Markel & His Orchestra – 1925

 

“Nobody But Fanny (from Big Boy)”
Markel & His Orchestral
November 19, 1928     (Columbia 475-D mx 141106)
“Sugar Plum (from Gay Paree Revue)”
Markel & His Orchestra
November 20, 1928    (Columbia 475-D mx 141107)

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here are two songs from musical stage productions running in New York City in the autumn of 1925, performed by a then well-known society band.

“Nobody But Fanny” is an Al Jolson, Buddy G. de Sylva, and Con Conrad composition from the musical comedy Big Boy, in which Jolson starred.  The production opened at the Winter Garden Theatre on January 7, 1925, and ran for 56 performances before closing on March 14.  It was revived on August 24, 1925, at the 44th Street Theatre for 120 performances before closing again in December.

“Sugar Plum,” composed by Joseph Meyer with lyrics by Buddy DeSylva, was featured in the Gay Paree Revue of 1925, which opened at the Shubert Theatre on August 18, 1925, and enjoyed a run of 181 performances before closing on January 30, 1926.  Among the production’s cast was a then-unknown chorus girl, future film and television star, Barbara Stanwyck.  (There was also a subsequent Gay Paree Revue of 1926.)

Ukrainian-born pianist and bandleader Mike Markels (sometimes spelled as “Markel”)  made his first recordings during World War I for Victor under the name Sergeant Markel’s Orchestra.  By the early 1920s, he led one of New York City’s more prominent society bands, which became known for mixing elements of hot jazz into its still-danceable arrangements, and was especially popular with affluent Upper East Side audiences.

Markels was one of several bandleaders of the era who simultaneously operated multiple bands, sometimes under their own name or under the name of the person who led a particular unit.  Such bandleaders essentially functioned as early band booking agencies.

Among the bandleaders who were famous for having multiple, and sometimes dozens, of bands were Meyer Davis, Jean Goldkette, and Lester Lanin.  Even Paul Whiteman, at the height of his popularity in the 1920s, maintained multiple ensembles billed as either the “Paul Whiteman Orchestra under the direction of…” or as “Paul Whiteman Presents … and His Orchestra.”

Markels specialized in providing society bands for well-to-do audiences at country clubs, private parties, and other venues in the Northeast.

Markels’ flagship band was also busy in the recording studios, cutting several hundred sides for a variety of labels, including Columbia, OKeh, Edison, Brunswick, and various low-priced and dime-store labels distributed by the Plaza Music Co. between 1921 and 1928.

After 1928, the only mention of him being back in the recording studio was in March 1932, when he provided the piano accompaniment for a side by a tenor vocalist named A. M. Limburg that was never issued.  I was not able to locate any information about who A. M. Limburg was.

The few mentions I found about Markel after 1928 suggest that he began to focus more on booking bands than leading them.

By the late 1930s, there were occasional mentions of him in Billboard magazine as head of the then-dominant band booking agency Music Corporation of America’s club division, responsible for booking MCA’s talent into country clubs and other high-end venues.

A 1952 mention indicates that Markels had been hired to book talent for television conductor Ray Bloch, who had opened a talent management firm still in business as a New York City event production company.

Both of the recordings featured here include prominent banjo passages.  Unfortunately, a listing of the personnel of the band at the time is not available.   It is possible that the banjo player was Frank Gravito, who appeared on Markels’ recordings a few years earlier, though it is unclear how long he remained in the band.   Famous banjoist and bandleader Harry Reser also worked as a sideman in Mike Markels’ band during the early 1920s, though as a saxophone player.

On “Sugar Plum,” starting at 1:52 into the recording, you can hear an unusual instrument that was occasionally included in early 1920s dance bands, the musical saw.

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Ernie Golden & His Orchestra / Willie Creager & His Orchestra – 1928

 

“Doin’ The Raccoon”
Ernie Golden & His Orchestra; George Beaver (Irving Kaufman), vocal
November 19, 1928     (Banner 6226-A mx 1887)
“Crying Blues”
Willie Creager & His Orchestra
November 20, 1928    (Banner 6226BB mx 1888)

From the Edward Mitchell Collection, here are two sides from a record by the low-priced Banner label.  Both sides feature “hot” jazzy arrangements, though with quite different moods.

“Doin’ The Raccoon” is a novelty song composed by J. Fred Coots, with lyrics by Raymond Klages, about the culturally iconic 1920s collegiate fashion fad of wealthy Ivy League college men, often with hip flasks of bootleg liquor, wearing full-length raccoon coats while attending college football games and other social events.

While the fad became well-known in the era’s popular culture, because a raccoon coat typically cost $350 in 1928 (approximately $6,800 in 2026 dollars), it was not widespread on most college campuses.

George Olsen and His Music recorded the most famous version of the song, which features more extended lyrics.  However, this version by Ernie Golden and His Orchestra features a nice “hot” arrangement after the vocal by Irving Kaufman, who is credited here as George Beaver, one of the many pseudonyms under which he recorded.

Based in New York City, Golden’s band was extremely prolific in the recording studios, cutting records for most of the American labels in existence during the 1920s, with the exception of Victor.   Many of the band’s records were credited as Ernie Golden and His Hotel McAlpin Orchestra due to its lengthy engagement at the hotel.

Willy Creager’s band also made records across a wide range of 1920s labels.  Creager himself is credited as the composer of “Crying Blues.”  I was unable to find any references to other recordings of this composition, nor could I locate a listing or a renewal for it in US copyright records.

Because record labels were required to pay composers’ royalties of 2 cents per record for every copyrighted song they issued, it was not uncommon for low-priced labels to feature the popular song intended to entice people to buy the record on the “A “side, with the “B” side featuring a “throwaway” of a less well-known song as filler.

To save the extra 2 cents royalty per record, these “B” sides often consisted of either public domain songs or unpublished, non-copyrighted material, which in many instances was commissioned directly by the label.

My very strong guess is that “Crying Blues” was such a composition. If so, that certainly doesn’t make the recording any less enjoyable.

The “Crying Blues” side also features a technical glitch.

In the silent passage after the conclusion of the recording and prior to the grooves terminating into the runout area, one can hear some sort of accidental audio from the recording studio.   I cannot make out the source of the sound. It occurs to me that it might be a drum or perhaps someone bumped into a microphone or another part of the recording equipment.

I have records from the 1910s where one can hear in the opening grooves the horn that gave the “All Quiet’ signal that sounded just before a recording was made.  So perhaps another possibility is that the sound heard at the end of this record was a similar signal to indicate to everyone present that microphones were no longer recording.

Because the glitch occurs after the conclusion of the song, it will not be heard when the recording airs on Radio Dismuke.  However, I will post it here so that those who do not have their own copy of the record can hear it.

Technical glitch in the silent grooves after the conclusion of “Crying Blues”

Banner was initially created for S.S. Kresge, a dime store chain that, decades later, evolved into the Kmart discount store chain.  But, to maximize economies of scale with higher production runs, the label was eventually made available for sale by other retail chains, as well as through wholesale jobbers that supplied smaller chains and independent retailers.  During the period these recordings were made, Banner records typically sold for 35 cents each.

To keep Kresge happy, and because of the large size of its orders, an arrangement was made for Kresge to buy the records at a substantial quantity discount.  Since they sold for the same 35 cents as those offered by other retailers, this allowed Kresge to enjoy higher margins.  Kresge was also guaranteed the widest selection of Banner records of any retailer, and new releases appeared at Kresge before becoming available elsewhere.

The two sides featured here were also issued on the Oriole and Jewel labels, under the pseudonym of  Ted White’s Collegians.  The use of the pseudonym makes sense given that Oriole Records, sold exclusively through McCrory stores, typically retailed for 25 cents, and Jewel Records, sold through a variety of retail outlets, were often advertised for sale as low as 21 cents.  Kresge and other retailers that carried Banner at 35 cents would probably not have appreciated making it easier for customers to discover that identical recordings were available elsewhere at a much lower price.

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Coon-Sanders Orchestra & The Virginians – 1928

 

“Blazin'”
Coon-Sanders Orchestra
June 2, 1928     (Victor 21680-B)
“Low Down”
The Virginians
June 8, 1928    (Victor 21680-A)

From the Edward Mitchell collection, here are two recordings with jazzy arrangements that will be among several others making their debut on Radio Dismuke with this week’s playlist update.

Both of these come from Victor 21680, which hit record store shelves in December 1928 and remained in Victor’s catalog until 1930.

The Coon-Sanders Orchestra, which was earlier known as Coon-Sanders Original Nighthawks, was led by Carleton Coon and Joe Sanders.  Originally based in Kansas City, it was among the first local, Midwestern bands to achieve national fame through radio, thanks to their late-night broadcasts beginning in 1922 from that city’s Muehlebach Hotel over radio station WDAF.  Because of the station’s strong nighttime signal, it could be heard throughout much of the United States.

The band relocated to Chicago in 1924, where the selection featured here was recorded.  It remained popular through 1932, when Coon died suddenly as the result of a dental infection that spread to his bloodstream. Before the advent of antibiotics, even small infections that, a few decades later, would have been easily treatable, could quickly turn deadly.

Sanders continued to lead the band under his own name throughout the 1930s, but with much less success.

The Virginians were originally a subunit of musicians from the Paul Whiteman Orchestra, under the direction of Ross Gorman, whose recordings were consistently more jazz-oriented than the wider-ranging repertoire of Whiteman’s flagship band.  By the time this recording was made, Victor’s association with Gorman and Whiteman had ended, and The Virginians had become a recording pseudonym for Victor’s in-house band, which, in this instance, was directed by Nat Shilkret.

It wasn’t until I got this record into brighter light to make a scan of its label that I noticed the label on the Coon-Sanders side had, at one time, featured an inscription in white ink.  Most of that ink has long since rubbed off. But under the right lighting, one can see a remaining outline of a portion of it.  The only part that I can make out for sure says “To George.”  Below it is a section where one can make out what might be a very faint capital “J.”

At the time, it was common for fans to ask musicians to autograph copies of their 78 rpm records, and it was customary for such autographs to be in white ink.  So there’s a good possibility that this copy was once autographed by someone associated with making the record.  On the other hand, especially given that the record became available in stores during December, it is also possible that the inscription was to note a Christmas present.

 

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Layton And Johnstone – 1931

 

 

“Mausie”
Layton And Johnstone
October 1931     (Columbia DB 655 mx CA 12048)
“Goodnight”
Layton And Johnstone
October 1931    (Columbia DB 655 mx CA 12040)

Here are two very nice British recordings courtesy of Matt from College Station’s collection, which Matt presented on Radio Dismuke’s New Process Viva-Tonal Broadcast, which aired a few weeks ago.

Turner Layton and Clarence “Tandy” Johnstone were an American piano/vocal duo who, like a number of other 1920s-era Black American artists, found the racial climate across the Atlantic far more welcoming than at home and established highly successful careers there.

While they performed throughout Europe, it was in England that they became a household name and ranked among that country’s top celebrities.  Their popularity extended across all social lines – they were well regarded by both elite and working-class audiences alike.  Among their admirers was the Prince of Wales.

Between 1928 and 1935, each had reportedly earned around £64,000, an amount that, in today’s money, would be approximately £5.43 million in the UK or $7.1 million in the USA.

The duo parted ways in 1935 after divorce court documents came to light in the British media, indicating that Clarence Johnstone had an interracial affair with Raymonde Sandler, the wife of noted salon orchestra leader and BBC radio star Albert Sandler.

The former Mrs. Sandler followed Johnstone to New York City, where they were married in December 1935.  Unfortunately, Johnstone’s musical style, which had been a hit with British audiences, was not as well received in America, and he struggled to find work in the entertainment industry, eventually taking jobs as a Western Union messenger and a janitor.   Their marriage fell apart in the early 1940s, and Johnstone died penniless in a New York sanitarium in 1953.

The scandal did not impact Turner Layton’s popularity, and after the breakup, he resumed his career as a successful solo performer until he retired in 1946.

Both of these songs come from Paul Abraham’s Viktoria und ihr Husar.  Abraham was a groundbreaking Jewish Hungarian composer who combined traditional Austro-Hungarian operetta with elements of American jazz.  Viktoria premiered in Budapest on February 21, 1930.   Its German premiere was in Leipzig on July 7, 1930.  By August 15, it had transferred to Berlin, where it became a huge hit, resulting in recordings of popular arrangements of its songs becoming hits in their own right.  An English-language version of the show opened in London on September 17, 1931, with adapted lyrics by Harry Graham as heard on these recordings.

Abraham’s subsequent productions, Die Blume von Hawaii and Ball im Savoy, were also highly successful.  The December 23, 1932, premiere of  Ball im Savoy in Berlin is considered by many to have been the last major cultural event of Weimar Germany before Hitler took power the following month.  Despite the production’s popularity, because Abraham and most of the artists associated with it were Jewish, it was forced to close in early April as a result of attacks on the theater and audience by thugs from Hitler’s Brownshirts paramilitary organization. Abraham had to flee Germany and eventually Europe.   His works were subsequently banned by the Nazi regime as “degenerate.”

By the early 1940s, Abraham had relocated to Cuba and then the United States, where he had difficulty finding work.  His mental health began to deteriorate to the point where he was famously seen standing on a New York City traffic island with his baton, believing that he was once again conducting an orchestra.  Beginning in 1946, he spent 10 years in New York area psychiatric hospitals before friends and fans in Germany raised funds for his return to that country.

After the war, Abraham’s works enjoyed a popular revival in 1950s  Germany and are still well remembered and performed in German-speaking countries.  Unfortunately, none of his productions made their way to the United States during their initial 1930s heyday, where they are still largely unknown.   Thus, period recordings of popular music adaptations of his songs almost always come from the United Kingdom or Europe, which I think is sad.  In my opinion, his delightful and often haunting melodies place him among the ranks of the era’s best composers of popular music.

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The Missouri Jazz Band (Fletcher Henderson Orch) & Roy Collins Dance Orchestra (Nathan Glantz Orch) – 1925

 

“Then I’ll Be Happy”
Missouri Jazz Band; Gerald Nelson, vocal
(Pseudonyms for Fletcher Henderson’s Orchestra & Don Redman, vocal)
November 16, 1925     (Oriole 528 a mx 36297)
“Who Loves You Now?”
Roy Collins Dance Orchestra
(Pseudonym for Nathaniel Glantz Orchestra)
September 30, 1925    (Oriole 528 b mx 36205)

Here are two recordings with jazzy “hot dance” passages from a mid-1920s Oriole record.

Oriole was a label manufactured by the Scranton Button Company specifically for the McCrory dime store chain.   Oriole did not have its own recording studios, and, as was common practice with many small labels and chain store brand labels, relied on masters made available by other record labels.

By the time this record was made and thereafter, Oriole sourced its material from masters recorded at the Independent Record Laboratories‘ studio at 55 West 16th Street in New York City for the Scranton Button Co. owned Regal Records, along with other labels manufactured by Scranton Button and distributed by the Plaza Music Company, such as Banner and Domino.

Artist credits on Oriole were almost always recording pseudonyms – and the pseudonyms might or might not have been the same as those used on issues of the identical recording on other affiliated labels.

The recording of “Then I’ll  Be Happy” features two giants of the Harlem Renaissance music scene whose talents as arrangers helped define the sound of the later swing and big band eras: Fletcher Henderson’s orchestra with Don Redman providing the vocal.

On Oriole, they were disguised under the pseudonyms of the Missouri Jazz Band and Gerald Nelson.  On copies issued by Regal, Banner, and Domino, however, they were credited under their own names.  Copies issued on the Slivertone label, sold through Sears, Roebuck & Company’s catalogs and retail stores, were credited as Sid Terry’s Collegians with Ray Gilbert on vocal.

The Missouri Jazz Band pseudonym was frequently used across Regal/Plaza Music-affiliated labels for recordings by a variety of bandleaders, including Adrian Schubert, Lou Gold, Sam Lanin, Nathan Glantz, and many others.

The Roy Collins Dance Orchestra pseudonym used for the recording of “Who Loves You Now?” on the flip side was also widely used across the different labels.  According to Brian Rust’s American Dance Band Discography, the band on this recording is Nathan Glantz’s.

Interestingly enough, Rust lists this recording as having been made but indicates that it was “rejected” and unissued.   Obviously, that was not the case given the existence of this Oriole issue.

I suspect, however, that Rust was not completely incorrect.  In nearby listings, he indicates that his information was based on the record label’s own internal files.  My hunch is that the recording was initially rejected for issue on the flagship Regal and Banner labels and noted as such in those files. But, I suspect, at some point later, someone went back and decided to pair the previously rejected master with “Then I’ll Be Happy” for release on Oriole.   I have not been able to find any reference to this recording appearing on any label besides Oriole.

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Varsity Eight (California Ramblers) / Brooke Johns And His Orchestra – 1923

 

“Take Oh Take Those Lips Away”
Varsity Eight
November 22, 1923     (Cameo 444 mx 726)
“Take Oh Take Those Lips Away”
Brooke Johns And His Orchestra; Brooke Johns, vocal
November 20, 1923    (Victor 19204 A)

 

Here are two pre-microphone-era recordings of a catchy song from the Ziegfeld Follies of 1923.

The Varsity Eight recording, from my personal collection, is new to Radio Dismuke and will be added to this week’s playlist update.   The Brooke Johns version, from the Edward Mitchell Collection, has been in the station’s playlist since October.

I think these are both excellent recordings.  I am especially fond of the Varsity Eight version as it has several enjoyable hot jazz passages after the one-minute mark.

The Brooke Johns recording is the more historically significant of the two, as Brooke Johns was an actual cast member of the 1923 Follies and performed the song in the show, along with dancer Ann Pennington.

Johns rose to prominence as a jazz banjo player and vocalist in vaudeville. By the early 1920s, he was appearing in Broadway productions, including both the 1922 and 1923 productions of the Follies.  He also formed his own dance band, which recorded 11 sides for Victor between April 1923 and February 1924.

Between July and November 1924, Johns was in London, where he performed at the Piccadilly Hotel Cabaret.  In August, Johns received an invitation to visit the Prince of Wales, where he performed for the other guests, with the Prince himself joining in on drums.  Johns returned to England in August 1925, where he performed at the exclusive Kit-Cat Club and at the Alhambra Theatre

During his trips to England, Johns recorded several vocal/banjo sides, seven of which were issued, for His Master’s Voice.  None of those recordings appear to have been issued in the United States.

Johns was also the co-composer of the popular 1924 song “Tessie! (Stop Teasing Me),” which was one of the songs he recorded while in London.

Johns retired from show business in the early 1930s to a large farm he had acquired outside of Olney, Maryland.   However, between various other endeavors he became involved with, he subsequently hosted a morning program on a local radio station and a local children’s television show.  On occasion, he would also sing and play the banjo at local schools and nursing homes, his last performance being in 1986 at a Montgomery College scholarship benefit, when he was 92 years old.

Johns seems to have lived a fascinating, multi-faceted life and strikes me as someone who would have been extremely interesting to have known. You can read a more detailed overview of his life and endeavors that I haven’t mentioned at this link.  (Note: the overview is entirely AI-generated, but it is very good at citing and providing links to its sources.)

The Varsity Eight was a recording pseudonym for the California Ramblers used on the low-priced Cameo label, as well as on Cameo’s various subsidiary labels.  The recording here was also issued on Cameo’s Lincoln label but under the pseudonym of the University Sextette.

Beginning in 1922 and into the early 1930s, the band, whose roster over the years included some of the era’s top jazz musicians, recorded countless hundreds of sides under their own name, as well as a vast array of pseudonyms, for virtually every American record label of the era.

I’ve read that over 100 pseudonyms were ultimately used for the band’s recordings, though some of them were used much more frequently than others, such as the Varsity Eight, the Golden Gate Orchestra, the University Six, the Five Birmingham Babies, and Ted Wallace and His Campus Boys.

It was not uncommon for the California Ramblers to record a song, with slight changes in arrangement, for multiple labels.  However, I was not able to find any reference to indicate that this was the case with “Take Oh Take Those Lips Away.”

 

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The Hi-Flyers – 1938

 

“Dragging The Bow”
The Hi Flyers
December 6, 1938  (Vocalion 04671 mx DAL 738)
“Don’t Say Goodbye”
The Hi Flyers; Steve Wooden, vocal
December 6, 1938    (Vocalion 04671 mx DAL 742)

 

Here are two recordings by an early Western swing band based out of Fort Worth, Texas, the city where Bob Wills and Milton Brown are widely credited with giving birth to the musical genre in 1931 by combining elements of traditional country music (known at the time as “hillbilly music”) with elements of jazz and popular dance band music.

The Hi-Flyers actually predated the birth of Western swing, having started as a conventional country string band in 1929 under the name the High Flyers.  By 1932, they had changed their name to the Hi-Flyers and adopted a full-fledged Western swing style.

The band became well known through its regular radio program on Fort Worth station KFJZ and, for a period, on station KTAT.

In November 1930, the band recorded two sides as “The Texas High Flyers” during a Brunswick Records field trip to Dallas, though neither recording was issued.   Beginning in June 1937 and continuing through March 1941, the Hi-Flyers were regular participants in periodic field trip recording sessions conducted by Vocalion and later OKeh Records in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, with around 54 sides ultimately issued by the band.

Both of these recordings were made on December 6, 1938, in a recording studio constructed out of Beaverboard on the third floor of a Zigzag Moderne building that still stands at 508 Park Avenue in Dallas.   Steve Wooden, who sings the vocal on “Don’t Say Goodbye,” was also the band’s guitar player.

In July 1940, the Columbia Broadcasting System, which had acquired Vocalion and various other labels in its 1938 purchase of the American Record Corporation, discontinued Vocalion in favor of its newly revived OKeh label.  As a result, after that date, all recordings made by the band – and subsequent pressings of the band’s Vocalion recordings – appeared on OKeh.   Pre-1940 Vocalion recordings that were also pressed on OKeh retained the same catalog number.

 

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Background Information For Our New Process Viva-Tonal Broadcast of May 16-17, 2026

 

 

 

Our special “New Process Viva‑tonal” broadcast is devoted to records made either by the American or British branches of Columbia Records, including Columbia’s low‑priced subsidiary labels in the United States, as well as records issued by companies that Columbia acquired in the 1920s such as OKeh in the United States and the German‑based Lindström companies, which produced labels such as Odeon, as well as Parlophone, which was very successful in the United Kingdom.

The reason we will be highlighting these records is to honor what many collectors regard as the best records made during the late 1920s and early 1930s in terms of manufacturing and playback quality.

This quality was the result of two technological improvements introduced in the early 1920s. In 1923, the British branch of Columbia developed and patented what it advertised as its “New Process” playing surface, which was significantly quieter than other 78/80 rpm records designed to be played on conventional wind‑up record players with heavy tone arms and single‑use steel needles.

Part of what made Columbia’s records so quiet was their laminated surfaces. Prior to the post–World War II advent of vinyl records, records were pressed into a solid mixture of ingredients bound together with shellac. These ingredients had to simultaneously provide strength, so the record would not be too brittle, while also creating a playing surface that minimized extraneous noise. The challenge was that materials that provided the best strength tended to be very gritty, while materials that provided the quietest surfaces were not as strong and tended to be expensive. Each company had its own “recipe” of materials, with widely varying results in terms of sound quality and durability.

Columbia’s laminated records had a solid core made of material that provided rigidity and strength. A thin layer of paper separated the core material from an outer layer of shellac and other ingredients that formed the playing surface into which the record’s grooves were stamped. Columbia’s records had been laminated since 1907. Unfortunately, the ingredients used for the surface layer between 1907 and 1923 were less than optimal. Larger particles in the fibers and minerals in the mixture could work their way to the surface and break free from the shellac binding, creating pitting that resulted in microscopic roughness and increased surface noise.

What made the New Process records different was that the ingredient mixture for the surface layer eliminated organic fibers and used newly developed forms of plastic, in addition to shellac, as the binding agent. The remaining ingredients—synthetic resins and mineral fillers—were ground into an extremely fine dust. This resulted in a much tighter, smoother playing surface, which reduced noise‑causing friction against the stylus.

This new surface was not only quiet when new and in mint condition. While such records sometimes develop small, tight cracks that only extend into the laminated surface (which are usually easy to remove digitally or with a pop‑and‑click filter), the quietness of their surface has held up well over the decades. The heavy soundboxes and steel needles of the era’s wind‑up phonographs, which remained in widespread use well into the early 1940s, were extremely hard on records. However, records with Columbia’s New Process surface that survive today in average condition—or even below—tend to provide much better performance than other records from the period in comparably worn condition.

The second technological advance was one that would revolutionize the entire recording industry. During the early 1920s, Western Electric developed the first commercially practical system of electrical recording—that is, recording through a microphone using vacuum tube amplification instead of the mechanical process that relied on acoustic recording horns. This allowed for significantly improved frequency response, from deep bass to very high notes, as well as improved dynamic range, enabling the capture of delicate instruments and softer vocals that lacked the volume needed for acoustic recording. Suddenly, recorded music sounded lifelike instead of a flat, tinny, and distorted approximation.

Both Columbia and its larger rival, the Victor Talking Machine Company (along with the UK‑based Gramophone Company, which issued the His Master’s Voice label and of which Victor had acquired a controlling share in 1921), licensed the Western Electric system and began making electrical recordings in early 1925. Over the next two years, other labels scrambled to acquire their own electrical recording systems that did not violate Western Electric’s patents. Few matched Western Electric’s quality, and some were quite poor.

Like Columbia, Victor/His Master’s Voice had outstanding studio engineers and produced top‑quality recordings. What sets Columbia apart in playback quality, however, is the New Process surface.

In response, Victor began improving the compounds used for its records. By the mid to late 1920s, a Victor record in pristine condition could, at times, have a low noise level approaching Columbia’s. However, their higher content of shellac and organic materials meant that impurities could exist in the surface, break loose, and result in microscopic pitting—and therefore noise. This is why Victor records from that period that appear visually excellent can still sound surprisingly noisy when played.

During the period we will be focusing on in the program, American Columbia was owned by its former British subsidiary. In an attempt to avoid bankruptcy, Columbia sold its British branch to an investment group headed by its general manager, Louis Sterling, in December 1922—just one month before the introduction of the New Process surface. The sale was not enough to prevent bankruptcy, and Columbia entered receivership in October 1923. However, through an unexpected turn of events, the transaction ultimately saved the company.

Under Sterling’s leadership, British Columbia returned to profitability. In late 1924, one of Sterling’s contacts in the United States quietly sent him test pressings demonstrating Western Electric’s new electrical recording process. Recognizing its importance—and learning that Western Electric was negotiating with Victor—Sterling immediately traveled to New York to secure a license for Columbia.

Western Electric informed him that overseas rights would only be granted through an American affiliate. As a result, British Columbia acquired a controlling interest in its former American parent, enabling access to the technology in both the United Kingdom and Europe.

In October 1926, Columbia acquired the German company Carl Lindström AG, which issued major labels such as Odeon, Beka, and Parlophone. Lindström had been unable to transition to electrical recording and was at a growing disadvantage. The acquisition gave it access to Columbia’s licensed technology.

Columbia allowed Lindström to operate with considerable autonomy. Some of its labels adopted laminated New Process records, while others continued using traditional shellac discs. In the UK, Parlophone began issuing laminated records.

The following month, Columbia acquired OKeh. Although not owned by Lindström, OKeh had close historical ties, and its jazz catalog was highly successful in Europe. One motivation for the acquisition was to maintain access to this material. After the acquisition, OKeh quickly adopted both Western Electric recording and laminated pressing.

In 1928, Columbia acquired the French and British operations of the Pathé label.

The Great Depression had devastating effects on the record industry—especially in the United States. In Europe, economic pressures contributed to the 1931 merger of British Columbia and the Gramophone Company to form EMI.

In Great Britain, New Process laminated records were quickly discontinued after the merger in a cost‑cutting move, and Columbia and Parlophone were switched to lower‑cost pressings. However, in other countries, EMI continued—and in some cases expanded—the use of laminated records.

In Australia, for example, both Columbia and even His Master’s Voice issued laminated pressings—something that never occurred in the UK. As a result, Australian pressings of British and American recordings are highly sought after by collectors and audio restoration specialists for their exceptional sound quality.

The EMI merger also affected American Columbia. Because Victor held an interest in the Gramophone Company, the deal created antitrust issues in the United States. As a result, EMI was forced to divest Columbia, which was sold in 1932. After a series of ownership changes, Columbia was acquired in 1934 by the American Record Company (ARC).

Columbia did not thrive under ARC ownership. Its major artists were reassigned, and the label was reduced primarily to niche and lower‑selling releases. While some laminated pressing continued at the Bridgeport plant, most production shifted to lower‑cost records.

Occasionally, leftover laminated materials were used for other labels, resulting in rare laminated pressings of otherwise low‑quality records—highly prized anomalies today.

In 1938, Columbia was once again saved—this time through its historical connection to CBS. CBS acquired ARC and restored Columbia as its flagship label, investing in and improving the New Process lamination technology.

By the late 1930s, improvements in materials and recording reduced surface noise across the industry. After World War II, the transition to vinyl records and lighter playback equipment further improved sound quality. However, earlier records—including New Process discs—still contained abrasives to accommodate steel needles, limiting their ultimate quietness.

Even so, for listeners and collectors of 1920s and 1930s recordings, Columbia’s New Process technology remains a remarkable achievement—one that continues to impress nearly a century later.

For more information about the history of Columbia Records, check out the excellent Columbia Records, 1901-1934: A History by Tim Brooks on the Discography of American Historical Recordings website. 

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The Washingtonians – 1928

 

 

“Hot And Bothered”
The Washingtonians
October 1928 (Romeo 827 mx 3528)

 

From the Edward Mitchell Collection, here’s a recording I played a few months ago on Radio Dismuke’s annual New Year’s broadcast and have recently added to the station’s playlist –  by Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, credited to The Washingtonians, which was one of several recording pseudonyms used by the band.

Recording sessions were a lucrative source of side income for New York City-based musicians, as, in those days,  record companies typically paid musicians up front for each side recorded, regardless of how well the records sold.  For this reason, Ellington saw to it that his primary recording affiliation was exclusive only in the use of the Duke Ellington name, leaving him free to record for other labels under different names.

The use of “The Washingtonians” was more meaningful than that of other pseudonyms used for the band’s recordings:  It was the band’s actual name before Duke Ellington took it over from its original leader, Elmer Snowden, in 1924.

Ellington recorded at least four versions of “Hot And Bothered.”  The most famous and, in my opinion, the best version was his first, recorded under Ellington’s own name on October 1, 1928 for OKeh, featuring a scat vocal by Baby Cox.

The version featured here on Romeo was recorded sometime later that same month.

Romeo was a subsidiary label of Cameo Records, which specialized in producing low-priced records.  Romeo records were sold through the S. H. Kress dime store chain. Although Kress began as a strictly 5- and 10-cent retailer, it moved beyond that model in 1901, when it began offering additional items for sale at 25 cents, the price at which Romeo records were sold.

In late 1927, the owners of the American branch of Pathe Records acquired the financially struggling Cameo Records.  While both companies continued to exist as separate legal entities, in July 1928, all operations were consolidated at Cameo’s existing offices and recording studios.  From that point forward, Cameo, Pathe, and their respective subsidiary labels usually, though not always, shared the same recording sessions.  Often, a second take would be made so that the recordings used on the Cameo labels would be slightly different than those for Pathe and its low-priced Perfect label.  But sometimes the same master would be used for both label groups.

This recording was credited on the Cameo, Romeo, and Lincoln labels as The Washingtonians.   On the Pathe and Perfect, it was credited to The Whoopee Makers.   According to Brian Rust’s Jazz Records, the same master was used for all issues.

The Ellington band made another recording of “Hot And Bothered”  on June 12, 1930, which was issued in the United States on Columbia’s low-priced Clarion, Diva, and Velvet Tone labels credited as Mill’s Ten Black Berries, and in the UK on Parlophone under Ellington’s own name.

On February 3, 1930, another version was recorded that appeared under Ellington’s name, along with “Mood Indigo” and “Creole Love Call,” on a Victor Program Transcription, an early, commercially unsuccessful attempt to introduce 33 rpm long-playing records. You can learn more about Victor Program Transcriptions and listen to three examples in an earlier posting.

The fidelity of Cameo/Romeo’s electrically recorded records was mediocre compared with those of Victor or Columbia, though typically better than certain other low-priced labels of the era.  As with most low-priced labels, the records themselves were made with lower-quality, cheaper materials and tended to wear quickly under the weight of the heavy tone arms and steel needles of the era’s wind-up phonographs.  For that reason, those that survive even in fairly decent condition tend to be noisy.

 

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Nat Martin And His Orchestra – 1925

Ziegfeld showgirl Barbara Stanwyck in 1924 photo by Alfred Cheney Johnston with label for Edison 51615-R shown also.

Ziegfeld showgirl Barbara Stanwyck in 1924 photo by Alfred Cheney Johnston

 

 

“If I Had A Girl Like You”
Nat Martin And His Orchestra
August 7, 1925   (Edison 51615-R mx 10551 B 1 3)

 

Here is an Edison Diamond Disc recording from the Edward Mitchell Collection that I thought was rather charming and that will be among the selections added to Radio Dismuke on this week’s playlist update.

Composed by Billy Rose, Mort Dixon, and Ray Henderson, “If I Had A Girl Like You” was briefly popular in 1925 and recorded by most of the era’s major record labels.  However, it is completely different from the 1930 Louis W. McDermott song of the same name, recorded by Rudy Vallee, Annette Hanshaw, Phil Spitalny, and others.  Because copyright protection does not extend to a work’s title, it is not uncommon for multiple compositions to have the same title, especially when one looks across decades and musical genres.

Largely forgotten today, Nat Martin’s band was well-known in the New York City area during the 1920s, rising to prominence as the pit band for the highly successful Marx Brothers‘ musical revue, I’ll Say She Is, which ran for over 300 performances at Broadway’s Casino Theater between May 19, 1924, and February 7, 1925. (The show also enjoyed revivals in 2014 and 2016).

As a result of its Broadway success, the band recorded eight sides for Edison between October 31, 1924 and the August 7, 1925 session from which the selection featured here comes. The band recorded an additional side for Edison on November 27, 1927, but it was never issued.

After I’ll Say She Is closed, the band traveled to Detroit for an extended high profile engagement at the Oriole Terrace ballroom.  It subsequently appeared at various venues in New York City and surrounding areas, as well as on radio.  For a period, it was reportedly one of the more expensive local bands to book.

After 1928, mentions of Nat Martin in industry trade publications suddenly dropped off.

I was able to find a mention in an April 1929 publication of the AFM musicians’ union of a Nat Martin and other musicians from New York Local 802 as “traveling members” eligible to work in Washington DC.

I also found a brief mention in the July 1935 issue of Variety stating:

With the jazz band biz (sic) what it is, Maestro Nat Martin has returned to the optician business with a shop in Radio City.

A March 1938 listing for a Nat Martin in the membership roster of the AFM Local 803 in New York (assuming it is the same Nat Martin) suggests that he either continued to work, or hoped to work, as a musician, at least on a part-time basis.  However, the union’s May 1939 roster indicates his membership had been terminated.  Typically, a musician who left for work in a different city would be listed as a transfer, not a termination.

I also found the following tidbit in the July 2, 1945 issue of Broadcasting And Broadcast Advertising:

Nat Martin from WCHV Charlottesville, Va., is new chief announcer and music director of WOPI Bristol, Tenn.

I was not able to find anything to verify that this was the same Nat Martin as the bandleader.  However, there were several former bandleaders who, when confronted with the rapid post-war decline of the dance band business, were able to transition to successful careers in radio.  In 1945 some local radio stations still featured live musical programing, and, if this was the case, the title of “music director” would have included actually directing live musicians, which he was certainly qualified to do.

When this recording was made, Edison’s primary competitors, Victor and Columbia, had already been recording with microphones for several months.  It wasn’t until the summer of 1927 that Edison switched from its old fashioned acoustical recording horns to electrical recording.

Prior to the advent of electrical recording, Edison records, especially those of the 1920s, had, by far, the best, most realistic sounding recordings.  But they could not compare to the improved fidelity made possible by the new technology that Victor and Columbia had licensed from Western Electric.  It has been said that, as a result of his extremely impaired hearing,  Thomas Edison had difficulty appreciating just how much of an improvement it was.

This was one of many examples of Edison’s inability to keep up with rapidly evolving changes in the record industry that led to sharply declining sales and the label’s demise in 1929 just a few days before the October stock market crash.

On the other hand, in my opinion, performances on the later acoustically recorded Edison records can sometimes be more pleasant to listen to than those of some of the alternative electrical recording systems used by labels that weren’t able to license the Western Electric system – for example, the notoriously inconsistent so-called “Light Ray” process used by Brunswick between 1925 and 1927, which can occasionally sound very harsh, despite technically having higher fidelity in terms of frequency response.

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