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- Erroll Garner Transcriptions Pdf To Excel Online
Erroll Garner was born in Pennsylvania and learnt the piano at the age of 3. In 1944 he reached New-York and began to play in trio, first as the Art Tatum substitute, and then with his own band. He also played a few time alongside with be-bop highlights, although he has never been part of this line of musicians who have truly change jazz conventions. In fact, Erroll Garner has always preserved his own style, characterized by the left hand playing chords on each time, and a very melodic right hand which was often a bit delayed from the beat. Driver cpc module 2 case study examples.
These two characteristics are the signature style of Erroll Garner which has been marked by a great versatility and different influences: stride piano, ballades, mambo, swing piano He had a joyful and communicative playing, and was a very popular musician. His composition « Misty » is still one of the most played jazz standard.
Erroll Garner transcriptions.
Speed Bump: LPs, 45s, and the Slow Demise of the 78 (1939 – 1951) By Allan Sutton The following is an abridged excerpt from the author’s Recording the ’Forties, which is in development for 2018 publication. In early 1939, Columbia Records’ Edward Wallerstein authorized research into a long-playing disc, with the backing of CBS management. CBS has just acquired the moribund label from the American Record Corporation, and Wallerstein was determined to restore it to its former glory. Wallerstein assembled a first-rate research-and-development group that reported to Peter Goldmark, who attributed his early interest in longer-playing discs to a “sincere hatred” of the phonograph in its current form. Goldmark’s team included Columbia Records’ Jim Hunter, Ike Rodman, Vin Liebler, and Bill Savory; Rene Snepvangers, who was transferred from CBS and charged with developing a suitable lightweight pickup; and Bill Bachman, who was poached from General Electric. There was nothing new about 33 1/3-rpm discs (the chosen format), which had been used for sound-track discs and radio transcriptions for a decade. Nor was a fine-groove disc anything revolutionary; Edison had introduced them in 1926, and in the mid-1930’s Wallerstein had witnessed RCA’s testing of the ultra-fine 0.001” (1-mil) microgroove that was to employed.
Vinyl, the pressing medium selected by Hunter, was not new either, although it was not yet being used in commercial pressings. What was new was the bundling of those features into a consumer package. Exhibiting remarkable foresight, Wallerstein ordered that Columbia’s new studios be equipped to record simultaneously on standard 78-rpm masters and 33 1/3-rpm 16″ acetate blanks. The latter were to be held in reserve as a stockpile of masters from which the long-playing discs could be transcribed when the time came. Development of Columbia’s microgroove disc was well under way when the U.S.’s entry into World War II forced CBS to put the project on hold. Work did not resume in earnest until 1946.
Late in the year, engineers demonstrated a long-playing record that unfortunately fell far short of Wallerstein’s expectations. As costs mounted, CBS president William Paley became increasingly impatient for a launch and ordered Wallerstein, Hunter, and members of the engineering team to meet with him every two months. Every detail was carefully researched, from cutting angles to heated cutting styli, in the seemingly contradictory quest for higher fidelity and longer playing time. After considerable experimentation, which at one point involved recording live gunfire in the studio, the American-made microphones were scrapped in favor of German models. Columbia took another important step toward LP conversion in mid-1947, when it abandoned direct-to-disc mastering in favor of tape, using EMI and Ampex equipment. A seventeen-minute 33 1/3-rpm prototype disc, now referred to internally simply as the “LP,” was rejected in the fall of 1947, with orders being given to extend the playing time to twenty minutes or longer. The playing-time issue was soon resolved, but the LP was facing a more serious impediment in its journey to market.
There were not yet any consumer-grade phonographs capable of playing the records. Although the recording technology had been largely perfected by the end of 1947, the development of affordable players had lagged, the same problem that had plagued RCA’s long-playing discs in the early 1930s. In addition to a 33 1/3-rpm turntable, a high-quality permanent stylus and lightweight tone-arm would be required to play the records properly. After concluding that Columbia’s engineers had neither the time nor the expertise to create such a device, Wallerstein contracted with radio manufacturer Philco to develop and produce the first models.
Working closely with the CBS team, Philco’s engineers quickly delivered an inexpensive, single-speed turntable that could be easily attached to the owner’s existing radio or phonograph. In January 1948, Wallerstein was elected chairman of the board of Columbia Records, the presidency of which then passed to CBS vice-president Frank K. By that time, the microgroove LP was approaching its final form, with playing time now extended to twenty-two minutes on a 12″ side. After having kept the project under wraps for so long, Paley and Wallerstein began demonstrating the new records to others within the industry, in an attempt to garner licensing deals. Wallerstein demonstrated the LP to RCA president David Sarnoff in April 1948, in a meeting that did not go well and reportedly left Sarnoff seething.
Demonstrations to Decca, and to the Electric and Musical Industries in England, were no more successful. At the end of May 1948, Billboard reported that CBS executives were still “maintaining complete silence on the entire project” as far as the general public was concerned. That silence was finally broken on June 18, when Columbia hosted a preview of the new records and player for recording-industry executives, during which full technical details were publicly disclosed for the first time.
Two days later, the press was given its first glimpse of the LP when Wallerstein demonstrated it to fifty reporters at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Columbia’s initial LP catalog, consisting of 101 records, was unveiled on the same day.
Columbia then took its LP show on the road, demonstrating the new records to dealers on nationwide tour that wrapped up in Utah a month later. The records were on sale to the general public by early September. Columbia’s LP were pressed in 10″ and 12″ formats (the latter reserved primarily for extended classical works) and retailed from $2.85 for standard 10″ releases to $4.85 for the 12″ Masterworks series.
A 7″ LP, retailing for 60¢ and devoted largely to pop material, was introduced in January 1949. The company had long been stockpiling classical masters in anticipation of the LP’s launch, at first on long-playing acetate transcriptions and later on tape, eliminating the need to piece together extended works from multiple 78-rpm discs. With the recording industry still in the grips of the second American Federation of Musicians recording ban, no new pop material was released.
Instead, the pop LPs were cobbled together from pre-ban recordings that had previously been issued on 78s. Realizing that there was little patentable about the LP, and that it could succeed commercially only if the format was universally adopted, CBS executives rethought their licensing plans. In June 1948, the company made the LP format freely available to other companies, some of whom returned the favor by giving Columbia their LP pressing business, at least until they were able to retool their own plants. The result was an explosion of interest in the new format by major and minor labels alike. Legal, financial, and logistical issues would crop up, including the need to recalculate artists’ royalty (requiring negotiations with the AFM’s notoriously uncooperative James Caesar Petrillo), a demand by Standard Transcription that Columbia pay double recording rates for material taken from its masters, and the need to quickly supply radio stations with microgroove-capable equipment) but they did nothing to impede development.
The conversion to LP pressings was a fairly straightforward process. Vinyl and other plastic products were already supplanting shellac as the favored pressing medium, and many plants had experience working with the materials. The conversion to high-fidelity microgroove recording appeared to be more daunting, but Audio Record magazine assured its readers (comprising mainly independent-studio owners and engineers) that the transition would be “an easy one from the equipment point of view.” C. LeBel outlined the basic steps for recording engineers: The most important step is provision for cutting at micro pitch — in the range of 224 to 260 lines per inch. Probably 224 to 240 lines is the most desirable for most applications. Some equipment already made has provisions for this without change In other apparatus some change is necessary.
An overhead feed mechanism relies on a change of lead-screw for change of pitch. To make this shift, then, it is only necessary to purchase and insert a new lead-screw. The electrical characteristics are even simpler to achieve we would use normal transcription recording characteristics. This would be either the NAB standard 16-db boost at 10,000 cycles, or the standard 10-db boost which many studios have found to be their usable limit.
Columbia microgroove characteristic is the same as NAB, except that the response is slightly higher below 100 cycles. A simple equalizer will take care of this. For a great deal of the work the difference is negligible, and standard transcription equalization can be used. As eager as many companies were to adopt the new format, they were quite ready to forsake the 78 entirely. London, which had added LPs to its line-up in 1949 and 45s in January 1950, took a step back in April 1950 with its “Shellac Is Not Dead” campaign. Twelve new 78-rpm album sets and twenty new 78-rpm singles were announced, compared with only two 45s and one LP.
The campaign was soon abandoned. Some dealers actively opposed the transition, seeing it as a form of price-cutting and fearing they would be left with a glut of unsalable 78s. Among them was David Krantz, president of the Philadelphia Retail Record Dealers’ Association, and producer of the minuscule Krantz Records label. In early 1949 he launched a campaign against the LP that succeeded only in losing business for his store and antagonizing some Columbia sales executives.
His campaign ended abruptly in June 1950, when he and seven other Philadelphia record-store owners were arrested and charged by the Justice Department with conspiracy to fix record prices. Krantz and his kind, however, were the exceptions. Despite some initial trepidation, the LP format was quickly embraced by record companies and dealers, in no small part because of its potential for wringing additional profits out of material that had otherwise run its course in terms of sales. The vast majority of early LPs (and slightly later, extended-play 45s) were simply cobbled together from material that had been previously issued on 78s. Sales boomed as customers rushed to replace their old shellac pressings with the quieter, trendier long-playing editions.
Companies’ announcements of their impending LP launches were appearing regularly in the trade papers by late 1948. Some were premature, and there were some false starts. Savoy announced its first LP release in December 1948, dubbed from previously released Errol Garner recordings, then but retreated, not issuing LPs on a regular basis until March 1950. The Bihari brothers announced that Modern Records was about to launch LPs in the summer of 1949, but they did not begin to appear until October 1950. Some record companies undertook the conversion piecemeal, testing the waters with the less-important segments of their catalogs before committing to large-scale LP output.
Allegro, which Paul Puner had launched after leaving Musicraft, began by test-marketing LPs for the children’s market; Dial, which was predominantly a jazz label, began with a small group of LP classical albums using leased foreign masters. Atlantic, Mercury, and M-G-M took the LP plunge in early 1949, followed by Tempo in May, Decca in August, and a host of smaller labels as the year came to a close. The independent classical labels, in particular, were quick to embrace the LP. Among the earliest to do so was Vox, which began releasing LPs in early May 1949. Download video dangdut palapa rela.
The albums were produced in two series, retailing for $4.85 for domestic recordings, or $5.85 for foreign recordings licensed from Polydor, its various affiliates, and Discophile Francais. Billboard reported that Columbia Records was giving the company its full cooperation in making the conversion. (Columbia was not being entirely altruistic, having gained Vox’s pressing business in the process.) In November, Vox announced that it was abandoning 78-rpm production entirely. The prestigious Concert Hall Society began with a single “experimental” LP in January 1949, and by the early 1950s it had followed Vox’s lead to become an LP-only line. Several new entrants in the classical field during 1949–1950, including Period and Renaissance, skipped 78s and went directly to LP production. In response to all of this activity, phonograph manufacturers began turning out multi-speed changers as fast as they could retool their production lines. A February 1949 Billboard article listed dozens of new changers that could play both 78s and 33s.
At the entry level were turntable attachments like Philco’s. For buyers flush with post-war cash, there were changers with built-in AM-FM radios, and Westinghouse even offered changer-television combinations that retailed from $625 to $725. RCA officials offered no public comment on the LP until early 1949, when they countered with what they hinted would be a revolutionary new format. RCA made much of the project’s top-secret status, which it code-named “Madame X,” but leaked enough information to keep the public intrigued. By early January, it was already known that “Madame X” was a small-diameter, 45-rpm disc with matching changer.
In February, Audio Record magazine reported, No technical information has yet been released, but we have collected the available data X is a thin 7” pressing of pure vinyl. The center hole is large — about 1½ inches in diameter. Maximum playing time is 5½ minutes. Fine grooves are employed, and the playback stylus is 1 mil So far as we can tell, the recording characteristic is the same as that used on standard Victor records The point which has aroused the widest controversy is the speed: 45 rpm. It is rumored that 33 1/3 rpm was tried and discarded A moment’s consideration will show that for a given diameter, 45 rpm will give 35% higher linear groove velocity than will 33 1/3 rpm. It would be possible to get the same linear groove velocity at 33 1/3 rpm by increasing the outside diameter to 9 ½ inches, which would increase the vinyl cost 82% over the 7 inch size.
A month later, in the same publication, RCA engineer D. Cole came forth with a detailed description of the new records and matching phonograph, along with his company’s rationale for introducing them. RCA’s contention was that the myriad problems inherent in recorded-sound reproduction could be solved only with an integrated system. Much attention was lavished on development of the compact changers that would be required to play the new records. Recalling the old premium-scheme phonographs of the early 1900s, they were designed to foil the use of any record other than the 45, although Cole promised that multi-purpose changers were in development. The new record-and-changer combination was touted as the “first in history of the industry to be designed specifically to complement each other” — conveniently overlooking Columbia’s new LP player and RCA’s Program Transcription disc-and-player combination of the early 1930s. RCA’s new records and players were introduced to the public with considerable fanfare in April 1949.
A while back, we were lucky enough to acquire the late James Bratton’s collection of historic pipe-organ 78s at an estate sale in Denver. Bratton was a prominent organist, instructor, and journal editor who moved to Colorado from Baltimore (where he’d studied at the Peabody Conservatory) in the early 1970s. We’ll be posting some of the most interesting recordings from his collection on the blog from time to time. (The crackle heard on the third selection is an unfortunate characteristic of many British HMV pressings of the period, even on pristine copies like this one.) EDOUARD COMMETTE (Organ of St. Jean Cathedral, Lyons, France): Symphony No. 2 (Widor): Finale Columbia 50285-D (mx. W LX 1004 – 1) Lyons, France: April 18, 1929.
EDOUARD COMMETTE (Organ of St. Jean Cathedral, Lyons, France): Symphony No.
4 (Widor): Toccata Columbia 50285-D (mx. W LX 1005 – 1) Lyons, France: April 18, 1929.
MARCEL DUPRE (Organ of Alexandra Palace, London): Variations from Fifth Symphony (Widor) — Conclusion His Master’s Voice D.1898 (mx. CR 2750 – 2) London (relay to van): March 17, 1930. ALBERT SCHWEITZER (Organ of All Hallows Church, London): Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (Bach) London: December 1935 Columbia 11022-D (English Columbia mxs.
AX7716 – 1 / AX7714 – 1) Master numbers are correct as shown; the two parts were recorded out-of-sequence, and intervening mx. AX7715 was assigned to an unrelated title. Not as widely known as the (although it certainly deserves to be), the UK-based website offers another outstanding online discography — in this case, of historical classical and operatic recordings.
Hosted by the AHRC Research Centre for the History and Analysis of Recorded Music, CHARM is partnership of Royal Holloway, University of London (host institution) with King’s College, London, and the University of Sheffield. CHARM is the perfect complement to DAHR, offering hard-to-find data on foreign as well as domestic recordings, primarily from the 1920s onward. The database includes much of The Gramophone Company’s 78-rpm output (from original file data compiled by the late Alan Kelly), as well 78s and some LP series from numerous other US, UK, and European companies, including Columbia and Decca, from data supplied by Michael Gray. The CHARM site includes a very flexible search engine, and results can be downloaded as comma-delimited text (.csv) or Microsoft Excel files. Here’s a small part of the results from our search on Cesare Formichi’s Columbia recordings:. In addition, almost 5000 streaming sound files are available via the Find Sound Files facility. Sound files are transferred from 78-rpm discs held by the King’s Sound Archive at King’s College London.
Like DAHR and the affiliated site from the Library of Congress, CHARM is an entirely free service, with no registration or log-in required. Dr. Alan Kelly compiled the monumental His Master’s Voice Discography for Greenwood Press during its glory days in the 1990s; when new owners pulled the plug, he completed the project on his own, self-publishing the entire run on a set of inexpensive CDs.
In 2007 he was honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award. Michael Gray — besides being one helluva nice guy — has had a distinguished career that includes a long run as director of the Voice of America’s Research Library and Digital Audio Archive projects. He served as series editor for Greenwood Press discographies, has written numerous books and articles, and is the recipient of ARSC’s 2011 Lifetime Achievement Award. ANNETTE HANSHAW & HER SIZZLIN’ SYNCOPATORS: Who’s That Knockin’ at My Door? New York: September 1927 Perfect 12372 (mx.
107766 – ) Various works cite an undocumented recording date of September 8. ANNETTE HANSHAW & HER SIZZLIN’ SYNCOPATORS: I’ve Got “It” (But It Don’t Do Me No Good) New York: May 5, 1930 Velvet Tone 2155-V (mx. W 150388 – 3). ANNETTE HANSHAW (as Dot Dare): Is There Anything Wrong in That? New York: November 22, 1928 Diva 2792-V (mx. W 147483 – 3).
ANNETTE HANSHAW (as Patsy Young): I Want To Be Bad New York: March 14, 1929 Velvet Tone 1878-V (mx. W 148077 – 2). ANNETTE HANSHAW: I Think You’ll Like It New York: October 28, 1929 Mx. W 149196 – 2 From a c. 1960s custom vinyl pressing of the original stamper.
No accompanying personnel are listed in the company files for any of these sessions, although experienced collectors will readily recognize Joe Venuti, Eddie Lang, Frank Signorelli, Benny Goodman, and others on various sides. Speculative personnel, based on aural evidence, can be found in our free download of Brian Rust’s Jazz & Ragtime Records (Personal-Use Edition, 1917–1934). We’re happy to announce that the next installment in Dick Spottswood’s Columbia ethnic-series discography is now available for free download. This section covers the C-prefixed series, which was intended for the Spanish-speaking markets — a tantalizing mixture of performances by Cuban, Mexican, Puerto Rican, and other Latino artists (most of them recorded in their native countries by traveling Columbia engineers), operatic arias and light classics from domestic and imported masters, and various odd-and-ends “repurposed” from other catalogs. To download the discography in PDF format (approximately 5 megabytes).
As with the previous installment, this material may be copied or distributed for personal use, provided that the source is cited. Sale or other commercial use is prohibited. Dick’s latest update of his Columbia “E” series discography will be posted soon.
We’re pleased to offer Dick Spottswood’s newly updated, 300-page Columbia “E” Series Discography as a free download for your personal use, courtesy of the author. To download, click the “Free Online Discographies” link in the menu to your left. You’ll need Adobe Acrobat or Acrobat Reader (Versions 5.0 and later) to view the file. This file is offered for personal, non-commercial use only; please review the use notice before downloading.
Dick is one of the great pioneers in discographical research on vernacular music of all sorts, as well as a long-time author, record producer, and radio host. During the 1950s, Dick began canvassing for forgotten sound recordings containing a broad range of music — originally, jazz, blues, and country, later tackling the largely unexplored field of early ethnic records. In the 1960s he began sharing his finds on countless reissues, including those on his own Melodeon and Piedmont labels, and co-founded magazine. He later produced and annotated the important fifteen-LP series, Folk Music in America, for the Library of Congress.
Dick’s masterworks are his multi-volume Ethnic Music on Records: A Discography of Ethnic Recordings Produced in the United States, 1893 to 1942 (University of Indiana Press, 1990); and Country Music Sources, with Meade & Meade (John Edwards Memorial Forum and University of North Carolina Press, 2002) — both winners of ARSC Awards for Excellence, and works that we use constantly — and, with Stephen Wade (University of Mississippi Press, 2010). In addition to his other books and articles, Dick’s been an important contributor to many major discographical projects, both in print and online. He’s a founding member of, which honored him with their Lifetime Achievement Award in 2003. Presented him their Distinguished Service Award in October 2009. (This is an expanded version of an article that originally appeared in 2011 on the. © 2016 by Allan Sutton) By 1905 the lateral-cut disc record had assumed the basic form that it would take for the next four decades.
Brittle shellac-based thermoplastic compounds — basically unchanged since their first use in Berliner’s discs in the 1890s — remained the standard pressing material. The notable exception in the United States was the Marconi Velvet Tone disc, a semi-flexible laminated celluloid disc produced by the American Graphophone Company (Columbia). Ten-inch Marconi issues (left) used their own catalog numbers, which don’t correspond to Columbia’s. Twelve-inch issues (right) used Columbia’s catalog numbers; this example also shows Marconi’s receding hairline, which was retouched (left) on later printings. Capitalizing on Guglielmo Marconi’s reputation as the inventor of radio, Columbia offered him a position as “consulting physicist” in 1906. On August 16 of that year, the New York Times reported that Marconi had sailed for the United States in connection with his new duties.
Upon arrival, the inventor was treated to a whirlwind tour of Columbia’s Bridgeport, Connecticut plant, then was shuttled to a lavish banquet at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel as Columbia’s guest of honor. Edward Easton, Victor H. Emerson, and other Columbia officials spoke briefly, vaguely alluding to Marconi’s experimental radio work without mentioning how it might possibly relate to phonograph records.
Marconi boarded a ship back to Italy the next day, after telling a reporter for The Music Trade Review that he had not yet given the matter sufficient study to announce any new ideas. Little more was heard of the alliance until February 1907, when Columbia dealers received advance copies of the first Marconi Velvet Tone Record catalog.
The records, bearing Marconi’s portrait and facsimile signature, were advertised as “Wonderful as Wireless,” although they used ordinary acoustically recorded Columbia masters. Marconi, however, apparently had no hand in developing the discs that bore his name. His sole contribution appears to have been allowing Columbia to license his name and likeness. Searches of U.S. And Italian patents have consistently failed to reveal any filings by Marconi that might relate to these discs.
However, on July 9, 1906 — nearly six weeks before Marconi’s brief visit to the States — Columbia’s chief engineer, Thomas H. Macdonald, had filed a patent application on a flexible, lightweight laminated disc with a celluloid playing surface: Thomas Macdonald’s patent on the “Marconi” disc even specified the embossed pattern that is found on the reverse sides. There is no reference to Guglielmo Marconi anywhere in the patent filing. Patent & Trademark Office) Macdonald’s patent wasn’t approved until August 6, 1907, by which time the Marconi discs had already been in production for six months.
In the meantime, Columbia’s chief recording engineer, Victor Emerson, had filed his own patent on a disc pressed from a shellac–celluloid compound, which he promptly assigned to American Graphophone. Although it’s certainly possible that this or a similar mixture, rather than pure celluloid, was employed in the Marconi discs, chemical testing would be required to determine if that was the case: Victor Emerson’s 1906 patent for a hybrid celluloid-shellac disc. Emerson also patented a laminated shellac disc, which Macdonald then refined and patented himself.
Assigned to American Graphophone, it became the basis for the familiar Columbia laminated pressings. Macdonald’s patent specifications were exactly those that would come to be embodied in the “Marconi” discs. Macdonald specified a flexible paper or cardboard core laminated between two thin sheets of celluloid — one to receive the impression of the sound recording, and the other to receive either a second sound recording or “a roughened surfacecovered by fine lines close together and crossing at right angles.” Columbia addressed Macdonald’s claim that needles need not be changed after each playing by marketing semi-permanent gold-plated needles for use with the records.
Marconi discs carried a large warning sticker on the blank reverse sides. The “fine lines close together and crossing at right angles” specified in Maconald’s patent can be seen on the outer edge. The surface quality of the celluloid Marconi Velvet Tone Record was indeed exceptional for its day, especially when compared with Columbia’s standard, rather gritty shellac pressings. Columbia was soon manufacturing Marconi-style records for export as well as domestic sales, and even produced some double-sided issues and a few pressings from imported Fonotipia masters.
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Sales lagged, however. The records were more expensive than the ordinary Columbia pressings they duplicated, and the surfaces could be badly damaged if played with ordinary steel needles. They tended to slip on the turntable despite the textured reverse sides. Production was discontinued in 1908, and by 1910 the discs were being remaindered by a New York department store for 17¢ each, and a packet of the once-pricey gold-plated needles was given free with larger purchases. A couple of unusual special-use records that we’ve not seen before, courtesy of (Mercury) and (Indestructible). If anyone has other examples of these, or more information on them, we’d like to hear from you. MERCURY RECORD (1907) The Mercury Record above obviously has nothing to do with the well-known label that was founded in 1945.
It was made by American Graphophone (Columbia) for the Electric Novelty and Talking Machine Company. The company exhibited telegraphic equipment at the 1904 St. Louis Exposition, although it was not formally incorporated until April 4, 1905. It was chartered in Jersey City, New Jersey, by George R. Beach (a prominent bankruptcy attorney who served as a receiver in at least two phonograph-related cases), Walter P. Phillips, and Thaddeus R.
So, what to make of the Bridgeport address? On closer investigation, Electric Novelty’s official business address (15 Exchange Place, Jersey City) turns out to have been the office of George R. Beach, an unlikely venue for this sort of operation. The consistent use of the Bridgeport address (where Columbia had its factory), and the specially customized “conditions” sticker ( below), suggest that Columbia was handling all operations and fulfillment for Beach, or possibly had even closer ties to his company. Numbers embossed under the label are T503-1-1, and M-1700-1-1. Tim notes, “That’s apparently a Columbia ‘M’ number, and it falls into a blank section in Bill Bryant’s M-number log. Judging by other M-numbers I would date it as 1907 or 1908, around the end of the period in which M-numbers were used.
It’s embossed rather than hand-written like most M-numbers. The record doesn’t seem to have been assigned a standard Columbia number of the period (which were in the 3000s). This would seem to add more weight to the theory that the M-numbers were the true matrix number during this period, and the 3000s were in fact catalog numbers assigned after the fact.” The copyright filings below, from the Library of Congress’ Catalog of Copyright Entries for July–December 1907, mesh nicely with Tim’s 1907–1908 estimate for the Mercury label:. At the end of 1912, the Governor of New Jersey declared Electric Novelty & Talking Machine to be in default after having failed to pay its 1910 taxes.
Apparently things were resolved; the company was still listed as an active corporation in the 1914 register, and the ad above appeared in May 1915. The “Diamond Disk” notation is puzzling; clearly, this was still a Columbia-affiliated venture, based on the photo. Could there have been an Edison Diamond Disc version as well, or was that just an ad writer’s flight of fancy? (We suspect the latter, but will check our copies of the Edison files.) INDESTRUCTIBLE DICTAPHONE RECORD Many collectors are familiar with Edison’s Ediphone training cylinders, but this is the first such cylinder we’ve seen for the competing Dictaphone.
It’s a standard 4″ celluloid Indestructible, with 150 grooves per inch (as was usual for dictating machines; standard “entertainment” cylinders were 100-gpi (two-minute) or 200-gpi (four-minute). Like this example, the first Indestructibles had raised lettering on the rim, suggesting a very early Indestructible master. However, David notes that it has “the look and feel of a late 4-minute Indestructible.” Unfortunately, it didn’t have its original box; has anybody seen one?. The Dictaphone began life as the Columbia Commercial Graphophone, an example of which is shown above, mounted in Gerson cabinet. The Dictaphone name was first registered as a trademark, by the Columbia Phonograph Co., Gen’l., on September 18, 1907; the first Indestructible cylinders were released a little over a month later. The Columbia–Indestructible affiliation was cemented (for a time, anyway) in 1908, when the former bought the latter outright. There’s much more to that story, of course, which can be found in Indestructible and U-S Everlasting Cylinders: An Illustrated History and Cylinderopgraphy (Nauck & Sutton), still available from while supplies last.
An incredible find from the Library of Congress — Bray Studios’ 1923 silent film,. Now posted on YouTube, it takes the viewer through Columbia’s entire recording and production process. Filmed in Columbia’s New York studio and Bridgeport, Connecticut factory, it begins with an acoustical recording session by Rosa Ponselle and orchestra — staged for the camera, of course, but giving a good idea of how a real session might have looked, and how closely the musicians had to huddle (look for the horned Stroh violins, a necessary evil in the acoustic days). From there the film traces the path of the wax master, from auditioning and plating to the pressing of a finished disc. At the end is a surprise tribute to Victor’s Enrico Caruso, with footage purporting to be him onstage at the Met — making it pretty unlikely that the film was commissioned by Columbia. Our thanks to the ever-vigilant for passing along the link.
SMITH’S ORCHESTRA, Featuring HARRY RADERMAN & HIS LAUGHING TROMBONE: Yellow Dog Blues — Medley Fox Trot, introducing “Hooking Cow Blues” New York: October 1, 1919 — Released December 1919 (Deleted 1926) Victor 18618 (mx. B 23282 – 1). BESSIE SMITH (acc: Fletcher Henderson’s Hot Six): Yellow Dog Blues New York: May 6, 1925 Columbia 14075-D (mx. W 140586 – 1).
DUKE ELLINGTON & HIS ORCHESTRA: Yellow Dog Blues New York: June 25, 1928 Brunswick 3987 (mx. E 27771 – A or B) The selected take (of two made) is not indicated in the Brunswick files or on inspected pressings. MEMPHIS JUG BAND: Rukus Juice and Chittlin’ Chicago: November 8, 1934 Okeh mx. C 801 – 1 From a c.
1960s vinyl pressing from the original stamper. This recording was issued commercially on Okeh 8955, as part of the final group of Okeh race releases made before the 8000 series was scuttled.
JOHNNY DUNN’S ORIGINAL JAZZ HOUNDS: Hallelujah Blues New York: February 14, 1923 Columbia A3939 (mx. EDITH WILSON AND THE ORIGINAL JAZZ HOUNDS: Wicked Blues New York: January 20, 1922 Columbia A3558 (mx. EDITH WILSON WITH JOHNNY DUNN’S ORIGINAL JAZZ HOUNDS: What Do You Care?
(What I Do) New York: July 13, 1922 Columbia A3674 (mx. JOHNNY DUNN & HIS BAND Jelly Roll Morton, piano: Sergeant Dunn’s Bugle Call Blues New York: March 13, 1928 Columbia 14306-D (mx. W 145759 – 2). JOHNNY DUNN & HIS BAND Jelly Roll Morton, piano: Ham and Eggs Big Fat Ham New York: March 13, 1928 Columbia 14358-D (mx. W 145760 – 2). PIRON’S NEW ORLEANS ORCHESTRA (Armand J. Piron and Charles Bocage, vocal): Kiss Me Sweet New York: December 1923 Okeh 40021 (mx.
S 72133 – D). PIRON’S NEW ORLEANS ORCHESTRA: Mama’s Gone, Goodbye New York: December 11, 1923 Victor 19233 (mx. B 29122 – 2). PIRON’S NEW ORLEANS ORCHESTRA: Sud Bustin’ Blues New York: December 21, 1923 Columbia 14007-D (mx. PIRON’S NEW ORLEANS ORCHESTRA: Ghost of the Blues New York: February 15, 1924 Columbia 99-D (mx. PIRON’S NEW ORLEANS ORCHESTRA: Red Man Blues New Orleans: March 25, 1925 Victor 19646 (mx.
B 32121 – 3). BROWN & HER BOYS: Kiss Me Sweet New York (Independent Recording Laboratories): February 1924 Banner 1343 (mx. 5430 – 2) The accompanists are believed to have been members of Piron’s Orchestra, based on aural and circumstantial evidence; the original Plaza-IRL documentation for this period no longer exists. (This article was originally posted on September 17, 2012. We are reposting it, with some minor revisions, in response to many requests.). 1960s custom vinyl pressing of Duke Ellington’s 1931 “Creole Rhapsody” (Victor). Obsolete labels were sometimes flipped over and used as blanks on these pressings; this example uses an old Yorkville label from the late 1930s.
We often see modern, blank-labeled vinyl “test” pressings of very old recordings on auction lists. They’re original-stamper pressings, usually of unissued or extremely rare material, and the surface quality is generally superb. Collectors have long been curious about the origin and legality of these pressings.
We recently discovered the answer among the late Bill Bryant’s papers (at least, as far as the Columbia-related pressings are concerned) which includes copies of the late William Moran’s voluminous correspondence with various collectors and dealers. The “inside job” we detail below was not unique. Someone within Decca, for instance, made large numbers of unauthorized vinyl pressings of rare 1920s jazz material from Gennett and Brunswick-Vocalion masters at around the same time the CBS insiders were pulling unauthorized “test” pressings from old masters by the score.
The same happened at RCA, although that company (unlike CBS) allowed such pressings to be ordered legitimately through its Custom Products department, for a rather stiff fee. In addition, during the 1950s and 1960s many new pressings from previously unissued material were pulled at RCA in connection with its “X” and “Vintage” reissue programs. Although supposedly intended for internal use by those involved in the projects, a substantial number seem to have been pressed, based on how many have since made their way into auction lists and collectors’ hands.
This, however, is the first time that such detailed information on unauthorized pressings has surfaced from a company insider. Certainly — But whether anyone involved was a villain (other than perhaps the record companies) depends on your point of view. Our take is that those involved performed a valuable service in preserving important historic material that was subsequently trashed and written off by irresponsible corporate owners. In October 1960, a disgruntled CBS employee (who we’ll call “X”) contacted Bill Moran to alert him that the Columbia Records division was house-cleaning its Bridgeport, Connecticut plant and was planning to scrap many of its masters, including its holdings of Fonotipia and other imported recordings, the E- series foreign and ethnic material, and all of the early 16” radio transcriptions. X’s letters to Moran provide a rare insider’s look at exactly what remained in Bridgeport in 1960. He reported that some “ancient stuff” (including cylinders, cylinder-phonograph parts, and display-model phonographs) still existed but had recently been “removed to some other part of the plant.” The earliest recording files had not survived, and there had been no effort to copy or microfilm what remained; in addition, the files had recently been placed off-limits to outsiders and employees, other than company librarian Helene Chmura, and photocopying was forbidden. The master-scrapping was already under way by the time X wrote to Moran — He reported that the metal parts were being hauled out in bucket loaders, ground up, and sold to a scrap dealer by the ton.
X’s formal recommendation that some of this material be preserved was ignored by management, so in late October he sent a list of endangered masters to Moran, with the suggestion that Moran ask Stanford University to intervene, and hinting that in the meantime he could supply Moran with unauthorized vinyl pressings of virtually anything in the vaults — He claimed he was already doing just that for some Columbia employees. The process is documented in an exchange of letters between X and Moran that began on October 31, 1960. On November 11 he wrote to Moran, I have been securing test pressings without authority for the past two months. I had to “thread my way” until I could enlist help. Luckily he the test pressman is cooperative I have been limiting my operation to twice a week and taking out parcels only every other week. One week I took out 16 parcels, last week 19 I have managed to get a few humans in the plant (there are a few) to break regulations for me I will attempt, over a period of time, to secure for you the materials you desire.
These, if I get them, will be gratis. The process was a complicated one, and it involved many Columbia employees at a time when (according to X) worker morale was at a low ebb. To make the early stampers compatible with a modern press, the metal and composition backings had to be removed and replaced, and new holes had to be drilled in the stampers, which were then forwarded to the polishing department, from which they were sent to the test pressman. While all of this was going on under management’s nose, X was assuring Moran that he could even have new metal stampers plated for him, if desired.
Moran’s want-list initially included only early operatics, but was soon expanded to include political speeches from Nation’s Forum, rare personal recordings by the likes of Irving Berlin and Booker T. Washington, and even one of the 1908 vertical-cut disc tests (an idea that Columbia ended up not pursuing commercially).
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X soon upped the frequency and pressing quantities of his clandestine runs. Many copies were handed out as favors to Columbia employees who were in on the activity, including Helene Chmura, the archive’s highly esteemed librarian.
Chmura knew of X’s activities and had warned him to be careful, but reportedly she was happy to accept a group of custom Lotte Lehmann pressings. In November, X told Moran he was looking into ways of supplying him with copies of the restricted files that were in Chmura’s charge.
On November 16, X wrote to Moran, “Last Friday I took out 18 tests, including duplicates, in an open parcel On Monday Bill the chief of security suggested that I not take out so many so often.” He went on to boast, I have the run of the plant and have taken full advantage of it — women in duplicating will make photostats, Helene will make photocopies; the polisher will prepare masters for pressings The Chief of Security Police allows me to make off with the records; the librarian’s files are at my disposal. X promised Moran even larger shipments of the unauthorized pressings in a letter dated November 23: I’ll send you a ton of pressings if I can discover how this can be arranged One of the chaps in the Methods & Procedures Office this afternoon told me that he can smuggle pressings out for me if I cannot continue my present methods. These boys have briefcases which never are examined by the bulldogs.
I have been furnishing two of these M&P men with records made to order. A day later, X wrote to Moran to update him on his secret copying of the recording files, reporting that he was “lifting it right out from under Helene Chmura’s nose.” And that’s the final letter in our “X” file. © 2016 Mainspring Press LLC. Follow This Blog Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Join 1,102 other followers SEARCH THE BLOG Search for: Recent Posts. ARCHIVES. (7).
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UC-Santa Barbara website with more than 1,000 cylinder sound files. Dedicated to ethnic and vernacular music on 78s. A great array of rare performances and labels on a superbly researched and written site. Books, CDs and free online articles for collectors of vintage sound recordings. News and updates on upcoming titles and research projects. The world’s largest dealer in vintage sound recordings.
One of the most outstanding phonograph-history sites. Fantastic wide-ranging blog covering wax cylinders to CDs, with lots of acoustic-era material.
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Erroll Garner – Concert by the Sea Artist Transcriptions for Piano Series: Format: Softcover Artist: Erroll Garner This collection matches exactly the 11 songs from the original 1955 release by jazz pianist Erroll Garner of Concert by the Sea which achieved gold record status. It includes piano/keyboard transcriptions of: April in Paris. Autumn Leaves. Erroll's Theme. I'll Remember April. It's All Right with Me. Mambo Carmel.
Red Top. Sultry Serenade (How Could You Do a Thing like That to Me). Teach Me Tonight. They Can't Take That Away from Me. Where or When.
19.99 (US) Inventory #HL 00193332 ISBN: 185 UPC: 51 Width: 9.0' Length: 12.0' 104 pages Also Recommended.