Showing posts with label Bessie Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bessie Smith. Show all posts

January 27, 2021

The Columbia Phonograph Company

 ~     
 
This month marks the aniversary of the Columbia Phonograph Company which was formed in Washington, D. C., on January 15, 1889, by stenographer, lawyer and New Jersey native Edward D. Easton (1856–1915) and a group of investors. It derived its name from the District of Columbia, where it was headquartered. 
 
 
Columbia in Washington, D. C. - 1889 
photographer unknown 
 
 
It evolved from the American Graphophone Company, the successor to the Volta Graphophone Company. Columbia is the oldest surviving brand name in the recorded sound business, and the second major company to produce records. The first was RCA Records.     
 
In 1913, Columbia moved into the Woolworth Building in New York City and housed its first recording studio there. In 1917, Columbia used this studio to make one of the earliest jazz records, by the Original Dixieland Jass Band. Their Livery Stable Blues was the first jazz record ever issued.       
 
 
1918 promotional postcard of the ODJB 
(from left)
drummer Tony Sbarbaro (aka Tony Spargo), 
trombonist Edwin "Daddy" Edwards
clarinetist Larry Shields, and 
pianist Henry Ragas
 photographer unknown 

      
As was the custom of some of the regional phonograph companies, Columbia produced many commercial cylinder recordings of its own, and its catalogue of musical records in 1891 was 10 pages.                 
 
 
Columbia type AT cylinder graphophone - 1898
 
 
Columbia's ties to Edison and the North American Phonograph Company were severed in 1894 with the  breakup of North American Phonograph Company. Thereafter it sold only records and phonographs of its own manufacture. In 1902, Columbia introduced the "XP" record, a molded brown wax record, to use up old stock. Columbia introduced black wax records in 1903. According to one source, they continued to mold brown waxes until 1904 with the highest number being 32601, Heinie, which is a duet by Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan.     
 
Columbia began selling disc records (invented and patented by Victor Talking Machine Company's Emile Berliner) and phonographs in addition to the cylinder system in 1901, preceded only by their "Toy Graphophone" of 1899, which used small, vertically cut records. For a decade, Columbia competed with both the Edison Phonograph Company cylinders and the Victor Talking Machine Company disc records as one of the top three names in American recorded sound.        
 
In 1908 Columbia commenced successful mass production of what they called their "Double-Faced" discs, the 10-inch variety initially selling for 65 cents apiece. The firm also introduced the internal-horn "Grafonola" to compete with the extremely popular "Victrola" sold by the rival Victor Talking Machine Company.            
 
During this era, Columbia used the "Magic Notes" logo—a pair of sixteenth notes (semiquavers) in a circle—both in the United States and overseas (where this particular logo would never substantially change).          
 
Columbia was split into two companies, one to make records and one to make players. Columbia Phonograph was moved to Connecticut, and Ed Easton went with it. Eventually it was renamed the Dictaphone Corporation.        
 
using a dictaphone
 
 
In late 1922, Columbia went into receivership. The company was bought by its English subsidiary, the Columbia Graphophone Company in 1925 and the label, record numbering system, and recording process changed. On February 25, 1925, Columbia began recording with the electric recording process licensed from Western Electric.         
 
In 1951, Columbia US began issuing records in the 45 rpm format RCA Victor had introduced two years earlier. Columbia became the most successful non-rock record company in the 1950s after it lured producer and bandleader Mitch Miller away from the Mercury label in 1950. Despite its many successes, Columbia remained largely uninvolved in the teenage rock'n'roll market until the mid-1960s, despite a handful of crossover hits, largely because of Miller's famous (and frequently expressed) loathing of rock'n'roll. (Miller was a classically trained oboist who had been a friend of Columbia executive Goddard Lieberson since their days at the Eastman School of Music in the 1930s.) Miller quickly signed up Mercury's biggest artist at the time, Frankie Laine, and discovered several of the decade's biggest recording stars including Tony Bennett, Mahalia Jackson, Jimmy Boyd, Guy Mitchell (whose stage surname was taken from Miller's first name), Johnnie Ray, The Four Lads, Rosemary Clooney, Ray Conniff, Jerry Vale and Johnny Mathis. He also oversaw many of the early singles by the label's top female recording star of the decade, Doris Day.         
 
Although Columbia began recording in stereo in 1956, stereo LPs did not begin to be manufactured until 1958. One of Columbia's first stereo releases was an abridged and re-structured performance of the Messiah by Handel performed by the New York Philharmonic and the Westminster Choir conducted by Leonard Bernstein (recorded on December 31, 1956, on ​12-inch tape, using an Ampex 300-3 machine). Bernstein combined the Nativity and Resurrection sections, and ended the performance with the death of Christ. Most of the early stereo recordings were of classical artists, including the New York Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Bruno Walter, Dimitri Mitropoulos, and the Philadelphia Orchestra conducted by Eugene Ormandy, who also recorded an abridged Messiah for Columbia.      
 
In 1961, Columbia's music repertoire was given an enormous boost when Mitch Miller, its A&R manager and bandleader, became the host of the variety series Sing Along with Mitch on NBC. The show was based on Miller's 'folksy' but appealing 'chorus' style performance of popular standards. During its four-season run, the series promoted Miller's "Singalong" albums, which sold over 20 million units, and received a 34% audience share when it was cancelled in 1964.       
 
In September 1961, CBS A&R manager John Hammond was producing the first Columbia album by folk singer Carolyn Hester, who invited a friend to accompany her on one of the recording sessions. It was here that Hammond first met Bob Dylan, whom he signed to the label, initially as a harmonica player. Dylan's self-titled debut album was released in March 1962 and sold only moderately. Some executives in Columbia dubbed Dylan "Hammond's folly" and suggest that Dylan be dropped from the label. But John Hammond and Johnny Cash defended Dylan, who over the next four years became one of Columbia's highest earning acts.       
 
Columbia's engineering department developed a process for emulating stereo from a mono source. They called this process "Electronically Rechanneled for Stereo". n the June 16, 1962, Columbia announced it would issue "rechanneled" versions of greatest hits compilations that had been recorded in mono, including albums by Doris Day, Frankie Laine, Percy Faith, Mitch Miller, Marty Robbins, Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis, and Johnny Mathis.         
 
When the British Invasion arrived in January 1964, Columbia had no rock musicians on its roster except for Dion, who was signed in 1963 as the label's first major rock star, and Paul Revere & the Raiders who were also signed in 1963. Terry Melcher, son of Doris Day, produced the hard driving Don't Make My Baby Blue for Frankie Laine, who had gone six years without a hit record. The song reached No. 51 on the pop chart and No. 17 on the easy listening chart.         
 
When Mitch Miller retired in 1965, Columbia was at a turning point. Miller's disdain for rock and roll and pop rock had dominated Columbia's A&R policy. The label's only significant "pop" acts at the time were Bob Dylan, The Byrds, Paul Revere & The Raiders and Simon & Garfunkel. In its catalogue were other genres: classical, jazz and country, along with a select group of R&B artists, among them Aretha Franklin. Most historians noted that Columbia had problems marketing Franklin as a major talent in the R&B genre, which led to her leaving the label for Atlantic Records in 1967.       

In September 1970, under the guidance of Clive Davis, Columbia Records entered the West Coast rock market, opening a state-of-the art recording studio located at 827 Folsom St. in San Francisco and later morphed into the Automatt and establishing an A&R head and office in San Francisco at Fisherman's Wharf, Columbia began recording in a four-channel process called quadraphonic, using the "SQ" (Stereo Quadraphonic) standard that used an electronic encoding process that could be decoded by special amplifiers and then played through four speakers, with each speaker placed in the corner of a room. RCA countered with another quadraphonic process that required a special cartridge to play the "discrete" recordings for four-channel playback. Both Columbia and RCA's quadraphonic records could be played on conventional stereo equipment. Although the Columbia process required less equipment and was quite effective, many were confused by the competing systems and sales of both Columbia's matrix recordings and RCA's discrete recordings were disappointing.      
 
Quadraphonic recording was used by both classical artists, including Leonard Bernstein and Pierre Boulez, and popular artists such as Electric Light Orchestra, Billy Joel, Pink Floyd, Johnny Cash, Barbra Streisand, Ray Conniff, Carlos Santana, Herbie Hancock, The Clash and Blue Öyster Cult.    
 
The acquisition of rights to the Columbia trademarks by EMI (including the "Magic Notes" logo) presented the company with a dilemma of which logo to use. For much of the 1990s, Columbia released its albums without a logo, just the "COLUMBIA" word mark in the Bodoni Classic Bold typeface. Columbia experimented with bringing back the "Notes and Mic" logo but without the CBS mark on the microphone. That logo is currently used in the "Columbia Jazz" series of jazz releases and reissues. A modified "Magic Notes" logo is found on the logo for Sony Classical. In mid to late 1999, it was eventually decided that the "Walking Eye" (previously the CBS Records logo outside North America) would be Columbia's logo, with the retained Columbia word mark design, throughout the world except in Japan where Nippon Columbia has the rights to the Columbia trademark to this day and continues to use the "Magic Notes" logo. In Japan, CBS/Sony Records was renamed Sony Records in 1991 and stopped using the "Walking Eye" logo in 1998.        

Columbia Records remains a premier subsidiary label of Sony Music Entertainment. The label is headed by chairman Rob Stringer, along with executive vice president and general manager Joel Klaiman, who joined the label in December 2012. In 2009, during the re-consolidation of Sony Music, Columbia was partnered with its Epic Records sister to form the Columbia/Epic Label Group under which it operated as an imprint. In July 2011, as part of further corporate restructuring, Epic was split from the Columbia/Epic Group as Epic took in multiple artists from Jive Records.      

As of March 2013, Columbia Records was home to 90 artists such as Lauren Jauregui, Robbie Williams, Calvin Harris and Daft Punk.         

         
 
       
       
Viewfinder links:         
          
Tony Bennett          
Leonard Bernstein       
Dave Brubeck       
The Byrds       
Johnny Cash          
Rosemary Clooney          
Ray Conniff       
Miles Davis       
Doris Day       
Bob Dylan       
Thomas Edison          
Percy Faith       
Aretha Franklin           
Herbie Hancock         
Mahalia Jackson      
Billy Joel      
Frankie Laine       
Johnny Mathis      
Mitch Miller          
Guy Mitchell      
Eugene Ormandy          
Johnnie Ray         
Marty Robbins          
Simon & Garfunkel        
Barbra Streisand       
Bruno Walter      
          
Net links:         
          
         
         
          
          
          
         
          
          
          
          
          
         
          










June 19, 2017

Bessie Smith articles/mentions

Betty Davis ~ They Say I'm Different   
The Harlem Renaissance        
Hellen Miller & Linda Hopkins ~ Inner City   
Negro “Blues” Singers         
          
          
           
         
        
        
          
           
          
 photo by Carl Van Vechten
         
         
      












June 17, 2017

Negro “Blues” Singers by Carl Van Vechten







24 BSO Harlem Renaissance Kit Music
Negro “Blues” Singers (1926)
An Appreciation of Three Coloured Artists
Who Excel in an Unusual and Native Medium
by Carl Van Vechten 




Carl Van Vechten - 1934



Editor’s notes—New York is celebrated for its transitory fads. For whole seasons its mood is dominated by one popular figure or another, or by a racial influence. We have had Chaliapin winters, Moscow Art Theatre winters, Jeritza winters, Jazz winters, Russian winters, and Spanish winters. During the current season, indubitably, the Negro is in the ascendancy. Harlem cabarets are more popular than ever. Everybody is trying to dance the Charleston or to sing Spirituals, and volumes of arrangements of these folksongs drop from the press faster than one can keep count of them. Since September, at least four white fiction writers have published novels dealing with the Negro, while several novels and books of poems by coloured writers are announced. Paul Robeson, Florence Mills, Taylor Gordon and Rosamond Johnson, Roland Hayes, and Bill Robinson are all successful on the stage or concert platform. Soon, doubtless, the homely Negro songs of lovesickness known as the Blues, will be better known and appreciated by white audiences.   

I

A trip to Newark is a career, and so I was forced to rise from the dinner table on Thanksgiving night shortly after eight o’clock if I wished to hear Bessie Smith sing at the Orpheum Theatre in that New Jersey City at a quarter of ten. I rose with eagerness, however, and so did my guests. Bessie Smith, the “Queen of the Blues,” whose records sell into figures that compete with the circulation of the Saturday Evening Post, was to sing in Newark arid Bessie Smith, who makes long tours of the South where her rich voice reaches the ears of the race from which she sprang, bad not been heard in the vicinity of New York, save through the horn of the phonograph, for over a year.

The signs and tokens were favorable. When we gave directions to the white taxicab driver at Park Place, he demanded, “Going to hear Bessie Smith?” “Yes,” we replied. “No good trying,” he assured us. “You can’t get in. They’ve been hanging on the chandeliers all the week.” Nevertheless, we persevered, spurred on perhaps by a promise on the part of the management that a box would be reserved for us. We arrived, however, to discover that this promise had not been kept. It had been impossible to hold the box; the crowd was too great.  

“Day jes’ nacherly eased into dat box,” one of the ushers explained insouciantly. However, Leigh Whipper, the enterprising manager of the theatre, eased them out again.  

Once seated, we looked out over a vast sea of happy black faces—two comedians were exchanging jokes on the stage. There was not a mulatto or high yellow visible among these people who were shouting merriment or approval after every ribald line. Where did they all come from? ln Harlem the Negroes are many colors, shading to white, but these were all chocolate browns and “blues.” Never before had I seen such an audience save at typical Negro camp-meetings in the far South.

The comedians were off. The lights were lowered. A new placard, reading BESSIE SMITH, appeared in the frames at either side of the proscenium. As the curtain lifted, a jazz band, against a background of plum-coloured hangings, held the full stage. The saxophone began to moan; the drummer tossed his sticks. One was transported involuntarily, inevitably, to a Harlem cabaret. Presently, the band struck up a slower and still more mournful strain. The hangings parted and a great brown woman emerged—she was the size of Fay Templeton in her Weber and Fields days, and she was even garbed similarly, in a rose satin dress, spangled with sequins, which swept away from her trim ankles. Her face was beautiful, with the rich, ripe beauty of southern darkness, a deep bronze brown, like her bare arms.

She walked slowly to the footlights.

Then, to the accompaniment of the wailing, muted brasses, the monotonous African - beat of the drum, the dromedary glide of the pianist’s fingers over the responsive keys, she began her strange rites in a voice full of shoutin’ and moanin’ and prayin’ and sufferin’, a wild, rough Ethiopian voice, harsh and volcanic, released between rouged lips and the whitest of teeth, the singer swaying slightly to the rhythm.

“Yo’ treated me wrong;
I treated yo’ right;
I wo’k fo’ yo’ full day an’ night.
Yo’ brag to women
I was yo’ fool,
So den I got dose sobbin’ h’ahted Blues.”

And now, inspired partly by the lines, partly by the stumbling strain of the accompaniment, partly by the power and magnetic personality of this elemental conjure woman and her plangent African voice, quivering with pain and passion, which sounded as if it had been developed at the sources of the Nile, the crowd burst into hysterical shrieks of sorrow and lamentation. Amens rent the air. Little nervous giggles, like the shivering of venetian glass, shocked the nerves.

“It’s true I loves yo’, but I won’t take mistreatments any mo’.”

“Dat’s right,” a girl cried out from under our box.   

 “All I wants is yo’ pitcher in a frame;
All 1 wants is yo’ pitcher in a frame; -
When yo’ gone I kin see yo’ jes’ duh same.”

 “Oh, Lawdy! Lawdy!” The girl beneath us shook with convulsive sobbing. 

“Use gwine to staht walkin’ cause
I got a wooden pah o’ shoes;
Gwine to staht walkin’ cause I got
a wooden pah o shoes;
Gwine keep on walkin’ till I lose
dese sobbin’ h’ahted Blues.”

The singer disappeared, and with her her magic. The spell broken, the audience relaxed and began to chatter. The band played a gayer tune.

Once again, Bessie Smith came out, now clad in a clinging garment fashioned of beads of silver steel. More than ever she was like an African empress, more than ever like a conjure woman.

“I’m gwineter sing dose mean ornery cussed Wo’khouse Blues,” she shouted.

“Everybody’s cryin’ de wo’khouse
Blues all day
All ‘long,
All ‘long.

A deep sigh from the gallery.

“Been wo’kin’ so hard—thirty days
is long,
long, long,
long, long...

The spell once more was weaving its subtle sorcery, the perversely complicated spell of African voodoo, the fragrance of china-berry blossoms, the glimmer of the silver fleece of the cotton field under the full moon, the spell of sorrow: misery, poverty, and the horror of jail. 

“I gotta leab heah,
Cotta git duh nex’ train home..
Way up dere, way up on a long lonesome road;
Duh wo’khouse ez up on a long lonesome road...
Daddy used ter be mine, but look who’se got him now;
Daddy used ter be mine, but look who’se got him now;
Ef yo’ took him keep him, he don’t mean no good nohow.”

II

If Bessie Smith is crude and primitive, she represents the true folk-spirit of the race. She sings Blues as they are understood and admired by the coloured masses. Of the artists who have communicated the Blues to the more sophisticated Negro and white public, I think Ethel Waters is the best. In fact, to my mind, as an artist, Miss Waters is superior to any other woman stage singer of her race.

She refines her comedy, refines her pathos, refines even her obscenities. She is such an expert mistress of her effects that she is obliged to expend very little effort to get over a line, a song, or even a dance. She is a natural comedienne and not one of the kind that has to work hard. She is not known as a dancer, but she is able, by a single movement of her body to outline for her public the suggestion of an entire dance. In her singing she exercises the same subtle skill. Some of her songs she croons; she never shouts. Her methods are precisely opposed to those of the crude coon shouter, to those of the authentic Blues singer, and yet, not for once, does she lose the veridical Negro atmosphere. Her voice and her gestures are essentially Negro, but they have been thought out and restrained, not prettified, but stylized. Ethel Waters can be languorous or emotional or gay, according to the mood of her song, but she is always the artistic interpreter of the many-talented race of which she is such a conspicuous member.    

III

When we listen to Clara Smith we are vouchsafed another manifestation of the genius of the Negro for touching the heart through music. Like Bessie Smith—they are not sisters despite the fact that once, I believe, they appeared in a sister-act in vaudeville—Clara is a crude purveyor of the pseudo-folksongs of her race. She employs, however, more nuances of expression than Bessie. Her voice flutters agonizingly between tones. Music critics would say that she sings off the key. What she really does, of course, is to sing quarter tones. Thus she is justifiably billed as the “World’s greatest moaner.” She appears to be more of an artist than Bessie, but I suspect that this apparent artistry is spontaneous and uncalculated. As she comes upon the stage through folds of electric blue hangings at the back, she is wrapped in a black evening cloak bordered with white fur. She does not advance, but hesitates, turning her face in profile. The pianist is playing the characteristic strain of the Blues. Clara begins to sing:

“All day long I’m worried;
All day long I’m blue;
I’m so awfully lonesome,
I don’ know what to do;
So I ask yo’, doctor,
See if yo’ kin fin’
Somethin’ in yo’ satchel
To pacify my min’.
Doctor! Doctor!

(Her tones become poignantly pathetic; tears roll down her cheeks.) 

Write me a prescription fo’ duh Blues
Duh mean ole Blues.”

(Her voice dies away in a mournful wail of pain and she buries her head in the curtains.)

Clara Smith’s tones uncannily take on the colour of the saxophone; again of the clarinet. Her voice is powerful or melancholy, by turn, it tears the blood from one’s heart. One learns from her that the Negro’s cry to a cruel Cupid is as moving and elemental, as is his cry to God, as expressed in the Spirituals.

- Reprinted from Vanity Fair, Vol. 26, no. 1 (1926): 67, 106, 108.


      
Carl Van Vechten & the Harlem Renaissance   
    
          
Styrous® ~ Saturday, June 17, 2017