Detailing research and Arthur Pryor

Okay...who did it?

Who's been putting up all the less-than mediocre information on all these early recording stars? A few days ago I went online to dig up a picture of Charles P. Lowe for a friend,and for some reason I stumbled upon this picture:

The nice quality and the fact that it was more of the image than I had seen before caught my eye. But that's not all, the picture led me to a wikipedia page on Issler's orchestra. Okay, I would love to help someone out to get all of the information that I (with help)recently uncovered about Issler, including the basics. I don't want to mess with wikipedia, I find it important to keep independent research on its own, not in a place where it is less-than trusted. Independent researchers have much power, and I intend to keep it that way. However, the only time that I would step in, would be a time like now, since someone took many of my cropped images(from this blog!) and used them to accompany the less-than-mediocre articles on these giants like Len Spencer, Issler, and John Yorke AtLee. I am glad to see some of my research being used out there, but I don't like to see it misinterpreted and not used correctly. 

I promise to stay away from the generic(wikipedia), since that will take me out of this blog, and will frontload too much information to people looking for generic(BUT ACCURATE) information. 
I don't know who you are who did it, but stop taking pictures from here and writing less-than-mediocre articles about the earliest recording stars, and all I have to say is...

STAY AWAY FROM HYLANDS.

Let me handle that subject. I intend to use the research I have conducted, and make it accessible to everyone who is curious, but I don't like to see mediocre articles with my research either debunked or misinterpreted. 
I still think it's important to spread the word about Edward Issler though, since he is still very unknown in the record collecting world. Issler really should be one of the most important figures in the early recording world, and here's why this is evident:

-He was the first studio pianist there ever was(the first studio musician for that matter)
I'm sure the man himself would find it absolutely disgusting and depressing that no one remembers his work, which, at first glance seems an endless list. Of course, it will forever be a shame that Walsh didn't go find him, since Issler lived into the 1940's, and was still working into the 1930's. Though it may be evident that he was probably the most bitter old man, he still would have been the best source ever about the earliest days of early recording. 

-he knew literally everyone
This is the one reason why interviewing these studio musicians(not soloists) would  have been the most interesting and productive troves of information anywhere. Issler particularly knew everyone, since he worked for Edison , North American, U.S., and later Columbia the four earliest companies that were competitors. Luckily, Issler had the luck of working for all of them and essential times in their histories. So with that, he would have stories about everyone from Old man Edison to Fred Hylands to young Ada Jones. Think about it, think about all the people he would have known, in the recording studio and not. 

It's very hard to fathom at this point why Issler is forgotten, as he was all over catalogs, and his name was listed all over the place on actual ledgers. 

Look at that. There he is. Not only is he listed as a SOLO PIANIST but also as the accompanist for his clarinetist Willie Tuson. In this early book of ledgers, Issler is listed on almost every page doing something. This is why Issler is essential to studying the earliest recordings, in no matter what context, his name ought to show up almost anywhere. I hope to get to the point where we all know something about Issler and know how long he lived, since that is still a dead end when looking him up. Issler is still pretty mysterious to me, and I don't particularly know that much about him, though it may seem otherwise. 

We know he lived into the early 1940's, and would have been around 90 when he died, which is spectacular really. We still don't know what his relationship with Columbia was like, or any record company for that matter. 

Now I have a bunch of theories as to why he was kicked out of Columbia, or whatever they did. Of course, he may have been well used to how he was treated in the earliest days at Edison and North American, so when the business became much bigger and was becoming something very different, Issler must not have liked how he was becoming more of a wage slave than an orchestra leader. The way that Columbia treated their artists in the late brown wax era was less than mediocre, and this is very clear when examining the treatment of the studio musicians. He was used to being one of the sole managers of the studio, he was used to having much more power over the recording process. This couldn't have gone over well with the strict Emerson's. 

That is the face of Columbia's evil. 

He looks relatively harmless...Nope. 

I'm sure stubborn old Issler couldn't get along with Emerson. Even if Emerson was Issler's manager at U.S. from 1893 to 1896, Issler probably had enough of Emerson by 1898. His disappointment in Columbia must have been exacerbated by Hylands replacing him, who wasn't at all to the musical level that Issler was. Issler was likely the type similar to Hylands in the way that he was not only stubborn, but also intense and strident when it came to negotiations with booking agents and managers. Of course, under Emerson's rule, that wouldn't bode well. Emerson was stubborn and blunt, as we know from accounts of his former employees. Whatever they did with Issler, his recording stopped around 1899. And I really think more people should know about Issler, even if he's still mysterious and only a shadow of a figure in the history of early recording. 

Now to move to something else. 

recently, I have been digging into Arthur Pryor's rags, and I have come to a conclusion. Pryor should be regarded as one of the classic rag composers, on the same level as someone like Tom Turpin. I know that's saying an awful lot, but we often just think of Pryor on the context of his trombone playing. 

we often think of his amazing abilities that still astound trombonists and brass players today. Such as this record:

http://www.loc.gov/jukebox/recordings/detail/id/8702

Amazing. 

All of his solos bring a voice to the trombone that has never been replicated since then. 

There's three of the Sousa band guys, with Pryor at the far right. 

That picture was likely taken in 1893 while they were on their tour at the World's Fair in Chicago. All of them look very young, Pryor would have been 22-23 in that picture. When we look past the pretty face and the blond hair, Pryor was a fantastic Rag-Time composer. 

Underrated is the perfect word to describe his Rag-Time pieces. We need to keep in mind that he had a style that was a mix of the two most essential regional styles of early Rag-Time. In this case, I am referring to Missouri and Indiana style. Missouri is where Pryor came from, so he had the foundation of one of the most important Rag-Tim communities from the start. Later when he had just joined the Sousa band in 1892, he was destined to pick up interesting styles and sounds, and that's exactly what he did. After playing tunes like "Banjo Twang"(the Sousa band is mentioned on the cover of that piece) at the World's Fair, Pryor by the mid-1890's had the right foundation for a great rag composer. This foundation made his Rag style very strange while at the same time very interesting and varied. When we look at his published pieces, we can see they are very different from most of the rags we see out there, and when you get right down to it, his style sounds more like a primitive type of Joplin's style mashed together with Frank P. Banta's style. The thing about his style that is most interesting is how he often put the syncopated rhythm in the bass notes almost as much as in the treble. 

His most outstanding rag can be hard to determine, but my favourites of his are his "Frozen Bill Rag" and "Razzazza Mazzazza". He wrote quite a few more rags, and some of us Rag-Time sheet music collectors are still digging ones up, which is a good sign that there's more to hear of Pryor's musical genius. of course, I haven't said anything about his arrangements yet. That's a whole other thing to delve into, since he was just like Fred Hager, who left hundreds of arrangements without his name on them, but we have outstanding records to learn from. 

Pryor's band was hard to beat in terms of sound and talent, since unlike most of the studio orchestras from 1895 to 1915, I cannot find a single bad take by Pryor, or his band too. They seemed like the indestructible band, and Pryor was lucky to have inherited some of the best possible musicians for his group. 

As I have slowly been becoming obsessed with Pryor, I am trying to decide on a seminar topic for WCRF next year, since the earlier I have an idea the better in this case. With this new found affinity for Pryor has begun manifestation, Pryor is most certainly an option for a seminar. Of course, I will stick to more of what people don't usually focus on with him, his Rags and arrangements. 

Something that we can notice in his trombone playing that corresponds with his rags, is how he had that same kind of smooth but also pushy style that Fred Hylands had, which is a strange connection to make, but makes sense if you think about it. Pryor was on the outside of the recording studio constantly, much like Fred Hager, so we can be assured that Pryor took from his fellow studio bums(that being Banta and Hylands, and even Justin Ring). We are lucky to be able to see what he took from them, as even rags like Banta's "Ragged William" sound like some of Pryor's rags. 

take a listen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxWWOq9CJIM

Banta's style was pretty similar to Pryor's, in the way that both their styles were naturally manifested.

what the %$#* does that mean?

(naturally manifested)

In this case it means that both of them had a style that was not strictly taught and fostered by traditional methods. They were naturally drawn to their styles by high musical abilities, like perfect pitch and perfect rhythm. We know Banta had perfect pitch(thanks Dan Quinn!), though we can't say for sure whether Pryor had either of those things, it's at least likely one of them had him. These two studio ramblers were not really that different, it's just that one(Banta) was confined to the studio for more reasons than just being contracted. Banta had the awful curse of being weakly built and having asthma, so there's another(more horrific and depressing) reason Banta seems to many of us like he was chained up to the studios. Pryor was more of a virtuoso of course, and had the Sousa band and his own to manage and go give frequent concerts, unlike Banta who didn't really do too much outside orchestra work(though he did do some). 

Anyway, I could go on and on, it seems my next post is beginning to take shape after comparing Hager with Pryor, and adding Banta in there. really get into some Arthur Pryor if you can, nothing is bad, ever, it's shocking really. 

Hope you enjoyed this! Sorry posts have become out of whack in frequency...

Delving into Hunting, and The Phonogram

This is just one of many great photographs presented amid the pages of The Phonogram. (This picture is now my favourite one of Hunting!)

Just within the last two days, the entire set of editions of The Phonogram were put up on the Internet Archive(or Archive.org), and it has made for some great time searching around in its pages. Now I'll admit truthfully, that it is not nearly as fun to read as The Phonoscope, but it's still interesting, since it's much earlier on in the business, when much of the action didn't happen yet. It began in a very somewhat too young and uneventful time in a sense. It was begun so early, that there wasn't too much of the infamous craziness going on yet. Hunting began The Phonoscope, at a perfect time, and not a time could have been better. Now that I have the chance to go through The Phonogram, it seems that Hunting's purpose with beginning The Phonoscope, was not exactly the most serious of matters. He began it for the same reason of The Phonogram, but he created a comical and rude spin-off in a way to it. It was more so this way toward the beginning of its existence rather than when 1900 neared closer. Hunting's intentions were much less serious than those who ran The Phonogram, and it seems clear by the very existence of the Our Tattler section that always included some of the funniest things having to do with the late-1890's recording business. That column is where we get these sections:

(still don't exactly know that that means...)

still funny. 

I like that Hunting found this funny, and the rest of The Phonoscope people did too. 

Most of the sections I use often are from the Our Tattler section, and it's the most questionable of these sections from The Phonoscope, only because they are often little items of gossip and the official so-called "scandal-sheet" of the magazine. Items of gossip are not always to be fully trusted, though the fact that Hunting was behind most of it until late-1898 gives credit up to that point, he was a better insider to have been writing about this than some of his friends. There was none of this in The Phonogram, which strangely seems Edison/North American biased, as we know very well that The Phonoscope was Columbia-biased, though there were many articles and such on old man Edison. Those boys at The Phonoscope did portray Edison not the nicest ways, aside from easily getting across his genius with the Phonograph and the electric light. The Phonoscope people were the kinds who would go for Tesla in the Edison vs. Tesla debate over AC and DC electricity. 

From what I've gathered in The Phonogram, it seems more like a magazine for the salesmen and managers of record companies rather than the group of recording stars themselves. It didn't have all of the great gossip and stories that we all love The Phonoscope for, and it ended so early on that it missed all of the good stuff that Hunting was around to see and write about. 

Had The Phonogram gone a year or two longer, they probably would have taken back all of the praise they gave Hunting in 1892, as they didn't see their finish as arcade owners with Hunting's "experimental" records. By that, I mean all of his infamous smut cylinders. They would have freaked out the same way that all of the "Columbia clan" did when the Johnson murder trial befell them. The first scandal of the business was essentially Hunting's smut cylinders, as before that there was the fall of North American, but that wasn't a scandal at all, it was just two major companies sparring over patents, which happened all the time, so that wasn't really a big deal. It just ended a very innovative and unique early record company, that's all. Hunting's scandal was the failure of the slot machine owners, but his moment of glory as Anthony Comstock's men scrambled for every last one of the records. All the records were destroyed during the trial and while he was in prison, so there wasn't much he could do about it. This scandal practically ended the slot machine age for the phonograph, even though plenty of phonograph parlors existed after the fact, they were more likely owned by recording stars or exhibitioners, not saloonkeepers and enthusiasts like they used to be. 

Take for example Roger Harding's phonograph parlor, which was clearly advertised in The Phonoscope in 1897, which was one of many places where the "clan" could gather, and where Harding could get credit for his "sales commission" that began at Columbia in 1898. I don't think I need to explain that, as it is pretty much what it sounds to be. 

From reading through The Phonogram, it seems that John Yorke AtLee was a much more prominent and popular recording star than previously thought. I knew that he was popular in the early days, and remained as such into the late-1890's, but the amount of writing on him in The Phonogram really says a lot about how important they all thought he was. 

Here's two of the same picture from The Phonogram:

Here's the original, sorry it wasn't copied very well...

There ya go, an actual photograph of AtLee!

Here's an etching of the same photograph:

Now you can inadvertently see it better. 

Well, he still had the best whiskers at Columbia, without doubt.

He looks more like a policeman than a recording star! Those are the most civil war-era looking whiskers I've seen. The picture of him is probably from c.1888-1890. AtLee was prided by Columbia more so than Edward Issler and Spencer were in 1895-1897, which is really saying a lot. He and the U. S. Marine band were really what Columbia was advertising in 1889 to 1892, all of the famous recording stars was know well came a little later, though a few of them are mentioned inThe Phonogram. Spencer, Denny, Gaskin, Schweinfest, Issler, and Hunting were all advertised in The Phonogram in 1892, which makes sense, but it seems a little early for Spencer to be specifically advertised as a soloist, since there was practically nothing on him in that magazine in 1891, and at that time, he was using pseudonyms for the most part, and was working in Issler's orchestra. Maybe they were mentioning that he was an Issler worker, since that's where most of us hear him before 1896. If you are not entirely aware of this, here are a few examples:

"March of the Marines" with Spencer announcing and playing bells!

"Wang Gavotte" played a little fast, but also with a Spencer announcement

a fantastic recording of "Dancing on the Housetops" with a strange Spencer announcement

One thing I don't think I've noted about "Dancing on the Housetops", is that it's genuinely syncopated, which is very strange for a schottische of the early 1890's that isn't a "danse de negres"(as Gottschalk's music was called). It is actually a very good and well-hidden piece of early Rag-Time. It was much more socially acceptable in this case. Since this is the oldest one I know of, and it has the syncopation, that makes it inadvertently an early piece of Rag-Time. I'm sure Issler would not like to hear that. 

Well, I will have more onThe Phonogram within the next few days, but there's not really too much to take away from it, since it's so early on and not full of charming gossip. I hate to like Hunting for this, but you can't go wrong with his points made inThe Phonoscope.

Hope you enjoyed this! 

Character Studies---Byron G. Harlan(1861-1936)

I don't really understand why I neglect to speak about Byron Harlan very much anymore(and yes, I will do a post on Arthur Collins!) He had a very long an interesting story, that many record historians are now starting to examine more closely, and have found some small things that were bigger roles in his life than previously thought. Harlan was a kind "country-yap" as many would have called him, with a wonderful voice and a great sense of mimicry. He was a professionally trained singer who originally learned to sing opera back in 1880's Chicago. After getting very well-trained vocally and musically, he took these skills with him when he began to tour around in vaudeville troupes and light opera companies. By 1892, he was a very popular singer, at that time he was under the famous Charles Hoyt, doing a few shows here and there on Broadway. By 1895, he was a theatrical director and ran his own company that functioned as a vaudeville group and a minstrel show. Harlan was at each of these performances playing some important role, either singing, or being the "middle-man" of the minstrel show. By 1897, he was a success, doing several shows a week in varying east coast theaters. In 1898, Harlan was performing solo at many popular stages, from Huber's to Pastor's theater. This was the year that he met all the famous recording stars, which in many ways must have been completely by accident. He met Fred Hylands, Len Spencer, Burt Green, Ada Jones, and a handful more. This is really when they start to consider him for hire at Columbia. For some reason, this never happened when it should have, even though Hylands proudly advertised Harlan on covers of his sheet music in 1899(hmm...). It was the boys at Edison that found him and took him in first, they were quicker to make up their minds than Hylands and his crew. Since Edison hired him first, Columbia held back to take him until 1901.  He was an immediate hit with Mr. Edison himself, as for some reason, Walter Miller liked Harlan so much, that he must have told "the old man" that he would enjoy to have Harlan sing at his very exclusive dinner parties. Edison did just that, and invited Harlan to many of these exclusive gatherings, which in many ways, gave Harlan a sort of authority over many of the other artists coming in, like Arthur Collins, Harry MacDonough, Will F. Denny, Frank P. Banta, and most of the regulars at that time. Edison was on close terms with Harlan until Edison died in the early 30's. Harlan was said to have been one of the few who could actually call Edison "Tom" in his presence, and that's saying a whole lot. When Columbia hired Harlan in 1901, he wasn't an immediate success with them, as Hylands liked him, but not really the rest of the staff. It wasn't until 1902 that he really started to gain some ground, as when Arthur Collins proved he had had enough of Joseph Natus, that sparked an even better idea for the Victor and Edison people. Collins and Harlan was finally created in October of 1902, by the staff at Victor. When this duo was created, it started a whole now chapter in Harlan's life, as he was no longer dealing with everyone around him, it was then Collins that he would be dealing with for the next twenty-three years. 

Harlan was an interesting character in the studio, much to the likeness of Fred Hylands. He and Fred seemed like two peas in a pod, even if Hylands was just his accompanist at Columbia only. He owned the room when he entered it, whether it be Columbia or Edison, or even Victor, but this was before Arthur Collins. When Arthur Collins came along, Harlan could not own the room any longer. Collins and Harlan with Fred Hylands was really a very strong and fun group to witness at Columbia, as they knew Hylands like a book, and they practically knew all the cues he would give, even if they didn't really know what he was trying to play. It was really comical, as half the time, Hylands was louder than Collins and Harlan. If they had known it, they both would have thrown Hylands out. But when those sessions were on, it was three ego powerhouses in one, so whoever had the most power was able to shine through the best, and for some reason, Hylands was able to rule over Collins and Harlan sometimes. And he was just the piano player! It must have broken Harlan's heart to hear that Hylands was dropped from Columbia's staff in later 1905, but that was when Collins and Harlan was really a big money-making asset for the record companies. It was really a great idea, as they were both not really outstanding solo artists before 1901, so putting them together made them even stronger singers. It worked invariably. The record buyers loved their harmonization, and their wonderful vaudeville-style sketches on many of the records. Harlan was still a successful solo artist, making numerous records for Victor, Columbia, Zon-O-Phone, Leeds, and Edison. He remained just as popular as Collins, even though Collins was singing all that "Ragtime" and "Coon songs". Harlan was singing all those pretty sentimental songs, and occasionally doing a "rube'' sketch with Frank Stanley. He and Frank Stanley were also a popular duo, as they blended very well, and Stanley was a much more modest fellow to cool the ego factor in the recording rooms. By 1908, Collins and Harlan were a common name on records, just as much as Len Spencer's was ten years before. They were recording all the Rag-Time, popular songs, and occasionally an older minstrel number. Harlan was a seemingly nice and amiable fellow, but when he worked with Collins, it was a little different. Harlan was very particular about things, but so was Collins, so many small conflicts came and went. They argued about songs they wanted to do sometimes, only one argument has been documented in full, but it is certain that they had many more of them along the way. Collins openly stated that he was the more important member of the duo, and that did not stand well with Harlan, as Harlan thought a similar way about this role, even though they were both equally popular no matter where year it was in their partnership. If their popularity was down, both their careers would suffer, if their popularity was up, they would both share the success. There was no better member other duo, so all of that conflict was useless. By the mid-teen's however, they were dropping in popularity, as they were singers who had been in the business since the late-1890's, and it was very rare for 1890's recording stars to remain popular in the business for twenty years. They had achieved this, as by 1922, they were still making records as Collins and Harlan, even if they were not really that popular by 1917. Edison's staff just couldn't let them go, as Mr. Edison still really liked them as people and recording artists. Harlan was no longer a popular artist by 1924, so he only made records occasionally, as he had the money from recording to enjoy his semi-retirement. Collins was gone by 1925, taking his wealth with him, and moved out to Florida. Harlan still had to work sometimes, as he was not really as great with his money. Harlan had never really been so great with his money, and it didn't help that he was a close friend of Fred Hylands' for so many years(that was usually something that seemed great when they knew him, but later it would come back to bite them). Collins knew that Harlan wasn't good with his money, and that must have contributed to why he refused to help him when the Crash of 1929 struck, other than just not wanting to have anything to do with the recording business in his retirement.  Harlan was a broken mess in the 1930's, living in a terrible old house in West Orange, NJ, that Jim Walsh once described as a terrible "run-down" old place that was certainly miserable. Harlan loved recalling those old recording days, but he felt that not a soul cared about those old names recording companies anymore, so this is why not much information came out of those letters from Harlan to Walsh in the early 30's. It's a sad ending to a long and fascinating story, but he died in September of 1936, broke, leaving his daughter and wife. 

His wife Ethel did indeed give a fair amount of information to Walsh in the 1940's, and that is where much of the information about him came from, I do not know what happened to his daughter, but she did live a long time as far as I know. 

I hope you enjoyed this!

Character Studies---Frank P. Banta(1870-1903)

Frank P. Banta, the silent piano man of Edison's company. He was a very hard worker, who cared very greatly about the quality of the records he was on, and wanted to be known as Edison's pianist. 

He did indeed achieve this goal, as to-day, he is the most well-known accompanist on records of the acoustic era. When record collectors hear Rag-Time piano behind any singer on a Victor, Edison cylinder, or even sometimes Columbia records, they immediately turn to Banta. Without considering the full evidence or facts, they turn to Banta, as he was everywhere on Victor records and Edison cylinders. This is true, but he was never on Columbia records---ever, period. This is something that needs to be known by record collectors who think it's always Banta who played the Rag-Time, which is partially true. Banta did indeed play wonderful Rag-Time, and he was a better overall musician than Fred Hylands. 

Mr. Banta was a quiet and solemn worker. He never had the means to complain about the obviously terrible working conditions he endured at Edison. The Conditions in which Fred Hylands worked were much better than the ones that Banta worked. Somehow, having Columbia stationed in an office building made working conditions better. Banta had to endure the rough and unsanitary world of working under old man Edison and Walter Miller. He came in every morning at about 8, with a case full of music, and dressed very modestly. He never wore the finest clothes, but he certainly had money, and was good with that money he had. He hid his alcohol and drugs deep in his case, so not even the nitpicky Walter Miller could find them if he dug through the case. He always had a nasty cough, and with that, he always had a rag with him to quiet himself as best he could. He enjoyed working with the singers and instrumentalists, and had some laughs with them here and there throughout the days. He was a very kind a soulful man, who had the easiest temper and personality to deal with of all the recording stars. He would always take that long trip back home each evening half walking, and half in a cab, which was one of the ways he kept to that slim figure of his. Many of the Edison staff wondered what the man was really like, as his piano playing was light and airy, even if he was playing rather "rough" Rag-Time behind some singers. The staff had rumours about him spread around, such as things related to him possibly being a Jew, and other things that would get him kicked out had Old man Edison found out himself. He was too good of a man for the manager to fire him, and he never caused any trouble or harm. Since he was always quiet, he wasn't really a big name on their staff, and other pianists under Edison, Fred Bachman and Albert Benzler, found him to be too meek on the piano, and that he wasn't ever meant to be a Rag-Time pianist. Banta was a silent and "behind-the-scenes" figure in the late-1890's at Edison, as well as Victor. He was a popular accompanist in vaudeville and for popular instrumentalists, not as popular as Fred Hylands and Burt Green, but to some degree, he was a better pianist. Banta's hands were not too long, probably able to just reach a tenth, and wasn't really a comical sight to watch when he played. When he played, he looked very intense, focused, and serious. Even when he played Rag-Time, his demeanor still had this feeling to it. When he played something gentle and slow, that was what he looked like, and his expression was still serious, but full of soul. He was easy to work with, and this is why all the instrumentalists liked him so much, as they wouldn't ever have to argue with him, unlike Fred Hylands(where the musicians would sometimes argue with him!). This easiness with him was the main reason why Vess Ossman liked him so much, and is why he stayed with him for so many years. Banta was always a worrysome character for the other staff members however, as he was so slight in figure, constantly had that horrible cough, and wasn't vocal with his true feelings about working at Edison. It worried some of the staff members occasionally, not all the time, but a select few would feel the need to chat with him kindly for recognitions that he was all-right. It took a while for Banta to really be known by the record buyers that he was a regular pianist at Edison, and that he was even playing sometimes. His playing was still quiet and light, which was unfortunate, because it really took away from really hearing him play with all his stylistic details. He very often played in the higher register of the piano, and more often he did this after 1901, why? That is something all the staff could never know. His Ragged style was loved greatly, both at Edison and Victor, and his light and out-of-the-way piano accompaniments were favored by the cornet and banjo players, as they would not need to tell him "BE QUIET!", or tell him to change anything about what he was playing. It wasn't all great that he was a stalwart worker, determined to get as much work done as's he could. This ethic started to get to him in 1902, juggling shows with recording very frequently for Victor and Edison, it began to wear him out much more often. He began to really feel the pain that Fred Hylands had been dealing with for years, Banta just hadn't learned of it earlier because he was healthier, and wasn't as heavy. By 1903, he made his only piano solo, "Violets", which was a beautiful rendition of the popular ballad of the same name. Only six months after this piano solo was made, Banta died of a mixture of all his ailments. He left a seven-year-old son, two year old daughter, and a widowed corset maker. Months after he died, the Edison staff all realised that is was them who forced him to work so much, to the point of where it killed him by the end of 1903. They took the blame and all went to his funeral, leaving a "trail of tears" along the dark march path in the cold of early December. 
Every time his Irish wife Elizabeth (Riley) Banta, heard his record of "Violets" she must have wept every time she heard it. 

I hope you enjoyed this! 

Miller, Easton, and Emerson, the record managers of the 1890's

Walter H. Miller

Victor Emerson

Edward Easton

These three odd men ran two of the biggest record companies of the 1890's, Edison and Columbia. The first chap ran Edison, and the lower two ran Columbia. All three of them had different views on the ways their companies should have operated, from the most conservative to the liberal, their views really shaped all the records that we record nerds hear to-day.

Starting with Walter Miller. Miller was a man who was very much like old man Edison himself, and that must have been why he was selected as the manager of the recording department. It is not exactly known when Miller came into management, but he was there from the very beginning, as early as 1888, as an engineer and session supervisor. Not long after that, Miller was promoted to manager of the recording department, where he would remain until the end of Edison's triumph in the 1920's. Miller was a reasonably conservative manager, and wanted everything to be written down and orderly, so any piece of information could be found at ease. From the very complete surviving records of all their studio activity, it would seem that Miller had his wish granted inevitably. Miller didn't allow for any drugs or alcohol in his studio. If anything was found, he would probably send the person out who had the stuff, and maybe if he was hot, would throw the bottle or stomp out the evidence. Miller and Edison were close in ties, and they oftentimes saw each other to have a laugh or share a good meal. Edison himself even made some records with less-than-appropriate scenarios here and there, such as this one in the first sound file on the page. Edison begins with "Say, Wal'er Miller..."(yes, he barely pronounced the "t" in Walter). This would indicate a substantial friendship between Miller and Edison, so Miller probably intended to go with the shared beliefs and ideals that he and Edison both had, which were, coincidentally, conservative in many ways. They were efficient though, and you can't go wrong with the very complete ledgers. 

Now onto Edward Easton. He was of quite contrast to Walter Miller and Edison, as Easton was the judgemental and forward-thinking one of the recording managers. Easton was always a hard-worker, and very straightforward man, who saw his employees at Columbia as employees, not servants(as that's how Victor Emerson saw it..). He probably examined each new person up for hire on their staff, once they got the "go" from Emerson, they had to get through Easton next. That must have really been where the trouble was. If they could get through Easton, they were certainly going to become a "Regular" there. He must have examined the "specimens"(people up for hire that is) precisely, and probably dug through many of their paper trails for anything disloyal, and for general knowledge of what they did before they decided to work there. He believed in a very open way of recording, with little rules and regulations in the actual studio, and more of those rules in the selling and distributing of the records.  As long as work was getting done every day and evening, the company would go on, as the people he examined were all selected tediously by Easton. He didn't manage the day-to-day workings of the studios, but he came in occasionally to watch over the workings and check in with Emerson. Easton ran the entire thing and got the most profits from all of Columbia's investments and stockholders. This is why Easton was the one who hosted those big parties at the most expensive hotels in New York in 1898 and 1899. Easton remained a shrewd worker and powerful president of Columbia to the year that he died, even after being saved from a terrible attempted suicide in 1908.

Now onto Easton's lower-on-the-totem-pole manager "Vic" Emerson. Every one's favourite manager(sarcastically...). Emerson was a little more bitter and demanding of the staff than Easton, who was not nearly as present in the actual studio activity. Emerson had quite an agenda, always. He demanded the unfathomable amount of takes the artists had to endure every day of each song, and he was the one who worked the house musicians until they wanted to hang themselves. Emerson was an accommodating manager though, as he was the one who allowed all the drugs and drinking in the studio, which is a big plus on the artists' part. Emerson was the one who made all the studio decisions and managed personnel on the recording staff. They all hated Emerson. And from some of the stories I have heard passed down for generations, it' clear that whenever Emerson told an artist what to do, the artist HAD to do what he said, or ELSE. I don't really know what it was he could have done, but I'm assuming the consequences were not to be taken easily. He must have loved his house musicians, and just wanted to hear them thousands of times every time he heard them play a good song. As according to what Dan Quinn said quoting Emerson:

"I wish it were possible for you to sing that song a thousand times."

Yep, that one quote along pretty much sums up all of what Emerson valued in his staff members. He treated them like indentured servants to his own demands, not as the renowned performers they all were. His demands were always unreasonable, and it greatly angered the staff members. He just enjoyed the music, not feeling any sort of empathy for the artists who "served" him every day of the week. Emerson did prove Columbia to be a wild company of lovable eccentrics that the exhibition crowds adored, which meant for more profits for himself and Emerson. Just like the over worked artists, Emerson was one who loved life just as much as one like Len Spencer or Fred Hylands, as this is why Columbia was such a wild place to work in the late-1890's. If only Edison could run his company that way...

I hope you enjoyed this!