The rugged monologuist George Graham was a fascinating and mysterious character of the early Gramophone and phonograph. The studio engineers never dared to ask him about his life, and his drunkenness kept him from a straight mind and means. So in that, he wouldn't tell them anything anyway! It's slightly unfortunate, as Graham was a reasonably handsome guy who had a voice that had that something that keeps one wanting to hear him more. He had a very Romantic Era look to him, with that queer hairstyle of his, long bent nose, and Dan W. Quinn-looking mouth. He must have been a delightful picturesque character in profile, as I sketched him so here:
Very dashing indeed!
But that's the only thing that's good about him, from the information that has been uncovered about him. All the boys at Berliner and Victor remembered Graham as a terrible drunkard, but a man with a perfectly unexpected voice. He would come in a little drunk most of the time, but then after a little time before the horns, they would have to drag in his stand. Graham to me sounds like he's wasted on almost all of his records. But there are a few exceptions, such as his "Street Fakir"(on Berliner) from 1896 and his untitled monologue from the "Evening With the Minstrels" series of 1903. I'm sure there are more that sound like he's reasonably sober, but those records by him are hard to come-by. I have only heard a handful of his records, and I really want to hear more of them. As I know collectors who have dozens of them. I love that when you listen to Graham, you can easily tell that he's holding the sheet of paper with the handwritten monologue on it and that he's reading off of it, most of the time. This is why he pauses so often and there's an awful lot of awkward silence on his records. I oftentimes ponder with other collectors upon why the record companies kept him for so long, as he would seem like the perfect artist destined for disaster in the studio. It must have been his comedic means and voice that attracted the talent scouts. The managers and engineers often said that their couldn't tell the differences between the artists when they were drunk or sober, but that is almost certainly not true. It's something that can be spotted easily in the way the artists pronounced the words of the songs or if they did at all. I have the feeling that the staff workers who dealt with the artists just didn't give a rap whether they were drunk or not, as long as they made records and got work done. Hell! They could have been carrying a bottle snuff around with them in their coat pocket and the engineers still wouldn't care!(haha! like Fred Hylands probably!)
We as record geeks can only guess what these eccentric artists did while the managers had their backs turned on them. Some were more risky than other's I'm sure. Some one like Len Spencer would be at the top of my risky guesses. I know the man was wild and his surviving friends said so(thank you Dan Quinn, Ada Jones, and Russell Hunting!). Other than Russell Hunting pretty much taking the prize for risky with his big cylinder bust of 1896 that is. Graham just did what he did, and what he was best at was speaking loud and drinking himself sick. The staff at Berliner and Victor couldn't change his ways, even if they might have formulated plans, they wouldn't want to bother him, as I'm sure he got snappy when he was loaded(as can be hinted at on his records). I would love to hear more about him and learn his story, where he came from, what he did before being an eccentric Washington Street fakir, and how long he lived(even though I'm thinking he didn't live to be over 55). Even with hopes for more information on him, it may never come upon us record geeks, only because the engineers and staff wouldn't dare to bother him when he was wasted, which was most of the time in the studio. If only the man spoke well...
I hope you enjoyed this!
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