A historic Harmony

This week on Zayde’s Turntable is an album of no true monetary value to a collector, but I wanted to learn a bit more about it because it captures an important historical moment in American history.

First, a word about the label. Harmony Records were pressed from 1925 until the early 30s and was owned outright by Columbia Records. It was often used as a low-price outlet for Columbia’s reissues and, in the 1950s, Columbia revived the label for a series of LPs with nothing but reissued tracks (about five songs per side). Columbia continued to release reissues on the LP version of the label into the mid 1970s.

Harmony labels (with the ca. 1950s version on the left and ca. 1930 versions center and right).

Perhaps the most interesting facets of the original Harmony Records is their role in straddling one of the most significant technological shifts in recording history: the movement from acoustic recording to electrical recording. Reportedly Columbia had just completed a major overhaul of their acoustic recording system when the new fad – electrical recording – came onto the scene. Rather than scrap their significant investment in the acoustical studio they simply continued to utilize it for their “lower end” Harmony label. The result is some of the finest, and last, acoustically recorded commercial records.

Acoustical recording is a mechanical process in which the artists performed live, their music being captured in a massive machine with a diaphragm; a needle connected to the diaphragm literally cut the recording into master disc (or cylinder). Level control was achieved by actually having a performer move physically closer to or further from the machine.

The Victor Orchestra recording acoustically. Auto-tune function not available on this model; sorry, Ms. Black.

Electrical recording was introduced in 1925 and is still, in many respects, the manner by which audio recordings are made. Electrical recording systems allow for microphones, over-dubbing, level adjustment, and, these days, even more. In its earliest incarnations, however, the process still physically cut a master record with a needle, meaning that a mistake at any point in the recording rendered the entire take – and record – useless. (Some labels would reissue scrapped takes of popular songs on later albums, though it was far more common to simply reissue the originally released take.)

This album, the only Harmony label in my collection (according to my notes from the late 1990s) is in Good to Very Good condition, with some slight wear and one light scratch to one side (the scratch does not effect the record’s playability and both my Symphony phonograph needle and my Crosley Archiver needle were able to navigate it without problem). It is a standard 10-inch diameter 78-RPM black vinyl disc with ¼” spindle hole. The record catalog number is Harmony 418-H and the master number is 144218/144219.

Harmony Records #418-H

Harmony records include a unique Columbia code.

Peculiar to all post-1924 Columbia records is a third identifying number pressed into the vinyl of the end gap of the record at the 12-o’clock position: 3-B-5 on the A-side 1-B-6 on the B-side. The first number is the take number, the middle letter designates the “mother” (the metal master disc), and the final number indicates the “stamper” (the metal “negative” of the mother). One stamper could press out about 1,000 copies of a record before it was no longer useable (hence the need for a “mother” that could create more stampers). With this information we know that the A-side song took three takes and the B-side song took only one take. At least two mothers were created (probably more), and at least 5 stampers for the A-side and 6 for the B-side – meaning, at a minimum, about 10,000 to 12,000 copies of this record were made.

The A-side recording is “Lucky Lindy,” lyrics by L. Wolfe Gilbert and music by Abel Baer, and runs approximately 2 minutes and 41 seconds. The B-side recording is “Lindbergh (The Eagle of the U.S.A.),” lyrics by Howard Johnson and music by Al Sherman, and runs approximately 2 minutes and 55 seconds. Both songs are sung by tenor Jack Kaufman, backed up by an unnamed orchestra. While I could find no indication of a specific recording date, it is likely from 1927 or early 1928.

Both songs were written on the occasion of “Lucky” Charles Lindbergh’s celebrated May 1927 trans-Atlantic solo flight. The record-setting event engendered a remarkable level of patriotic fervor and an incredible number of musical tributes, perhaps more so than any other event in American history until then or since. Ironically, the flight was considered an illustration of mankind’s (and America’s specifically) technological prowess and ingenuity – I say ironic because this particular record was recorded in what was then an antiquated technology, the acoustic method. Lindbergh became celebrated more than any star of Hollywood or radio and there was a rush to capture that spirit by the leading cultural medium of the day: recorded music.

Charles Lindbergh, around the time of his famous 1927 flight.

To say the quantity of songs written about Lindbergh’s flight exceeds that written to mark any single event in American history before or since is not an exaggeration. Not even including the still recognizable dance craze inspired by the flight (the Lindy Hop), in all in the two years following Lindbergh’s journey the U.S. Copyright Office received three hundred applications on songs related to the flight and the pilot. Thirty songs alone had the same title – “Spirit of St. Louis,” Lindbergh’s plane. Another twelve were entitled “Lindy” (there was some confusion over the spelling, resulting in Lindberg, Lindburg, Linberg, Linderburg, and Linbergh). The third most popular title was “Lone Eagle” – a commonly used metaphor for the pilot that combined jingoistic American symbolism with the physical feat of flying itself. Other Lindbergh tributes included “Won’t You Take Me to Heaven, Please, Lucky Lindy Do,” “America Did It Again,” “Like an Angel He Flew into Our Hearts,” “Plucky Lindy’s Lucky Day,” “Just Like a Butterfly through Sun and Rain, and “He Did It, the Thing that Couldn’t Be Done.” The Hoover for President campaign benefited from “If He’s Good Enough for Lindy.” The volume of musical tributes was so great that one Tin Pan Alley songwriting team even wrote one entitled “This Song Is Not About Lindbergh.”

Lindbergh received a hero's welcome on his return to the U.S.

In 1929 Kurt Weill, Paul Hindemith, and Bertolt Brecht penned an opera entitled “Der Lindberghflug” (Lindbergh’s Flight), though Brecht would later remove all references to the pilot and rename the piece “Der Ozeanflug” (Ocean Flight) in 1950 in reaction to Lindbergh’s perceived Nazi sympathies. Indeed Lindbergh’s apparent right-wing political viewpoints also engendered negative musical references, though not for some decades after his flight. In the 1940s Woody Guthrie’s “Lindbergh” skewered the celebrated pilot for his affiliation with the far right America First Party (“They say America First, but they mean America Next”). Guthrie probably would have found the lyric “Lucky Lindy, right all along…” on the A-side of this record to be a bit too true.

On the A-side we have the prolific recording artist and vaudevillian Jack Kaufman singing Gilbert and Baer’s “Lucky Lindy” – perhaps the single most popular and widely produced of the Lindbergh paeans. Gilbert and Baer had just finished composing the piece on May 21, 1927 when word of Lindbergh’s safe landing at Le Bourget was announced on the radio. It was performed that very evening at several venues around New York City; Leo Feist printed the sheet music that very weekend and it was on sale by Monday. On Tuesday the number was headlining at the Paramount Theater, being performed on the cinema’s massive Wurlitzer in between films. The song was probably featured on every major label by most of the leading singers of the day. I can find evidence of (in addition to the Harmony recording) a ca. 1927 recording by Vernon Dalhart on Perfect (#12345), another Jack Kaufman recording (possibly the same) also from around 1927 on Velvet Tone (#1418-V), a Domino Records (#17260) recording with baritone Ernest Hare, another Ernest Hare recording on Banner (#1994-A) (which one EBay seller is currently listing for $1), and a May 26, 1927 (yes, five days after Lindbergh landed) Victor scroll recording (#20681-A) by Nat Shillkret and the Victor Orchestra. Not one of these albums appears in Les Docks’ guide to “collectible” records – in fact, I could not locate a single of the Lindbergh tribute songs anywhere in his compendium. This simply further illustrates that, today, value is determined more by scarcity than historical import, musical quality, or even the featured artist.

The sheet music for "Lucky Lindy" was on sale just a few days after Lindbergh landed.

Songwriter Abel Baer (1893-1976).

Abel Baer (1893-1976), a World War I veteran, originally trained to be a dentist, but abandoned that career in 1920 when he joined a music publisher as a staff writer. His works include many Tin Pan Alley hits, including “Mama Loves Papa,” “When the One You Love, Loves You,” and “I’m Sitting Pretty.” Less celebrated today is his World War II jingle “We’ve Got A Job To Do On The Japs, Baby.” Two years after penning “Lucky Lindy” – probably his greatest commercial success – Baer moved to Hollywood and wrote songs for the films “Paramount on Parade,” “True to the Navy,” and “Frozen Justice.” His credits also include the Broadway scores of “Lady Do” and “Old Bill M.P.”

Lyricist Wolfe Gilbert (1888-1954).

Louis Wolfe Gilbert (1886-1970) started as a singer in a quartet on Coney Island, before being discovered by an English producer and being brought to London to perform as part of The Ragtime Octet. He started writing music in 1912 and made the move to Hollywood in 1915, writing – eventually – over 250 songs for film, television, and radio, including “Ramona” – the very first motion picture theme song, as well as numbers for the Eddie Cantor Show and the lyrics for the hit children’s program “Western Hop-Along Cassidy” on NBC. Gilbert was an astute self-promoter and one of the first songwriters to publish and market his own catalog; his acumen for the business led to his selection to serve as director of ASCAP from 1941 to 1944.

The B-side recording is Kaufman singing “Lindbergh (The Eagle of the U.S.A.)” – again keeping with the eagle symbolism. It is clearly the more jingoistic of the two songs, with Al Sherman, the writer, appropriating snippets of melody from classic American anthems (listen for a bit of the “Star Spangled Banner” and “Yankee Doodle” in the clip below). Like “Lucky Lindy,” this tune was released within days, perhaps even hours, of Lindbergh’s successful landing in France in May 1927. In addition to this recording I was able to identify several contemporaneous recordings: three issues of Vernon Dalhart singing it, one recorded on May 23 (two days after he landed!) on a Victor scroll record (#20674-A – note how close the catalog number is to the “Lucky Lindy” Victor recording, illustrating how closely together the two albums were released), one on Edison Blue Amberol cylinder (#5362), and one on Perfect (#12345; the reverse side of the same disc with “Lucky Lindy,” exactly as with this Harmony record, though with a different artist; one seller on EBay currently lists this disc for slightly overpriced cost of $30). There was also a Harry Crane recording on Oriole Records (#922-A) and another issue of the Jack Kaufman recording found here on Velvet Tone (#1418-V – again, identical to this record, in this case in both song selection and artist).

Sheet music to "The Eagle of the U.S.A."

Lyricist Howard Johnson (1887-1941) was likewise a veteran of World War I. After getting out of the Navy in 1917 Johnson, a pianist, joined ASCAP and began his career as a songwriter. In addition to penning “I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream” Johnson was behind many of the most popular ballads of the period. One of Johnson’s (now ironic) pieces was the 1917 song “China, We Owe A Lot To You” (music by Milton Ager). No kidding.

Songwriter Al Sherman (1897-1973).

Al Sherman (1897-1973) came to America from Prague in 1909. Speaking little English and serving as a surrogate father for his four siblings after their father left them, Sherman taught himself piano and quickly became one of the most in-demand improvisers in America. He developed a reputation for providing “mood music” and his skills were sought by many of the leading film stars of the silent movies; in 1916 Universal signed Sherman to do bit parts in the films himself. In 1918 he joined the Remick Music Company as a staff pianist, composing numbers alongside some of the top songwriters of the day, including George Gershwin. Sherman also organized and directed his own orchestra that played in both Miami Beach and New York City. Sherman’s sons, Robert and Richard, would continue in their father’s footsteps, eventually writing the music for the classic films “Mary Poppins” and “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.” Sherman’s own Tin Pan Alley credits include over 500 songs, most notably “Over Somebody Else’s Shoulder,” “For Sentimental Reasons,” and “Potatoes Are Cheaper, Tomatoes Are Cheaper, Now’s The Time To Fall In Love,” which became his signature tune and “helped raise the spirits of the Depression generation.” His songs made or furthered the careers of a remarkable roster of musicians: Maurice Chevalier, Fred Waring, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holliday, Tommy Dorsey, Frank Sinatra, Al Jolson, Bing Crosby, Eddie Cantor, Ruddy Vallee, Ozzie Nelson, Lawrence Welk, Peggy Lee, Patti Page, and Duke Ellington and the Cotton Club Orchestra. His music can be heard in the Broadway hits “Ziegfeld Follies,” “George White’s Scandals,” “The Passing Show,” and “Earl Carroll’s Vanities.” His film music includes songs for “The Big Pond,” “Sweetie,” “The Sky’s the Limit,” and “Sensations of 1945.”

Cyndi Lauper in 1983. Her cover of one of Sherman's songs earned her a Grammy award.

Sherman’s music continued to influence American musicians even into the 1980s, when Cyndi Lauper’s rendition of Sherman’s “He’s So Unusual” – titled “She’s So Unusual” (1983) – even featured scratches and hisses designed to sound like a vintage 78-RPM record. The song hit #4 on the Billboard pop charts and won a Grammy for Best Album Package; it made #494 on Rolling Stone’s “500 Greatest Albums of All Time” and sold more than 16 million copies worldwide.

The vocalist on both sides of the album is tenor Jack Kaufman, one of the famous singing brothers Irving, Phillip, and Jack Kaufman, who originally hailed from Syracuse, New York, about an hour from where Zayde’s Turntable currently resides. Irving has been called the “most recorded singer between 1914 and 1930” and his two brothers, who performed for a while as “The Kaufman Brothers” (until Phillip’s death in 1918), were quite prolific in their own respects.

Jack (left) and Phil Kaufman in a promotional poster from around 1910.

Jack and Phil’s early vaudeville acts seemed to include quite a bit of the reviled “blackface” routines. An undated period newspaper review of their act states:

“The Kaufman Brothers… [began] their act by impersonating the Russian dancers and the Parisian vocalist who had just preceded them.” … “Especially worthy of attention are their parodies of Italian songs. Both men… play ‘swell coons’ attractively.” … “Their entrance is made in bangy, bangy coon-shouter style… These brothers have excellent voices, but are too full of monkeyshines to take time to sing properly.” … “Ragtime and Italian songs are their long suit.” … “They sing exceptionally well, but otherwise just indulge in effervescent nonsense and wear red vests and checkerboard suits.” … “Their Yiddiher Opera brought a storm of applause.”

They grew to become “second stringers” – vaudeville acts that filled out the bill for larger stars like Irene Franklin and Will Rogers.

Newspaper cartoons depicting Phil and Jack Kaufman in their blackface performance (top row and bottom left, 1910-1911; bottom right, 1914).

Jack and Phil Kaufman in an undated photo appear in blackface as part of their vaudeville act.

After Phil’s death, Irving joined with Jack and the two performed together for a number of years. The partnership dissolved in 1923, though they reunited briefly again starting in 1928. It was during this five year hiatus that Jack, performing and recording as a solo artist now, cut this album for Harmony Records. Irving and Jack (and, earlier Phil) were studio workhorses and recorded separately and together probably more albums during the Tin Pan Alley period than any other musical family, appearing by name or by pseudonym on quite literally hundreds of records for dozens of labels. Jack’s sense of theatricality, a maybe even bombast, comes across in the two recordings on this album – listen to his rolling R’s and energy, due probably to both the enthusiasm around the event and his own personality. The last Kaufman recording was made by the busiest of the brothers, Irving, in 1974, meaning the Kaufman era of original recordings lasted a remarkable 60 years.

Lindbergh and his plane.

Lindbergh and his plane - the inspiration for over 300 songs.

This May America will celebrate the 85th anniversary of Lucky Lindbergh’s historic non-stop solo flight across the Atlantic. The air mail pilot took off from Long Island a virtual unknown and landed, 3600 miles and one day later, in Paris, France as a national hero and icon. One can imagine the songwriters, musicians, studio executives, sheet music publishers, and recording technicians scrambling for that one week in late May in 1927, trying to be the first to get a piece of that Lindbergh magic. In some ways it may not seem so different than today’s commercialism. But, when I put that record onto Zayde’s Turntable and try to imagine the energy, the (much needed) optimism, and the pride that must have been coursing through the singer, the band, and the original listener, playing this disc for the very first time in 1927, I can’t help but think that it is, maybe in some way, just a bit different.

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A Perfect record to get things started

For the first album we’ll look at on Zayde’s Turntable I’ve chosen a Perfect record.

That is neither its condition nor a description of its musical content. Perfect records first came on the scene in 1922 and was the American brand of the prolific European record company Pathé, which had been creating first cylinder recordings and later standard 78-RPM discs since the 1890s. Perfect records were lower quality dime-store albums, but the label proved so popular (read: affordable) with the American public that they continued as their own brand even after Pathé itself folded in 1929 during a large merger of many record companies into the mammoth American Record Corporation. Perfect records, headquartered at 34 Grand Avenue in Brooklyn, continued to be manufactured until 1938.

34 Grand Avenue in Brooklyn - once home to the Perfect record company. Now Raels Gable (sic).

A “Perfect” label of 45-RPMs was issued in the 1950s, but I can find no evidence that it was at all related to the original 1922-1938 company. In 1993 Dean Blackwood revived the label briefly to issue recordings by a handful of 1980s experimental rock and rockabilly artists.

Perfect labels from 1922 through the late 1950s.

Perfect record 15228, featuring the La Palina Broadcasters and Ted Bancroft - neither of whom existed.

This particular album is in Very Good to Excellent condition, which is not common for a Perfect record given, ironically, the generally lower quality manufacturing that went into the brand. It is a standard 10-inch diameter 78-RPM vinyl disc. The record catalog number is Perfect 15228 (15228-B) and the master number is 37047A (37047B). The A-side recording features the waltz “Pal Of My Sweetheart Days” by Benny Davis and Fred Coots and runs approximately 2 minutes and 45 seconds. The B-side recording features the waltz “All That I’m Asking Is Sympathy” by Benny Davis and Joe Burke and runs approximately 2 minutes and 50 seconds. Both songs are sung by “Ted Bancroft” (more on the use of the quotations below) backed up by the “La Palina Broadcasters.” Tyrone Settlemier dates the album to August 20, 1929, which seems to match with the appearance of the encircled “E” on the label – a feature that appeared on Perfect labels only in the late 1920s. The record is valued at approximately $7 to $10.

Side-by-side with another 78-RPM of the period the color difference of the Perfect is more apparent.

It is one of eight Perfect records in my collection, but is probably the one in the best condition. One reason I decided to start with a Perfect label is the company’s interesting decision to forgo the traditional black shellac for a reddish/orange shellac – not all 78s look the same and as record companies competed for ways to make their product stick out a bit more they became increasingly more creative in how they made their albums look and not just sound. Only one other label at the time – Vocalion – did the same. Another Pathé label, Pathé-Actuelle, pressed mottled vinyl albums for a time. The epitome of this practice were the picture discs, best represented by the highly collectable Vogue picture records – in which complete color illustrations were printed on paper, covered with a thin vinyl sheet, and then the recording grooves were pressed onto the disc. The albums were pretty, even if the sound quality was a bit less than ideal.

Another bonus aspect of this album is that it is in my collection in its original sleeve. While most collectors don’t care about the album sleeve (except for some records, mostly 45s, where the sleeve artwork is actually more collectible than the record itself), there’s something nice about having the disc in its original home. Album sleeves were prime real estate for the record company to advertise and promote the other recordings (hey, if you bought this one…).

B-side of sleeve lists Perfect artists (so to speak).

On one side the headline of the sleeve copy here reads “A Selected List of Perfect Standard RECORDS THAT SHOULD BE IN EVERY HOME.” It then lists 28 albums in six categories – Hawaiian (“Ciribiribin…With Whistling,” “Kawaha,” and “O Sole Mio” -?), Instrumental, Vocal, Humorous and Novelty (“Casey At The Dentist” – a less successful sequel to Casey at the Bat perhaps?), Sacred, and Operatic and Classical. The song “La Paloma” must have been a real hit as it appears twice – once under Hawaiian (featuring “Louise and Ferera” on Hawaiian Guitars) and once under Instrumental (featuring the Casino Orchestra). The sleeve implores the reader to “ASK FOR COMPLETE STANDARD CATALOG OF PERFECT RECORDS.”

A-side of sleeve with promotional image and copy.

The front of the sleeve touts “AMERICA’S FASTEST SELLING RECORD…Better Records Can’t Be Made”. The former claim may have been true, but the latter almost certainly not. In addition to a black and white illustration of various types of musicians performing on top of a record the sleeve front additionally partially lists 35 popular and famous artists and orchestras that appeared on the Perfect label (the Original Memphis Five, Ukulele Ike, Hotel Biltmore Orchestra, Harry Barth’s Mississippians, Phil Hughes and his High Hatters, Irving Kaufman, Arthur Fields, Yvonne Gall, etc.).

A better look at the sleeve graphic, untorn.

The music on the album is less than thrilling.

The A-side recording, “Pal Of My Sweetheart Days,” is a standard waltz like so many that came out of Tin Pan Alley in the 1920s, with a cookie-cutter sensibility to the tune, accompanied by trite rhymes and clichéd lyrics.

“Mem’ries awaken the old love again, pal of my sweetheart days / Tho’ we’re far apart, you seem to linger in my heart.”

You get the idea.

1929 sheet music for

In addition to appearing on Perfect a version of the song appeared on the Broadway label, featuring “Frank Raymond’s Do”, some time between 1929 and 1932. The song was published in 1929 by Coots & Engel Inc. of New York City. In addition to a piano, vocal, and ukulele sheet music and the albums the song appeared on a Sears “Supertone” piano roll (#4430) issued by Columbia featuring an unknown pianist (though I have a very strong suspicion that the artist was…well, I’ll give away part of the end of this post if I tell you now).

1929 sheet music to

The B side recording is likewise a standard waltz from the period. “All That I’m Asking Is Sympathy” was also recorded by Art Jarrett and his Orchestra for Victor (record catalog number 22236) on December 2, 1929. It received a revival (and serious tempo adjustment) in 1953 on the album “Slim Whitman Sings” – the third record from the prolific country music singer and acclaimed yodeler Ottis Dewey “Slim” Whitman (issued on an Imperial 78-RPM #8180 and currently selling on EBay for about $15). The song was published by the Joe Morris Music Company of New York in 1929. “You are all I had / Now I am so sad / All that I’m asking is sympathy.”

Lyricist Benny Davis (1895-1979).

The works of three composers appear on the record. Benny Davis (1895-1979) had a hand in both songs. Davis, a former vaudeville performer and accompanist, was one of the busiest, and most successful, lyricists of the period. In addition to the two songs here Davis was responsible for the lyrics to the hit song “Baby Face” and several dozen others. He wrote lyrics to the Broadway shows “Artists and Models of 1927” and “Sons o’ Guns” (1936), as well as three versions of the Cotton Club revue. His song most recognizable to contemporary listeners is probably “With These Hands,” which appeared on the soundtrack to the 1990 film “Edward Scissorhands” sung by Tom Jones.

Davis’ colleague on “Pal Of My Sweetheart Days” (and many other songs) was J. Fred Coots (1897-1985), another high-volume Tin Pan Alley songwriter. A banker-turned-songwriter, Coots’ produced over 700 published songs and the scores to nine Broadway shows including “A Night in Paris“ (1926). His song “Louisiana Fairy Tale,” was used as the original theme song to the PBS show “This Old House” many decades later. In 1940 Coots – a fierce Rangers fan – wrote the “New York Rangers Victory Song,” which is still played after each of the hockey team’s home wins. Timely with the recent holiday, Coots most famous contribution to the American songbook, however, is doubtless the Christmas classic “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” (1934) – the tune for which he supposedly cooked up in ten minutes and which has sold over 4 millions copies of sheet music (500,000 of which were in the first year alone).

Composer Fred Coots (1897-1985).

Jack Burton’s 1950 “Honor Roll of Popular Songwriters” in Billboard magazine ranked Coots at number #52. Burton’s profile of Coots relates how the young banker gave up a lucrative career (fortuitous with the eventual market collapse of the late 1920s) to follow a passion for music. He sold his first song, the less-than-marketably-titled “Mister Ford, You’ve Got The Right Idea” (1917) for $5 – then promptly spent the entirety of the earnings on a celebratory dinner that same night. Years later, when the same publisher who bought that 1917 tune was himself on hard times the then-wealthy Coots presented him with a check for $500: “I owed the guy,” he explained.

Coots also composed music for several popular “night spots” during Prohibition, including the Alamo in Harlem, where the songwriter discovered a large-nosed pianist with a ripping sense of humor. Coots persuaded the young Jimmy Durante to give up his 75-cents-an-hour piano gig to get onto the comedy circuit professionally.

Waite Hoyt: championship Yankees pitcher, funeral director, and vaudeville performer.

Coots himself also appeared on stage on occasion, mostly in vaudeville acts in New York City. Following the New York Yankees 1927 World Series victory Coots teamed up with Yankees pitcher Waite Hoyt – fresh off pitching two winning Series games – to perform to sold out crowds at the Palace Theater. Hoyt, a consummate performer himself, went by the nickname “The Merry Mortician” – an allusion to his two non-baseball jobs: running a funeral home and starring in vaudeville numbers (including acts with Durante, Jack Benny, and George Burns). One might imagine Derek Jeter doing soft-shoe with Zach Galifianakis…or one might not.

Davis’ collaborator for “All That I’m Asking Is Sympathy” was Joe Burke (1884-1950), a songwriter better known for his film scores and songs than his popular singles. Burke started his career as an actor, appearing as Senator Keene in the 1915 black and white silent film “The Senator” and in the 1929 flick “The Show of Shows”. His catalog of Billboard Number One hit songs includes “Moon Over Miami” (1936), “Carolina Moon” (1929 – the same year as “All That I’m Asking Is Sympathy”), “On Treasure Island” (1935, for Tommy Dorsey), “Dancing With Tears In My Eyes” (1930), and “Who Wouldn’t Love You” (1942). He also penned the official college anthem for Villanova University (even though Burke himself was educated at UPenn). Burke’s most (in)famous song is perhaps “Tip Toe Through The Tulips” (originally for Nick Lucas for the 1929 show “The Gold Diggers of Broadway” and later more notoriously covered by Tiny Tim).

Tiny Tim, in his final video interview shortly before his death in 1996.

A second attraction for using this record to get Zayde’s Turntable spinning – in addition to its unconventional color – is its usefulness in illustrating the wide use of pseudonyms in the period. Collector and author of the “American Premium Record Guide” Les Docks notes: “the real name of the artist was not always used on all the affiliate labels…the purpose was often to evade exclusive recording artist contractual restrictions, or to avoid making royalty payments to artists…If this isn’t confusing enough, one pseudonym…might conceal the true identity of a dozen or more bands, whose performances appeared on other labels perhaps under different pseudonyms.”

Particularly fascinating on this record is that both the orchestra and the vocalist appear as a pseudonym. After a fair amount of digging I was able to ascertain the true identity of both the enigmatic “La Palina Broadcasters” and “Ted Bancroft.”

Bandleader Fred Rich (1898-1956).

Docks’ compendium lists several albums of value from the La Palina Broadcasters on Conqueror, Domino, Pathe-Actuelle, and Perfect – all valued $7 to $10. There is absolutely no record elsewhere of such an orchestra actually existing, however. La Palina was (and is) a brand of cigar, which – at one point – sponsored radio programs on CBS radio. In late 1928, a 30-year old man by the name of Fred Rich (1898-1956) was hired to be the music director for CBS radio. Rich, who came from an already lengthy career as a bandleader with numerous recordings to his credit, would be a natural to lead a radio orchestra (hence “Broadcasters” in the title) for Perfect (and other labels, all of which had some sort of business relationship with Columbia and CBS).

A search for more on Rich and La Palina confirm the pseudonym – Robert Stockdale’s “The Dorsey Brothers” lists four recordings on, literally, dozens of labels using up to six pseudonyms (“Ted White’s Collegians,” “Pierrot Syncopators,” “Pete Mandel and his Rhythm Masters,” “Vincent Lopez and his Orchestra,” etc.). Brian Rust’s “Jazz Records, 1897-1942” adds the front name “Jimmy Pollack’s Orchestra” on the rare Domino label to the mix. Docks identifies Fred/Freddie Rich and his Orchestra as being synonymous with the “La Palina Orchestra” – not Broadcasters – and lists over fifty of his albums on Banner, Cameo, Columbia (naturally), Gennett, Harmony, Hit-of-the-Week, Okeh, Pathe-Actuelle, Perfect, Regal, Romeo, and Vocalion – with an overall range of value between $5 and $30.

Rich’s recordings are mostly fairly standard and unimpressive dance fare (such as appear on this particular album), though he did press a few remarkable and acclaimed jazz albums. A writer in the International Association of Jazz Record Collectors 1971 volume observers about an unspecified La Palina Broadcaster’s recording: “Ted Bancroft does the vocal. There is the lead trumpet work, a lengthy Tommy Dorsey trombone solo, with brother Jimmy taking a clarinet solo. On the B-side the vocalist is Irving Kaufman [see list of featured Perfect artists above]. The quite commendable trumpet solos are by Leo McConville. The trombone solo is played straight but has T.D.’s [Tommy Dorsey’s] tone. A most interesting piano solo. Who? The B-side original issue cannot be traced. Banner?? It is a real sleeper.”

Rich’s finger-work as a pianist lives on immortalized in the dozens of piano rolls he also recorded for the Aeolian Company and others (perhaps even the uncredited roll for “Pal Of My Sweetheart Days”?). Rich left his job at CBS in 1938 but still made musical appearances on a number of programs (including The Abbott and Costello Show on NBC from 1943 to 1945). Leaving radio behind his final artistic endeavors were for the big screen, providing the scores to the films “Stage Door Canteen” (1943), “Jack London” (1943), “A Walk In The Sun” (1945), and “A WAVE, a WAC, and a Marine” (1944), for which he received an Academy Award nomination for best score.

There is no Ted Bancroft. A cursory search finds references to a Benny Goodman drummer, Ben Pollack (hmmm….”Jimmy Pollack’s Orchestra”?), singing under the pseudonyms “Ted Bancroft” and “Eddie Gale” (not, of course, Eddie Gale the jazz trumpeter…confused yet?). Pollack was a bandleader and singer by the late 1920s and his band had recently relocated from Chicago to New York City. They pressed albums for a vast array of labels: Banner, Perfect, Domino, Cameo, Lincoln, Romeo, and Victor, under an equally vast array of pseudonyms: Mills’ Merry Makers, Goody’s Good Timers, Kentucky Grasshoppers, Mills’ Musical Clowns, The Lumberjacks, Dixie Daises, The Whoopee Makers, The Hotsy Totsy Gang, and Jimmy Bracken’s Toe Ticklers. But Pollack’s music was almost all straight jazz and “hot dance.” Furthermore, as I am certain that the La Palina Broadcasters are the Fred Rich orchestra, it seem very unlikely that Ben Pollack would appear as a solo vocalist on an album backed up by someone else’s band.

Ted Bancroft is another Columbia/CBS artist. A musician who provided vocal accompaniment to Fred Rich’s Columbia house orchestra on numerous Columbia labels, including the original “Singin’ in the Rain.” He was one of the original “singing cowboys” and appeared in western films for Paramount and 20th Century Fox up through the 1950s, including dubbing the singing for John Wayne in “Riders of Destiny” and “The Man from Utah” and starred opposite Frances Langford as the lead in “Palm Springs.” He recorded hundreds of records with dozens of bands (including Ben Pollack’s). His own short-lived orchestra, on the Okeh label, gave a start to Glenn Miller. His name was Sykes “Smith” Ballew (1902-1984).

Sykes “Smith” Ballew (1902-1984), aka Ted Bancroft, pictured in 1931 two years after recording this album and at the height of his one-time fame.

And not one of his albums is commercially available today. You can only hear them on Zayde’s Turntable.

And that, in some ways, seems Perfect.