Organizing some of Hylands and Professor Burt Green

One thing I really hate to do on this blog is to make things seem to repetitive, and with this, I really hope that speaking so much of Hylands recently hasn't been too much for some of you. This new image of the Columbia studio has really been something that has plagued my thoughts since I found the image. Yes, the night of finding it I even lost some sleep over it. This is what happens folks, those of us who care so much about the most minute of details in this overarching subject matter can lose sleep over just a single image. It's not healthy at all, but it happens. It's just as bad as the amount of work the studio stars we study had to endure during the "round" era. 

Of course, with the discovery of this image, there has been much discussion over who that pianist might be. I've gotten Percy Grainger, Gaisberg, and of course the unknown studio pianist. Everyone who has discussed the image has had differing opinions of who it looks like to them. In many ways, this debate is more intense and important than the glasses debate, because that got settled. 

We know Hylands wore glasses, case dismissed. 

But just like anything related to early Columbia, nothing is that easy. This image is proving to be the hardest of any so far as far as face identification.

Yep. 

Seems to be haunting still, and it will continue to be as such. 

That handsome face seemed to most who I asked too much so to be Hylands, though really if you look at the exhibition picture from 1898, you will see that it's the same face. The only thing that seems to be throwing everyone off is how slim the pianist in the picture is, that's all. Oddly enough, when I was in Missouri back in June, I had a conversation with John Reed-Torres about a similar subject on Hylands. I explained to John that Hylands seems like the type who was slimmer when he was younger, but John couldn't believe it. Now something has come along to prove this point clear to him. This image could very well prove this point. As weird as it seems, I really do think it's Hylands, despite the conflicting opinions received from the image. Only two of  the people asked about this image believed that it was probably Hylands. Luckily, those who thought this were using the artists' logic here, and with that I will explain. 

Being a cartoonist, I study faces all the time, and especially faces of these recording stars. This is an important part of my study of these widely forgotten faces, and luckily, I've studied Hylands' face just a little more than others. This is only because of the fact that we haven't found a decent photograph of him yet. As far as decent, this image is about as good as it gets until we find something better.

 One of the first things I turned to in trying to figure this out was that image of Fred's sister Etta on his music. Using that is actually a better source than some might think at first. 

Now when looking at this image, you can easily see that her lips are exactly the same as those of the pianist in the image:

Same structure. Also, the nose is similar, but not the same. Her profile would look similar in this case. If you really study the image of Etta, you can see that this "unknown pianist" looks related to her, and would therefore be her brother Fred. Her eyes don't look nearly as bright as Fred's because the lighting makes Fred's eyes look bright blue or green, which is not too surprising, since this seems to run in their family yet. Her eyebrows are also a little thicker, which is again interesting to note in terms of differences between them. Much like her brother, Etta was rather tall, but not freakishly tall like Fred. 

Just to put this into perspective, Fred would be a foot taller than me. 

Of course, that's just comparing this wildcard image to something that seems completely unrelated to Columbia and recording. The next step would be to use what we've got in the exhibition picture. 

Really seems strange to go back to this after seeing the other picture...
Now this image was the best of help in solving this mystery, since this was the best example of how Hylands looked before this new image. Of course the one thing that threw everyone off was the fact that the new image is probably from 1897, and that the exhibition picture is dated to September 1898. That's a relatively short period of time. Hmm, it seemed strange to Charlie Judkins when I inquired him of the image, because of this specific point. It seemed strange to both of us that he would gain so much weight in a rather short period of time. But with Hylands, Charlie noted that this seemed to be a pattern with him, something not just coincidental to when he began working at Columbia. Though, it is important to note that this dramatic change came about about the time he began working there, at the lost supposed time that he began, in late-1897. Since this new image is from more likely 1897, that whole notion of him working there that early is finally inching closer to being proven. 


But why would Columbia cause him to change so much in such a short period of time?

Well, it was a mix of many things. The first thing to consider is that he was no longer constantly running around from place to place in a theater. All of that ended when Columbia took him, really think about what he'd be doing all day at Columbia. Not much moving around. Unlike Georgie Emerson or the Spencer's, Hylands would be stuck in his piano chair the whole day for the most part. He'd only be playing for the singers all day, take after take. It's certain that he hadn't had a sort of job before then that was so tiring and stressful, so without a doubt this didn't help his disposition. Stress and lack of sleep really got to him not long after beginning his term at Columbia, and therefore, he gained an unhealthy amount of weight after beginning to work there. It took less than a year for him to be called "the heavyweight pianist" by the Columbia staff. How he had some unfortunate genes if that could get him so quickly...

(a cartoon I did mocking this dramatic change)
With all of this, I will have to go back and re-do my character studies post on Hylands, since this single image changes much of what we know of him, and leads us to more theories and such. The newly redone post will come up within the next few days. 




Now to move to a friend of Hylands'. 

We know of Burt Green as Hylands' "gopher", or sideman under the Hylands Spencer and Yeager venture in 1899 and 1900. When Hylands snatched him by the collar out of the orchestra pit in 1899, it happened to be at Huber's Museum/theater he took him from. Other than working at Huber's he was known as the chief imitator of pianists at Pastor's theater, which was no small thing. It was said that when he took the place of Mike Bernard or Fred Hylands one night of regular performances, he WAS the orchestra pit. By this, they meant that he was such a good mimic that anyone would mistake him for any of the other usual pianists, and that he was a piano freak, with wild abilities on the piano. This is a similar story Mike Bernard, though Green was not nearly as widely known for such a thing. It seems he was known as an imitator in his days before leaving Ethel for Irene in 1907. 

Burt Green was not considered one of the best accompanists, but that don't mean that he wasn't a good pianist. Unfortunately, on the few recordings with his piano accompaniment, we can't hear him play at his best, or play that Rag-Time style that he was known for in the late-1890's. This is the reason that he and Hylands were such good friends. 

It must be noted that in 1907, Green wrote a column in Billboard, which consisted of gossip about vaudeville stars. The column was called Vaudeville Happenings around New York. If you ever have the chance to read through the column, it's certainly worth it! He not only judges performers he had recently seen or performed with. Many of the names are familiar to us, such as Marie Dressler. 

One of these hilarious sections read thus:

It must be lovely to own one of those suburban homes just now. Imagine those poor actors who have to drill through all this snow. Give me the flat in New York, even though I can not save as much money, but nevertheless what I do save draws interest, and when I want to move, it's lots easier. It's a good safe bet that seven-tenths of the artists who have "stung" on those "home" propositions would sell out at half price, if you could get them with a little ready money just now. 

Wow, that's so true Burt. How funny is that? It's great to read these. One thing that really surprised me when reading through these is the amount of slang he used. Of course, Burt Green was the most dandyish of the characters in this early Rag-Time study, but it's ever more interesting to read his column. All the slang comes through just as it did in The Phonoscope. One of the statements that really caught my attention is this:

...Some actors are so stereotyped that they can not put a new gag in their act without having nervous prostration--and these are the kind that stand on the sidewalk and enviously roast their more successful brothers. It's the hustler who gets the plum, the fellow who spends his money for new material and keeps himself in front of the agent and manager at all times. 

The one thing that really was surprising was the fact that he used "roast" in the modern terms. That was rather interesting, and really funny in fact. It is really starting to make sense why Hylands was attracted to Green(not in that way), and why he was Fred's assistant, also probably helping with the advertisements.  Since Green did this column, wish I could find more of his writing! He seems to have been a great gossip writer. It's unfortunate, he would have done great as a Phonoscope correspondent. It didn't matter though, those correspondents for Hunting were just as subliminal and comical. This is why in many ways, Burt Green seems like the honorary member of the "Columbia Clan". 

Before the finish, I would like to share a recording with some aggressive piano playing on it! There is indeed such a thing as this, and in fact, this recording is the only one that could be classified with that. 

Here's the record:

(it's the first take listed)

http://adp.library.ucsb.edu/index.php/matrix/detail/100001269/Pre-matrix_A-1245-His_own_familiar_tune

That pianist is aggressive! 

Wow, you don't need to play that harsh...

Also, something to note about this recording is the sound of the piano behind him. It's got a strange sound, that's wirey and out-of-tune, which sounds similar to a certain piano that Len Spencer flipped over. Of course, it's not that badly out of tune, but it's noticeable for sure. Every note in the piano accompaniment can be heard clearly, which is unusual, and the loud fifths in the left hand help this to happen. 

Hope you enjoyed this! 

A conversation with Vess and Another Studio picture

Ah yes, the Brilliant and lovely Vess Ossman.

There's a whole lot that could be said about him, from his crazy head-over-heels love for his Eunice to his fantastic Rag-Time banjo playing. Luckily with Vess, there's more than just Banjo plucking. He was infamous for his short Irish temper, as well as his systematically German mindset musically, all of which meant for a slightly unhealthy mix of a personality. Of course when interviewing him, you wouldn't know about any of that being a factor into why most people who worked with him didn't do so for very long, if I were to put an expiration date for that, it would be 4 years maximum. 

While searching around on the Old Fulton New York newspaper site recently, I stumbled across a fantastic and long interview with Vess Ossman while in London, published in 1900. A reporter went up to where Vess was staying while in London, and had the great chance to interview him about what he thinks of England, and how he got to be there in the first place. In this interview, not only do we get a better image of Ossman, a rather unique one in fact, but we also get advice to other banjoists. This was published in the Hudson Evening Register on June 5, 1900:

A handsome American gentleman of medium height, with frank features and a pleasant way of talking soon set me at my case, and I never had a more agreeable talk than my conversation with Mr. Vess Ossman. 

"I like London! It's immense, in every sense. My friends in the States told me I should not like it, but I do. Everything interests me, and I like nearly everything. The cheapness of London surprises me, most of all your cheap cabs. I am going everywhere, seeing everything and enjoying myself right down." 

... ... ...

Interviewer: And yourself?[in asking how he felt he was treated at the music festival]

Vess: Ah, they were real nice to me, I had had a hard day, I only landed at Southampton at 5 a.m., on the morning of the festival... 
... ... ...
Interviewer: Were you nervous?[about getting before the immense festival crowd]
Vess: Don't know what nervousness means! You see, I practice. It's practice that makes a banjoist--practice and practice and then practice. If a chap's nervous he had better go back and practice for three or four hours more, and then he'll be safe on at least two tunes.

Interviewer: Then that is your golden rule for banjoists? 

Vess: Certainly. Practice! That will do it if a man is not a fool. And scales, don't forget scales! I know there are players who do not use them in study and teachers who do not teach them. But they are wrong. Scales are the foundation of music, and the foundation of speed on any instrument, including the banjo. So stick to practice and scales. 
... ... ... 

Interviewer: How much do you do now?[in terms of practice]

Vess: Four hours a day. That's enough to place me in good form, and keep getting ahead into the bargain. 

After speaking a whole lot more about his successes in the banjo competitions and touring and such, the interviewer pleads for more of him.

Interviewer: Go ahead about yourself, please? 

Vess:[with a smirk] Not done with me yet then? ... ... [more about his musical upbringing and such]

Interviewer: Did you like the work?[being contracted to make records for Columbia, 1898-1900]
Vess: Most interesting, you have to pick hard and keep the same volume of tone through a piece. There is no light and shade under the phonographic conditions, and absolute accuracy is imperative.[that's BS Vess, we all know that's wrong, maybe for you this is true]That contract paid me, and now that is over, I am a free man, and so here I am in London. ... ... 
... ... ... 
Interviewer: What were your encore pieces? 

Vess: "Whistling Rufus" and "Smokey Mokes". Quaint titles they give to melodies in the United States don't they? 

Interviewer:[Ignorantly asks] Are they your own? 

Vess: No. I never play my own compositions. My arrangements I play by the batch. But I think no composer should play his own pieces, except on rare occasions. Some players don't know how to write, and when they set down a piece it is to show off their best points and slur over their worst. That's a bar to perfection all around , and a check to progress. I do not hold with it, I have studied harmony and have written many things which other players fancy hugely. But myself, I don't play them, except, perhaps once apiece. 


The rest of the interview is about Vess continuing onward with the same advice he gave before, and more about the man managing the festival and keeping him in his nice hotel room and such. Now we can take away quite a lot about Ossman from this interview. His take on the recording process is challenging most of what we have learned over the years as collectors, but remember, Ossman was just a banjoist, he was no studio engineer or pianist. If perhaps Hylands, Spencer, or one of the Emerson brothers were interviewed about the recording process, we would hear a different story. Also, it was really interesting to hear what he thought of composers playing their own compositions, especially since he did that rather often. Hmm, what did he really think of playing "The Darkey Volunteer" with the composer as the accompanist? 
Speaking of that, here's a newly slowed down transfer of that very recording:
https://archive.org/details/DarkeyVolunteerOssmanwComposer1898
Makes me wonder what Ossman really thought of Hylands, and what Hylands thought of Ossman. It still seems like Hylands was trying  to pay back Ossman for some trouble he caused him or something like that. 

Yep.
It's like when Hylands threw Dan Quinn on the cover of his own piece "The Prize Cake-Walker is old Uncle Sam", it seems a little strange, especially since I always get the vibe that Quinn held a little animosity toward Hylands. If you don't believe me, then why did Quinn only praise Banta? No mention of Hylands anywhere, even though he recalled more of his Columbia days before 1900, and recalled more of his Edison days after 1900. Always seems a little suspicious to me. 

Quinn is mysterious, no matter how much we think we know about him. 

Just because I really do have a special place in my heart for Vess, here's an image that proves this point:

Before I dug myself into that hole that became of this picture last evening:

I found another image that is not nearly as misleading and unusual. 
That picture of the Columbia orchestra that was in The Phonoscope, well, turns out there's a better quality copy of the image! 

This image is not specifically labeled as the Columbia orchestra in any of the sources it came from, but it's almost certain that that's who this group is. Not just because of who that pianist is, but also because of the piccolo player, and the shape of the windows. That man playing the piccolo is a familiar face:

Yes indeed, luckily he's not hard to spot. He was distinct looking enough for this to be so. 

I had assumed when only seeing the low quality version of this image that the piccolo player was Schweinfest, but now this is very clearly true. The clarinet player is also a familiar face:

Indeed so. 

That is without a doubt Tuson. The valve trombone player is also a familiar face, and it's David Dana, as I have previously observed, but can really see it now. These are all former Issler musicians, but as we know, Issler was no longer Columbia's chief pianist by the time this image a taken and then interpreted by a Lithographer. So, that must mean that the pianist:

Is Fred Hylands!
Alright, this time it's for certain, there's no need to got off on a tangent and try to figure it out this time. Notice that Hylands is the only one not looking like he's playing, and looking at the viewer as well. This part of the image almost looks like a photograph, but I can still see lines of a Lithographer ever so slightly. Recall that this image was staged, and they weren't actually playing at the moment the image was taken. I still don't understand why he had his right hand up hear his tie, it's very strange. It seems like they told him to pose in some way, and that's what he came up with. Everyone else looks like they know what they're doing. Well, that pretty much sums up Hylands' role in the Columbia Orchestra. You may notice that the wallpaper is the same in this image as the one I used in the last post, the window is the same, and the doorway is in exactly the same spot, with the same design on the wood. Really look back there behind Hylands, you'll see that doorway. 



Before I finish, I also found a fantastic image of Burt Shepard! 

That's exactly the face I see when hearing his records.
http://adp.library.ucsb.edu/index.php/matrix/detail/2000001155/Pre-matrix_B-1692-Thats_where_she_sits_all_day 
This image came from a Pathe Catalog, so that means that Russell Hunting was in charge when he made records for them, how he must have been a riot to Hunting! 

Hope you enjoyed this! 

A mystery Pianist and Columbia's Nonexistent Censorship

Who's that?

Exactly. 

That's all we know as of now. Hopefully by the end of this post, some of the mystery here will be sorted out. 

Now, while searching around the pages of Antique Phonograph Monthly this evening, I stumbled across this image:

Now it looks like any old studio picture that was made into a lithograph of some kind, much like those pictures from The Phonoscope. At first, the pianist I had assumed to be Hylands, just like most of the time, especially since the singer whose face we can see is Steve Porter. But that doesn't seem to look like Hylands... not nearly as... ...eh...stout as he was... 

But that profile... ... ...

That looks suspiciously like some other picture we know of:

Hmm... ... 

This is a real hard one. More so than any previous photographic findings. One thing that is for sure--that's Hylands' profile(the picture at the very top of this post).COME ON! This are his lips, they are both the same in that picture and the exhibition picture immediately above, same slicked back hair, chin and neck, intensely bright and reflective eyes, that distinctly nose, the overall height--it's all the strangest thing. I have not any idea of what to think of this, since it really does look like Hylands, but the weight is not there. It almost seems to me like the lithographer who drew out the image fixed around Hylands' figure, which seems unthinkable, but isn't impossible. Remember that retouching was a very common practice in photography in this time period, particularly in show business and entertainment. Of course, this seems just completely like a  far-fetched, outrageous, inconceivable theory, since most people who know of my almost obsession over Hylands would know that I'd chuck this sort of possibility immediately upon looking at the image. This is a special situation however. It seems weird of me to go off an say that this:

is Fred Hylands, but really, since it's a Lithograph, anything's possible. Also, if you really study the look of his clothing, you can kind of see a little more of Hylands in it. That's still not enough to prove it, it still seems laughable for me to even think that's Hylands. 

Come to think of it, it looks a little disproportionate if you really study the body structure of the figure, as well as the size of the upper arm.Who am I kidding, this is just a crazy theory, that probably none of you reading this believe. If you do think it's Hylands, PLEASE COMMENT ON THIS POST! I would love to hear other voices in this conversation, because there's no way I can figure this out on my own. 

Do note that the pianist is VERY tall. 

Whatever becomes of this, I REALLY  hope that's Hylands, because if so, he was better-looking than I thought!

*Again, PLEASE share your thoughts about the pianist in this image, they are mightily appreciated in this circumstance, more so than any other time I've asked for feedback*

Now to move to something also Columbia related! It's clear that Columbia had their own sort of "Clan" in the 1890's, with Russell Hunting as its leader and founder. Hunting was the king of the crass humor and little censorship that makes many early Columbia records charming and attractive to younger listeners, even in the modern terms. Many things slipped out on these early Columbia's, not only countless mistakes from the distracted piano player(Hylands), but well-hidden obscene humor, such as that of both Spencer's. Someone like Dan W. Quinn refused to let any of these things cause him trouble in the studio, and with that, many takes of his must have had to be redone. However, when we move to figures like Gaskin, that's a different story.

Gaskin is becoming an ever more interesting character than previously thought. Not only was he an advocate for George W. Johnson, but since he dealt with oppression of the Irish, he had time to become self-aware and wise about suffering and discrimination. Gaskin was poor Irish scum. Roger Harding was well-to-do Irish. That right there says everything about Gaskin's outlook, and how he was viewed by even his colleagues in the business. Gaskin pretty much personified all Irish stereotypes, from the weird and crooked speech with a thick dialect, to the firey red hair and steel blue eyes. Gaskin also didn't care a rap about messing up often on recordings, which seems strange to say since his records seem all fine when thinking that over at first, but there are a few recordings that could change our preconceptions of Gaskin. One record in particular caught my attention, and it was posted just this week. 

Before the analysis, here's Gaskin's 1898-ish recording of "Drill Ye Tarriers Drill"(with Hylands). This recording is very interesting(despite the fact that it's played too fast). Now this seems like just any crazy Columbia record from the late-1890's, with all of the aspects loud and clear, especially the piano! Not only is Hylands' playing really great, especially at the end when he plays his whole Irish jig thing that he used to do on many records by Quinn and Gaskin, but one thing Gaskin says really caught my attention. If you know about Gaskin's routine with this song, you'll know that he did the usual protocol when the singers said "hell" on recordings. Quinn exemplified this by always saying "h-well!", and Collins and Harlan never said the word flat out. You may notice that Gaskin on this take just above actually says the word. 

Oh--the boss was a fine man all around,

but he married a great big fat fall down.

She baked good bread, she baked it well,

---she baked it hard as the hearts of hell.

Yes folks, that is what Gaskin sings on this recording. That is what makes this take so unique, as the other takes by Gaskin have him not even saying "Hell" in the lyrics. On his famous Berliner you can hear this. 

He says on the Berliner:

she baked good bread, she baked it well,

she baked it hard, well I won't tell!

This small thing really says a whole lot about Columbia compared to other record companies. It backs up the fast that Columbia was a much more liberally run company that others of the time, and that Emerson didn't care about small ticks like this, despite the fact that Edison would overreact to things like this. A few recordings were deleted almost immediately from the Edison catalog because someone at the playback thought they heard "hell" in the lyrics, but really that's not what the singer(Will F. Denny by the way) actually said. Emerson probably couldn't care less about Gaskin or anyone saying that on recordings. It must be noted that Columbia released something called their "tough series" in 1899-1900, which included "The Side Show Shouter" and early takes of Spencer's "The Dog Fight". These recordings were along the lines of Gaskin carelessly saying "hell" on a recording, from around the same time. Even after Hunting went to prison, and went out overseas, the boys back at home still held on to the humor he helped influence. 

I hope you enjoyed this! 

Columbia's orchestra and Monroe Rosenfeld

Yes indeed, It has been two weeks since my last post, and for that I apologize, much of that time has been consumed by school, and studying for finals. Now that all of that is done, it's time to get back into music! For Christmas, records came my way, four early Columbia's and a Victor! All of them are in fantastic shape for their age, with dates ranging from mid-1901 to one of Leachman's last recording sessions in 1904. These records are all fantastic, and am grateful for having them now.

One of these records was by the Columbia orchestra, in fact the record was a 7 inch of them playing "Harmony Mose" which is a Cake-Walk by Kerry Mills. It's an interesting record, though it must be noted that they didn't have the best intonation. But, there's a reason for this, a valid excuse if you will. This was recorded in a brief period of Columbia's orchestra that was just before Charles Prince took over the orchestra. Prince pretty much overhauled the entire group, not considering those who had been veterans of Issler's orchestra twelve years before then. He kept some of the same people, though he didn't realise that he was bringing in rivals of the Columbia orchestra musicians, such as Frank Mazziotta, who was the sole competitor of George Schweinfest, them both being the piccolo extraordinaire for their record companies. Prince brought himself as a rival and competitor to Hylands, since they were both pianists. Of course, we know that Fred Hager was a threat to Hylands' place at the record companies, even Banta's as well. This cartoon below goes well with this statement. 

I drew this last week or so. 

It took a few years for Hager to fully take over much of the orchestra activity at the companies Banta and Hylands worked for, this took until about 1905-1906, two years after Banta died. Prince created his "new and improved" version of the Columbia orchestra in 1903, with better intonation, more musicians, traded out musicians, and slicker arrangements. Unfortunately, the slicker arrangements didn't mean for better arrangements. This actually meant for more conservative Rag-Time, which is unacceptable from my standpoint. This is exactly why I sort of hate Prince, because he rid of the Rag-Time style that the Columbia Orchestra was so well-known for in the late-1890's. Prince pretty much threw all of that away in 1903 and 1904. He not only made the arrangements less complicated, but less ragged, and that's where I draw the line, once you take the charm away from the most interesting House orchestra of the late-1890's, you've killed it. Unfortunately, that's exactly what Prince did, and it didn't help that he won the respect of both Spencer's. Winning the respect of the Spencer's meant that Len cut the final string in his friendship with Hylands, of which he had been doing since 1900, and made it worse every coming year. 
Prince did improve the intonation of the orchestra, since there were some pretty bad takes by them in the year just before he came along, but again, the Ragged aspect was dramatically diminished. By 1903, we no longer hear recordings like this one from later-1901, which is very unfortunate, since the piano playing almost leading the entire band was among the best things about them, before Prince made it his orchestra. Hylands oftentimes did what Banta did in Edison's orchestra, played different rhythms under the rest of the orchestra. The record in the link just above is a great example of this, and more of a strange one in fact. Even their recordings that weren't Ragged were fun to listen to, with their strange sound effects, shouts from the Spencer's, and the overall atmosphere is just very Columbia. The old group had a demeanor to them that was like none of the other house orchestras of the time period. You can't go wrong with their 1902 take of "The Darkey Tickle", even if their intonation isn't really the best, it's still fantastic, and classic for Columbia. Just as classic as their "The village Orchestra" from 1899. That is one of my favourite early orchestra recordings, simply from how weird and comical it happens to be. It's like they're purposely making fun of how their orchestra wasn't really that great, but then also fantastic all the same. The thing that was so unique about them was the fact that they actually went out as a group and performed at lavish functions. Now that's something that Edison and Zon-O-Phone didn't do, and as well as Prince once he took over Columbia's orchestra and band. Hope you now understand my almost hatred of Prince, since there's a lot more to dislike about him than just on the surface. It doesn't matter if he was born in San Francisco, or that he was descended from American founding father John Adams. 








Now to move to another subject, composer Monroe H. Rosenfeld:

After having a long talk with Charlie Judkins this evening, we entered into the world of the brilliant and sly Monroe Rosenfeld. There's a whole lot under the surface of this man's name on so many pieces of iconic music from the 1880's to the early 1910's, this man was extremely weird and bright, much to the likeness of Len Spencer. Many tales of his strange doings went around New York in the 1890's, and got into many newspapers, which is why so many stories about him survive. 
As it turns out, Rosenfeld was a fervent gambler, and this was actually a strange story. Rosenfeld would pitch ideas to all sorts of musical friends of his, usually younger and not so famous in the music community. Once he got the idea shoved into their thoughts, they would write down the music, and after the other man wrote it down, he would slap his name on the piece and sell it to multiple publishers in town to publish the piece. He would take half the money with him and give the other half to the man who he pitched the idea to in the first place. Just after that, he would go out to the racetrack and lose all the money on a loser horse. This was something that he did frequently, but of course, he was writing music all the time, and having others do this with him, so he always had money to go out and lose. 

But since he sold the pieces to multiple publishers in the same area, this caused fights and confusion among the firms. At some points these scams got him into trouble. Most of the time, he was able to outrun the authorities, but one of these times, he lost his head. While getting chased around by the police, he had no means of escape, his last resort came to running up the stairs of a building and jumping out of a second- story window. This didn't do him well as you could have guessed. This left him partially crippled, with a weird limp the rest of his life. Remember that this was all for selling a song that was only partially his to more than one publisher. Recall that this was the chap who coined the term "Tin Pan Alley", and he practically created the atmosphere for this era, beginning with his horrid scams and stunts. Just goes to show how much he wanted his money, just to go and gamble it. 

Rosenfeld made a deal With Len Spencer in the mid-1890's as we know, and it seems that since they were both relatively similar, they probably got along finely. In fact, it's likely they the met at an upscale club. That is the sort of places that Rosenfeld played at when he wasn't off scamming the publishers. Just the same, Spencer would be one to frequent those kinds of places, when he wasn't making thousands of rounds a week, or getting into fights with drunkards. They likely made whatever deal it was at one of these clubs, which is a fantastic thing to picture. How Rosenfeld was a strange yet interesting character. 

To close off for now, here are two different takes of Rosenfeld's "I Don't Care if You Never Comes Back" by Len Spencer and Fred Hylands. 
Notice that on both of the takes, Spencer announces the title as "I don't Care if she never comes back". That's a little strange. 
http://cylinders.library.ucsb.edu/search.php?queryType=@attr+1=1020&num=1&start=1&query=cylinder10662

This is the take where Hylands practically quotes "The Harlem Rag" by Tom Turpin in his solo at the very end.
 https://archive.org/details/NeverComesBackSpencerandHylands1899
This take is just as interesting at the last one, just that there's not 20 second of Rag-Time at the end. It seems that Spencer could make Rosenfeld's pieces just as fun and wild as the composer. Wonder if Spencer ever sang this tune with Rosenfeld on piano...


Sorry it's been so long since my last post... There will be a post tomorrow, just to make up for the time that was passed since the last post. 

Hope you enjoyed this! 

Banta, Hylands, and Hager--the premiere Rag pianists of early recording

When speaking of these recordings, most people forget about the pianists behind the singers, but of course, there's a reason for this to be so widespread. It's simply because of no credit being given to the pianists. Even if you dig through the very complete Victor ledgers, you will only come across a handful of recordings with pianist accreditation. But it is certain that Frank P. Banta worked for Victor, as it helps that in their earliest catalogs that they list Banta specifically as the leader and pianist of the Metropolitan orchestra, the first house orchestra for Victor. When the pianist is listed, then we won't have any frustration and confusion of trying to dig out a style and attach it to the pianist on the recording. 

This is why Banta is the easiest of the early studio pianists to identify.

(Banta at Edison's piano in c.1902)

He's got a very distinct style, and he was the best-identified of the early studio pianists, this is exactly why record collectors know his name in regards to pianists. But it is because of this fact that collectors don't know of the other pianists. This is something that is the fault of his son, just because his son was a popular pianist just like his father, this kept the name around in music for longer than the other pianists. His father's death was such a tragic and sudden thing for the whole of the recording community, this earned him scores of  admirers and mourners. This is why he is remembered the most by record collectors. 
Of course, other than all of that, there's also his Rag-Time, which is another reason why collectors recognize his name in catalogs and in research on these early recordings. His style was very strange, combining several technical yet very itinerant characteristics all the same. Much of his style was very oddly similar to another recording star of the era, this chap:

Vess Ossman.
 Really, if you think about it, Banta was essentially the pianist equivalent of Vess Ossman. Banta was not nearly as much a perfectionist when it came to keeping time as Ossman was, but in many ways, their styles are the same combination of characteristics, both well-trained, yet sound as though they weren't. Recall that Ossman's first instrument was the violin, but he was completely self-taught on the banjo, keep that in mind when listening to him. Banta's view of Rag-Time was essentially the same as Ossman's, and it helps that he had the chance to build up a taste for syncopated music while working with Ossman from c.1892-1896. With this experience, Banta went into 1897 a pioneer, already aware of how to play syncopated music. This is why his Rag-Time has that distinct late-1890's sound to it. It's not nearly as folksy as other pianists, but it's certainly strange in its own way. The fact that he played fifths in his left hand is the most unusual characteristic of his style, since corresponds in no way at all with his stylistic upbringing and origin, and says something about his regional style that modern Rag-Time pianists have long preconceived incorrectly. For a primarily self-taught pianist, he had a stew-full of styles mashed into one, more so than Fred Hylands even! Sometimes Banta played a little like Mike Bernard, getting so consumed in playing quick and showy syncopation that the rhythm dramatically is rushed. 

For an example of this, listen to Billy Golden's 1903 Edison of "Turkey in the Straw" with Banta. His solo between the choruses is a very Mike Bernard-like way, and it's the way that I just described. Now that you've heard that, listen to Bernard's 1913 Columbia of "Maori". Not too different overall. As he nears the end of the recording, much like Banta's solos on "Turkey in the Straw", the playing gets more intense and rapid. Banta did this often, such as on his accompaniment behind Denny on "The Change Will Do You Good", and his accompaniment behind Denny on "Go Way Back and Sit Down" from 1901. The second recording exhibits this characteristic better, and it is overall one of the best recordings I've ever heard of Banta, and yes, it is better than his 1903 recording of "violets" in my opinion. It's this very characteristic that not only ties him to other popular star accompanists, but it's also what defines him as a pianist, and as a character. Banta was an intense man, wide-eyed and focused. The speeding up and added stiffness is what easily gets the point across that he was an intense guy, and deeply consumed in the music when he could be. It's just what separates him from the other studio pianists, his accommodating nature, stiffness, looseness, and intensity. This must have carried over for him as an orchestra leader, since he led many house orchestras from 1893 to 1903, from one of his own to the studio orchestras of Edison, Berliner and later Victor. His arrangements were very good, and he was able to keep the Edison crew in line extremely well, even when he was playing all the offbeats. A good example of this is The Peerless orchestra's 1899 recording of "My Babe from Boston". In the last two strains, Banta's playing great rag-time under the band playing it a little syncopated as well. It's exceptionally well executed for a relatively conservative orchestra. The Peerless orchestra was only not conservative because of Banta, without him, it would be just as boring to hear them play Rag-Time as it is to hear that by Prince's Band. One thing about Banta that must have angered some of the studio musicians was his choice of keys for them to play in. Sometimes he chose awful band keys like E and B, such as he did for this record here. Makes me think he had perfect pitch, being able to play any song in any key, and be able to tune pianos, those are all signs of a pianist with perfect pitch. 
Before moving to the next part of this post, here's one more fantastic example of Banta's Rag-Time:
http://cylinders.library.ucsb.edu/search.php?queryType=@attr+1=1020&num=1&start=1&query=cylinder2453
The solo at the end is phenomenal! 



We know about Fred Hylands, yes indeed, but of course, for many years this was not a universal state. 

(detail from a cartoon I did of Hylands)

(oh those signature long legs of his! Haha!)

It took until Jim Walsh briefly mentioned Hylands in a few articles on Len Spencer to keep his name somewhat in the knowledge of a few collectors. Though really it was Tim Brooks mentioning him in his A Directory To Columbia Recording Artists of the 1890's, other than that, that was pretty much it with Hylands identification until now. Despite well-advertised sections and frequent mention in The Phonoscope , few older collectors will recognise his name if dropped somewhere. Of course, all of that extra endorsement from Russell Hunting and Charles Carson was a fantastic thing for Hylands, since it must have been a big deal when Columbia hired him. Taking in Pastor's music director as one of their accompanists was something that hadn't been done before by record companies, as the studio pianists weren't really supposed to already be huge stars when they were hired to work in the studio. Issler was an everyday musician when he began working for Edison, just a piano teacher and a leader of a small parlor orchestra. Banta was a little more famous, because he was Ossman's accompanist, but other than that there's really nothing. Hylands had a reputation already when Columbia began considering him as a studio accompanist. I don't really know what his reputation was before he became a recording, but I wish I did know, since it must have been interesting. His playing was certainly something to draw attention away from the main performer on a recording, more so than Banta's playing. It's pure vaudeville piano playing, absolutely fit for accompanying cake-walkers in a Vaudeville show, as that's what he was likely doing when he was performing at Theaters before 1898. This must have been part of his reputation, as this is certainly something that would have been told to the Columbia management when auditioning this new pianist. 

Hylands' style was very distinct, yet confusing at times, luckily, he had very good rhythm and sense of good tempos, so singers wouldn't have to worry about that aspect when working with him. With Hylands, there was no dramatic rhythmic problems like there is on this cylinder here from 1898-ish. Of course, this wasn't a problem only when Hylands wasn't sleep-deprived, hungover, or slightly high on something. These were all problems with Hylands, since he was the type who didn't take very good care of himself, and especially since he was such a busy worker, he barely had enough time to sleep well. The exhibitions the Columbia management made him go to didn't help his already busy schedule. 
It's important to keep all of this in mind when listening to records Hylands is on, since that creates a more realistic view of the man and his work habits. Hylands' playing on recordings from 1898 are the prime examples to listen to as good representations of his playing style, and his habits. Much of this leads to recordings with lots of mistakes, such as  this take of "The Laughing Song" by Johnson with Hylands. He's pretty scattered on this recording, though despite this, it's a very nice example of his Rag-Time playing, since he breaks into it at the last chorus. It's not the best overall recording is his playing, since there are so many good examples out there. Because of this, there really isn't a definitive example of his playing, but that's what makes Hylands so great! Luckily for Hylands, he worked for more labels than just Columbia after 1900, whereas Banta only worked for Edison and Victor. After 1900, Hylands worked for Climax, Zon-O-Phone, and Leeds, all of whom Columbia was in fierce competition with when he worked there. It is particularly surprising that Hylands was even able to work for Leeds, since Columbia's management hated Leeds with passion, since they tried to sell them out of business perhaps five times, but it never seemed to work until 1909. Hylands worked for them during the short time Leeds made those gorgeous gold foil labels. Wish there was a way to know how and why he started working there in the first place, but it's interesting nonetheless. 
Here are two Leeds records where he's on piano:
https://ia802300.us.archive.org/31/items/ArthurCollins_part2/ArthurCollins-TheGooGooManCoonSong.mp3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIYitsz8glA

Hearing a Columbia pianist on Leeds could certainly catch the attention of some collectors, since it really is a little strange. 

There's a reason that I drew this cartoon of Hylands with those pesky Leeds people. 
Certainly Leeds made a deal with him, maybe they accepted his stubborn work habits, and strong will to unionize. That was really the worst of Hylands' baggage when having him work for a company. Everything else was able to be borne by the management to a certain extent. Of course, everything you could think of was effecting Hylands' playing in the studio, as Charlie Judkins and I discussed yesterday, it wasn't just drinking as we had long assumed that had him. Anything that could have gotten to him certainly did. As said a little above, sleep-deprivation was a big one with him, as well as being hungover, drinking, and being physically tired from anything just preceding the recording day. As Charlie had stated, it seems that Hylands was a spacey kind of chap, constantly thinking about other things while making records, so this is another reason why there are recordings such a horrid mess like the Columbia orchestra's 1899 recording of "Smokey Mokes"(skip to 57:50 for the transfer). Still can't get over how awful that take is, and the fact that Hylands doesn't attempt to stop and reset himself at the same tempo as the rest of the orchestra. This is exactly what we're talking about! This sort of thing was never a problem with Banta in the studio, and this is why Banta was so highly regarded by the studio stars. Hylands zoning out so much couldn't have been a good thing for the singers. 
The fact that he did that though makes him ever more interesting and comical as a studio star.





The final pianist to speak of here is one that almost no other collector I know has ever mentioned as a possible pianist. 

Frederick Hager.(taken in 1898)
He was the youngest of all the early studio pianists, and was 24 when he was first hired to work in the studio at Edison, he was the youngest since Fred Gaisberg at Columbia to take the job. Not much is known of his piano work, if anything, but that pianist that we all thought might have been Hylands on all those early Zon-O-Phones is actually Hager! The playing style sounds too much like a hybrid of all the studio pianists to be one of the previous regulars that we know. That style that we now are starting to associate with Hager would work with who he was as a musician, and the fact that he really knew how to orchestrate extremely difficult and complicated Rag-Time arrangements, such as his "Dill Pickles" that can be heard on this list here. They seem like they're not that hard, until you really dissect them, and try to play them out yourself. That's the beauty of Hager's arrangements, particularly his Rag-Time arrangements. His arrangements of Rags are the best of the era, as far as early recordings go, since they are very "tight", well thought-out, and masterfully executed. Not one instrument was out of place or out of tune, whereas with the Columbia orchestra, all of these things were an issue, many at the same time in fact. Hager wouldn't settle for an orchestra like Columbia's, he wanted something a hundred times better, and threw harder arrangements at his musicians all the time. His recording of "Chocolate Drops" is phenomenal, as it combines everything that's great about Hager's orchestra, and nothing falls out of line at any point, despite the very hard arrangement.  
Also, on many of Hager's orchestra recordings, there's a drummer, and the drummer was never missing a beat, which is very unusual for house orchestras of that time, since most of them had announcers who weren't musicians play the percussion, which wasn't really a good idea, but was the default. 

The fact that Hager is on all of those early Zon-O-Phones really saves so much confusion that many of us have had for a while, since I know collectors who pile up their collection of early Zono's because of the great piano accompaniment, and it seems we've put a more accurate name to that pianist who isn't Fred Hylands or Frank P. Banta. This means that the strange and very ragged early Zon-O-Phone(I can't share the transfer of) of "The Nigger Fever" by Frank Mazziotta has Hager on piano! This also means that he's on many of the very early recordings Edward Favor made for them as well, such as these fantastic recordings:
https://ia801406.us.archive.org/25/items/EdwardMFavor/EdwardMFavor-EverythingatReillysMustbeDoneinIrishStyle.mp3

The most wild of wild Denny recordings:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0u8HiXdrtI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ITot33CDuo

Hager's Rag-Time is very interesting, and it sounds like a strange mix of Hylands and Banta, with the fifths in the left hand paired with the heavily syncopated right hand---that's literally a cross between Hylands and Banta! This pairing can be very well heard on the last link listed above. Luckily for Hager, he had the best sounding label to work with and show off his piano chops, so there's not much we can't hear--ever. All of this about Hager only applies to pre-paper label Zon-O-Phones, as in 1902 and 1903, Hylands began working for them, since recordings like this one and this one, are certainly not that cross between the two star pianists. The one thing to notice about the paper-label Zono piano playing, such as that of the "Billy Bailey" recording in the second link, is the overall rhythm, and the technically excellent playing(such as the fantastic rollicking octaves at the beginning of the second chorus). The rhythmic aspect of the later Zon-O-Phone records is better than the earlier ones, but the creativity that went into Hager's playing was hard to beat. 




As of now, we are still trying to find more on Hager as a pianist, everything else he did(which is a whole lot!) you can find on all sorts of websites and in many early recording books. There's nothing about his piano playing however. 

Hope you enjoyed this!