that was used to get a very firm and sure defense in the court, and most of the staff threw money in, knowing of the case in full from Rollin Wooster and Fred Hylands, whatever it actually happened to be, guilty or innocent. 

Len Spencer probably turned down throwing any money into the pit. Why? Well, Spencer was the only one who knew how to create justice within this mess of a case, who was on Columbia's staff and in Hylands, Spencer and Yeager. No matter the case's actual events, he probably turned down the gamble that this most certainly was. Every time that the prosecution entered any sort of heated or somewhat assumed realms, objections were stated, and from everything reported not a bad word was stated of Johnson. That really is strange to consider, since in the prior case, the Columbia staff didn't back him there, and the case was acquitted for the same reason, lack of evidence. 
There's so many ideas that go into the story of this case, and it's ever more complicated, more so than Tim Brooks analyzed in Lost Sounds, as if you know the backstory of Rollin Wooster, and what half the staff had their hands in when the case came through in December of 1899, it complicates the tale ten fold. This also adds more under-the-table deals in money, and choosing of the defense. It must be noted, that Columbia's management was a gang of amazingly good lawyers and attorneys, as Columbia's own founder was a skilled lawyer, Edward Easton. Columbia was created for things like this, and Easton knew something like this was going to happen soon, as he saw the whole Russell Hunting case if 1896 go by, though that was much more obvious, and he was clearly guilty there. 


Personally, I believe that Johnson was guilty. I don't mean to make this a racial matter by any means, and many of the Columbia management thought the same, in the sense of the legality that is. They still called Johnson, "a good coon"(from a Rollin Wooster statement after the case about Johnson), but that is all mush. They beloved Johnson for being a harmless man when sober, which was in the studio most of the time(that's when everyone saw him!), for not complaining about anything, and making them tons of money. They could not replace Johnson, as his talent was one of a kind, and hiring another whistling black man like him if proclaimed guilty was never going to happen. All of his fellow Columbians knew he was guilty, and were all very good at keeping this hidden. It was one of Columbia's dirty secrets. Vic Emerson wouldn't say anything, Dan Quinn, or anyone else that was later interviewed. Dan Quinn probably knew about it, but he was another who wouldn't have thrown any money in. Spencer was for women's rights, and wouldn't throw money in for a man who supposedly murdered two women. Quinn wouldn't do it for the firm belief he had in temperance, and alcohol was the cause of both incidents, knowing this would have Quinn turn away immediately. 
Johnson has a sort of personal life that I have come to believe Fred Hylands led. Well, in the sense that Johnson would come into the studio sober,  kind, and amiable, he would drink some throughout the day, still remaining pretty jovial and well-adjusted. But, by the recording day's end, would go out and drink, and become a completely different person. He would be moody, truthful, and violent. This would especially work in Johnson's case since he had been having many problems with Roskin Stuart since 1896, and by 1899, would have at last had enough of it, and in a rage would have yelled at her and beaten her once more. He had been indicated to have beaten her before then as well, furthering the case. 

This whole affiliation with Rollin Wooster and the Murder trial of George W. Johnson might have been another contribution as to why Fred Hylands was refused to be mentioned by Jim Walsh. I had always wondered about some of the other artists having their hands in this mess, and now it seems Fred Hylands contributed to this capitalistic evil. 

It must be noted, that Hylands may have thrown in a wad of cash for the innocence of Johnson, though he obviously was one who would call Johnson, 

"He's an all-right nigger." 
Being one of the founders of the White Rats Actors' union can say everything in that notion. 


**This case is still widely debated now, and most record collectors and music history scholars have conflicting opinions as to whether Johnson was guilty or innocent. The majority of scholars who have studied this case believe he was innocent, as sticking to the more easily written and stated evidence presented. You may think what you want, just do some deep digging into the case first before you have a theory. You may disagree with my argument, and stand on whatever you stand on here.**

H ope you enjoyed this!