#086
Hors Serie IIa 1922
In 1922 everything changed again. The Eskimo pie was invented; James Joyce’s Ulysses was printed in Paris; snow fell on Mauna Loa, Hawaii; Babe Ruth signed a three-year contract with the New York Yankees; Eugene O’Neill was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Drama; Frederick Douglass’s home was dedicated as a national shrine; former heavyweight champion of the world Jack Johnson invented the wrench… Bernice L. McFadden
Recentemente estava eu num restaurante bastante catita onde confesso que achei a musica um pouco alta (e mal equalizada para o espaço, demasiados médios) mas o que me fez mais impressão foi o que ia tocando, dando por mim quase ao fim do almoço a virar-me para a Mafalda e para a Leonor, perguntando-lhes se tinham reparado que não tinha passado uma única canção deste século…
É um problema destes tempos, supostamente ninguém ergue publicamente o estandarte da inovação, da música que acabou de sair, estamos todos tão preocupados com o “dernier cri” que até parece que temos medo de ser apanhados a ouvir algo que foi editado anteontem à tarde, receosos de um cancelamento por estarmos tão démodé… e talvez por isso então indago, se não se preocupam com música deste século então o que acham da música de há um século atrás?
Como estamos em recta final no calendário de 2022 (os mais afoitos já fizeram as suas shortlists do que acharam bom e que possivelmente dentro de um ano ninguém se lembra), convém deste lado ir contra corrente e por isso esta Hors de Serie sobre o ano de 1922, dos seus incríveis benchmarks culturais e eventuais paralelismos com os dias de hoje à distância de um século.
Ainda longe no horizonte estavam os sinais de contracção económica (ao contrário de hoje), quatro anos após o fim da Grande Guerra (hoje parece não sabermos quando estamos ou não em guerra) viviam-se tempos notáveis em estreias e começos, fundações para tanto que por aí vinha, um admirável mundo novo apesar do livro de Huxley ainda estar a 10 anos de distancia: nos jornais lia-se sobre o fim do Império Otomano e do Liberalismo inglês, sobre novas nações a serem criadas e “novos” modos de governo a serem considerados, em Itália aparecia o primeiro estado fascista enquanto um tratado quase ao fim do ano iria assinalar a formação da Союз Советских Социалистических Республик, a União das Repúblicas Socialistas Soviéticas. O Egipto libertava-se da hegemonia britânica e a Irlanda dos tempos modernos surgia de uma horrenda guerra civil. Incrível é que já nem se tinha que virar as páginas de um jornal para se saber tudo isto, a rádio começava a chegar a toda a gente, no Reino Unido a BBC começava a transmitir através do éter, a rádio, plena de locutores não identificados, vozes desencarnadas que vão proferindo frases em diferentes línguas, experiencia que muito se compara à leitura de um poema desse mesmo ano da autoria de T.S. Elliot, The Waste Land.
Na semana em que publico esta m4we faz cem anos sobre o convite dirigido a John Reith para ser o primeiro “timoneiro” da BBC. “As we conceived it, our responsibility was to carry into the greatest possible number of homes everything that is best in every department of human knowledge, endeavour and achievement, and to avoid the things which are, or may be, hurtful. It is occasionally indicated to us that we are apparently setting out to give the public what we think they need – and not what they want, but few know what they want, and very few what they need”. Paternalista, sem dúvida, mas esta foi a mente que trouxe um sentido de democracia e liberdade de expressão às ondas hertzianas mundiais.
O ano era 1922 e nas artes tudo andava a uma velocidade estonteante. Dada era posto de lado, Kandinsky e Klee juntavam-se à Bauhaus, Hollywood começava a querer transformar a natureza da fama e da 7ª arte em geral. De Chaplin a realizar uma longa metragem, A Woman of Paris e um jovem Walt Disney a fundar a companhia Laugh-a-Gram para produzir as suas primeiras animações a um estranho gordito do outro lado do oceano, chamado Alfred Hitchcock a dirigir Number Thirteen. Noutras terras o cinema florescia a olhos vistos, na Russia um jovem Dziga Vertov lançava-se de pés e cabeça nos Kino-Pravda e na Weimar alemã, quer o Nosferatu de Murnau quer o Dr. Mabuse de Lang lançavam um chiaroscuro que contrastava com The Toll of the Sea, o primeiro filme em Technicolor enquanto o “importado” Von Stroheim’s fazia de Foolish Wives o filme mais caro de sempre (até Fairbanks estrear lá para o fim do ano Robin Hood, o primeiro filme a ter direito a estreia em Hollywood).
Por todo o lado e em todos os campos da criatividade humana sentiam-se as faíscas da inovação, salte-se do Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus de Wittgenstein para uma plataforma em New Orleans onde Louis Armstrong apanhou um comboio para Chicago onde iria juntar-se ao seu mentor Joe “King” Oliver para tocar na Creole Jazz Band e assim soprar mudança eterna no mundo do jazz. Em 1922 Scott Fitzgerald compilava algumas das suas mais valiosas short stories no compendio Tales of the Jazz Age. Porque em 1922, essa jazz age estava em franco desenvolvimento. Chicago e Nova York eram agora os centros mais importantes do jazz que se havia tornando muito lucrativo para “gestores” como Paul Whiteman, de quem, na batuta da sua orquestra escolhi Oriental Fox Trot, pois ele tinha mesmo de figurar aqui nem que fosse porque nessa altura dirigia cerca de 28 diferentes conjuntos de jazz na costa leste dos Estados Unidos, ganhando mais de 1 milhão de dólares só nesse ano. No entanto e apesar de sua popularidade, como forma músical o jazz ainda era depreciado por muitos críticos, incluindo Anne Faulkner, que comentou o género como “a destructive dissonance”, afirmando que esta punha “the sin in syncopation” enquanto que Henry Jackson van Dyke Jr descrevia o jazz como “an unmitigated cacophony, a species of music invented by demons for the torture of imbeciles”.
Para que se perceba o tom em que o jazz era entendido à época o Diário de Lisboa a 20 de Maio de 1922 relatava o suicídio de um violinista em Nova Iorque: “Preferindo morrer a ofender a arte – O jazz leva ao suicídio um músico de nome”, contando a história de um violinista, despedido do restaurante onde trabalhava e incapaz de arranjar novo emprego porque em todos os restaurantes e cafés onde se apresentava em busca de emprego era-lhe pedido que tocasse jazz para entreter os clientes, o que ele recusava fazer. Ao conotar o jazz com malefícios e vícios, colocando-o em oposição à ideia de civilização, de uma conduta moral e da “boa música clássica” o redator do jornal atribuía assim ao jazz a culpa pela situação de desemprego e consequente miséria e desespero em que o músico se havia visto e assim “permitindo” ao leitor reflectir na ameaça que o jazz representa para a arte, para os músicos e para a sociedade.
The actual Irish weather report is really a recording made in 1922, which no one has had occasion to change. “Scattered showers, periods of sunshine. Wilfrid Sheed
Mas então o que é que escolhi para esta m4we especial? Que 40 coisas fui eu desencantar ao baú mais velhinho mas nada bafiento da música pop de há um século atrás? Irving Kaufman com When You and I Were Young Maggie Blues, por exemplo. Kaufman, nascido Isidore Kaufman em Siracusa NY a 8 de fevereiro de 1890, era filho de imigrantes judeus russos e foi um prolífico intérprete de Vaudeville juntamente com irmãos Phillip e Jack. Embora não considerado um cantor de jazz sempre gravou acompanhado por algumas das principais figuras do jazz da década de 20, incluindo Bix Beiderbecke, Frankie Trumbauer, os manos Dorsey, Red Nichols, Miff Mole e Eddie Lang entre outros. A sua carreira durou sessenta anos, com seu último álbum, Reminisce With Irving Kaufman com data de gravação em 1974.
Ou Hot Lips do trio de Ernest L. Stevens, pianista e líder de banda, prolífico artista das gravações de Edison aparecendo na Edison Records como pianista a solo e como membro de seu trio mas também como líder de sua própria orquestra de dança, sendo o pianista-arranjador pessoal de Thomas Alva Edison de 1922 a 1924, quando Edison ainda andava a fazer experiencias nas gravações em cilindros de cera.
Ou Rio Nights, do duo composto por Frank Ferera e Anthony Franchini. Por volta de 1920, após a morte da esposa de Frank, Helen Louise, Ferera e Franchini iniciaram uma longa parceria musical. Dos muitos músicos havaianos que estavam ativos até 1930 (quando Ferera parou de gravar), foi ele que provavelmente teve a maior exposição pública, estima-se que “de todas as gravações havaianas feitas entre 1915 e 1930, Ferera apareceu em pelo menos um quarto delas”. Alguns dos cerca de 2.000 discos que ele “cortou”, incluindo faixas com Helen Louise, permanecem disponíveis em variados CDs compilação de música havaiana à venda ainda hoje.
Destaque aqui para algo muito avançado para época mas nada inédito nos dias de hoje em que os AKAs proliferam, Nola, a minha forma de aqui introduzir a Carl Fenton’s Orchestra. “Carl Fenton” começou como um pseudônimo para Walter Haenschen, que foi arranjador da Brunswick e o seu primeiro director musical durante a década 20. Walter Haenschen subcontratou as sessões de “Fenton” para vários músicos free-lance, mais notavelmente Harry Reser, mas também Bennie Krueger. Em 1926, o violinista de Reser, Reuben Greenberg, começou a dirigir as sessões de Fenton para a Brunswick. Quando da reforma de Haenschen em 1927 Greenberg adquiriu os direitos do pseudônimo lançando discos sob esse nome noutras editoras.
Mas não me fiquei só pela terra de Scott Fitzgerald. Da Alemanha conduzi a Polyphon-Orchester com Meine Lackschuh Sind Kaputt! (os meus sapatos de cabedal estragaram-se), um dos lados de um shellac porque no seite B os pobretanas queixavam-se Wir Hab’n Kein Geld! (não temos dinheiro). Cem anos volvidos e parece que coisa afinal não era assim tão diferente… do Brasil Bahiano com Luar de Paquetá, a primeira modinha composta por Freire Junior a abrir as portas à gravação sistemática, de Itália escolhi o grande tenori di grazia Tito Schipa e Princesita, da India Dadra na voz de Peara Saheb enquanto que de Portugal a escolha recaiu no Fado 31 interpretado por Manuel J. Carvalho.
Mas em França, mais concretamente na cidade das luzes sua capital, que era na altura bastião da intelectualidade e ninho de tanta “pardalice” artística, tive que alargar a escolha. Lucien Boyer com o incontornável Tu verras Montmartre! enquanto a incomparável Mistinguett canta J’en ai marre. Mas é com certeza a minha escolha na meta, Le Boeuf sur le Toit sobre a ligne d’arrivée, que é a verdadeira pièce de resistance da semana. Partitura de Darius Milhaud, um dos mais prolíficos compositores do século XX e que fazia parte dos Les Six, juntamente com George Auric, Louis Durey, Arthur Honegger, Francis Poulenc e Germaine Taillerre, verdadeiras bêtes noires musicais, arautos de toda uma neoclássica sublevação contra o barroco gesamtkunstwerk de Wagner assim como o cromatismo impressionista de Ravel e Debussy. As composições de Milhaud são altamente influenciadas pelo jazz e pela musica brasileira. Le Boeuf é um peça original composta como música incidental para qualquer filme de Chaplin mas o seu titulo é na realidade uma tradução de O boi no Telhado, uma canção do folclore brasileiro.
Acabou por ser um ballet encenado por Jean Cocteau e iria servir de leitmotif dois anos depois para nomear o abreuvoir da moda, Le Boeuf sui le Toit era o bar e cabaret onde a fina flor da intelectualidade parisiense se encontrava, aberto por Louis Moysés no numero 28 da Rue Boissy d’Anglas no 8me arrondissement. Na noite da sua abertura o pianista Jean Wiéner tocou repertório de Gershwin, acompanhado por Milhaud e Cocteau nas percussões para deleite de uma audiência composta por Picasso e Picabia, Diaghilev e Satie, Chanel e Bathori entre outros. A invasão de França pelas tropas alemãs viria a fazer com que Milhaud e familia (casou-se com a sua prima Madeleine que teve um único filho) emigrassem para a América. Graças a isso viria a ensinar vários futuros pesos pesados, Glass, Reich, Xenakis e Stockhausen, William Bolcom, Katharine Mulky Warne e Regina Hansen Willman assim como Dave Brubeck e Burt Bacharach. A este ultimo, reza a lenda, disse o professor ao pupilo: “Don’t be afraid of writing something people can remember and whistle. Don’t ever feel discomfited by a melody”. E o aluno seguiu religiosamente esse seu conselho…
#staysafe #musicfortheweekend
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In 1922 everything changed again. The Eskimo pie was invented; James Joyce’s Ulysses was printed in Paris; snow fell on Mauna Loa, Hawaii; Babe Ruth signed a three-year contract with the New York Yankees; Eugene O’Neill was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Drama; Frederick Douglass’s home was dedicated as a national shrine; former heavyweight champion of the world Jack Johnson invented the wrench… Bernice L. McFadden
I was recently in a nice restaurant where I confess I found the music a little loud (and how poorly equalized with effective surplus on the midrange) but what made the biggest impression on me was what was playing, finding myself almost at the end of lunch addressing Mafalda and Leonor, asking had they noticed that not a single song from this current century had been played through out our meal…
It’s a problem these days, supposedly nobody publicly raises the banner of innovation, of the music that just came out, we’re all so worried about the “dernier cri” that it’s almost like we’re afraid of being caught listening to something that was published an afternoon before yesterday, fearful of cancellation because we’re oh so out of date… maybe because of that I feel like asking, if you don’t care about music from this century then what do you think of music from a century ago?
As we get to the final stretch on the 2022 calendar (the most daring have already made their shortlists of what they thought was good and that possibly in a year’s time won’t even be remembered), it’s best to go against the tide and that’s the reason for this Hors de Serie about the year of 1922, its incredible cultural benchmarks and eventual parallels with our present at a distance of a century.
Still far on the horizon were the signs of economic contraction (unlike today), four years after the end of the Great War (today we don’t seem to know when we are or not at war) a remarkable time of firsts and beginnings, true foundations for so much still to come, a brave new world despite the fact that Huxley’s book was still 10 years away: in newspapers one read about the end of the Ottoman Empire and English Liberalism, about new nations created and “new” ways of government being considered, in Italy the first fascist state appeared while a treaty towards the end of the year would signal the formation of Союз Советских Социалистических Республик, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Egypt was freeing itself from British hegemony while modern-day Ireland emerged from a horrendous civil war. The incredible thing is that you didn’t even have to turn the pages of the broadsheets to find out about all this, as radio started to reach everyone, in the United Kingdom the BBC started to transmit through the ether, the radio, full of unidentified announcers, disembodied voices uttering phrases in different languages, an experience that many will compare to reading a poem from that same year by T.S. Elliot, The Waste Land.
The week I publish this m4we marks the 100th anniversary of the invitation extended to John Reith to be the first “helmsman” of the BBC. “As we conceived it, our responsibility was to carry into the greatest possible number of homes everything that is best in every department of human knowledge, endeavor and achievement, and to avoid the things which are, or may be, hurtful. It is occasionally indicated to us that we are apparently setting out to give the public what we think they need – and not what they want, but few know what they want, and very few what they need”. Paternalistic, no doubt, but this was the mind that brought a sense of democracy and freedom of expression to the world’s airwaves.
The year was 1922 and in the arts everything was moving at a breakneck speed. Dada was pushed aside, Kandinsky and Klee joined the Bauhaus, Hollywood began to want to transform the nature of fame and of the 7th artform in general. From Chaplin directing a feature film, A Woman of Paris and a young Walt Disney founding the Laugh-a-Gram company to produce his first animations to a round and quirky man from across the ocean named Alfred Hitchcock directing Number Thirteen. In other lands cinema flourished before our eyes, in Russia a young Dziga Vertov threw himself head and foot into Kino-Pravda and in German Weimar either Murnau’s Nosferatu or Dr. Lang’s Mabuse released a chiaroscuro that contrasted with The Toll of the Sea, the first Technicolor film, while in the USA the “import” Von Stroheim made Foolish Wives, the most expensive film ever (until Fairbanks showed, closer to the end of the year, Robin Hood, the first film ever to have a Hollywood premiere).
Sparks of innovation could be felt everywhere and in all fields of human creativity, you may jump from Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus to a platform in New Orleans where Louis Armstrong caught a train for Chicago where he was to join his mentor Joe “King” Oliver to play in the Creole Jazz Band thus forever blowing change into jazz. In 1922 Scott Fitzgerald compiled some of his most valuable short stories in the Tales of the Jazz Age compendium. Because in 1922, this jazz age was in full development. Chicago and New York were now the most important centers of jazz, which had become very lucrative for “managers” like Paul Whiteman, whose baton conducts his orchestra in my choice of Oriental Fox Trot, because he really had to appear here, if only because by that time he was directing some 28 different jazz ensembles just on the east coast of the United States, earning over $1 million that year alone. However and despite its popularity, as a musical form jazz was still disparaged by many critics, including Anne Faulkner, who commented the genre as “a destructive dissonance”, stating that it put “the sin in syncopation” while Henry Jackson van Dyke Jr described jazz as “an unmitigated cacophony, a species of music invented by demons for the torture of imbeciles”.
In order to understand the tone in which jazz was understood at the time, in Lisboa Diário de Lisboa reported on May 20 the suicide of a violinist in New York: “Preferring to die rather than offending his art – Jazz leads to suicide a famous musician”, telling the story of a violinist, fired from the restaurant where he worked and unable to find a new job because in all the restaurants and cafes where he presented himself looking for a job, he was asked to play jazz to entertain the customers, which he refused to do. By connoting jazz with evils and vices, placing it in opposition to the idea of civilization, moral conduct and “good classical music”, the newspaper’s editor thus blamed jazz for the situation of unemployment and consequent misery and despair in that the musician had seen himself, thus “allowing” the reader to reflect on the threat that jazz poses to art, musicians and society in general.
The actual Irish weather report is really a recording made in 1922, which no one has had occasion to change. “Scattered showers, periods of sunshine. Wilfrid Sheed
But what did I choose then for this special m4we? What 40 things did I find in the old but not musty trunk of pop music from a century ago? Irving Kaufman with When You and I Were Young Maggie Blues, for example. Kaufman, born Isidore Kaufman in Syracuse NY on February 8, 1890, was the son of Russian Jewish immigrants and was a prolific vaudeville performer along with brothers Phillip and Jack. Although not considered a jazz singer, he recorded with some of the leading jazz figures of the 1920s, including Bix Beiderbecke, Frankie Trumbauer, the Dorsey brothers, Red Nichols, Miff Mole and Eddie Lang among others. His career spanned sixty years, with his last album, Reminisce With Irving Kaufman, recorded in 1974.
Or Hot Lips by the Ernest L. Stevens trio. Stevens was a pianist and bandleader, prolific artist on Edison recordings appearing not only as a solo pianist and as a member of his Stevens’ Trio but also as leader of his own dance orchestra, being Thomas Alva Edison’s personal pianist-arranger from 1922 to 1924, when Edison was still experimenting with recording on wax cylinders.
Or Rio Nights, by the teaming of Frank Ferera and Anthony Franchini. Around 1920, after the death of Frank’s wife, Helen Louise, Ferera and Franchini began a long musical partnership. Of all the Hawaiian musicians who were active until 1930 (when Ferera stopped recording), he probably had the most public exposure, it is estimated that “of all Hawaiian recordings made between 1915 and 1930, Ferera appeared on at least a quarter of those”. Some of the approximately 2,000 records he “cut,” including tracks with Helen Louise, remain available on assorted Hawaiian compilation CDs sold today.
Highlight here for something very advanced for that time but nothing unheard of nowadays where AKAs proliferate, Nola, my way of introducing the Carl Fenton’s Orchestra. “Carl Fenton” began as a pseudonym for Walter Haenschen, who was Brunswick’s arranger and its first music director during the 1920s. Walter Haenschen subcontracted the “Fenton” sessions to various free-lance musicians, most notably Harry Reser, but also Bennie Krueger. In 1926, Reser violinist Reuben Greenberg began directing Fenton’s sessions for Brunswick. When Haenschen reformed in 1927 Greenberg acquired the rights to the pseudonym by releasing records under that name on other labels.
But I didn’t stop or stoop at the land of Scott Fitzgerald. From Germany I conducted the Polyphon-Orchester with Meine Lackschuh Sind Kaputt! (my leather shoes got ruined), one side of a shellac because on the opposite side these poor chaps complained Wir Hab’n Kein Geld! (we do not have money). One hundred years later and it seems that things weren’t so different after all… from Bahian Brazil with Luar de Paquetá, the first modinha composed by Freire Junior to open the doors to systematic recording, from Italy I chose the great tenori di grazia Tito Schipa in Princesita, from India Dadra in the voice of Peara Saheb while from Portugal my chips fell on Fado 31 interpreted by Manuel J. Carvalho.
But in France, more specifically in the city of lights capital, which at the time was a bastion of the intelligentsia and a nest of so much artistic “sparrowess”, I had to broaden my choice. Lucien Boyer with the unavoidable Tu verras Montmartre! while the incomparable Mistinguett sings J’en ai marre. But it’s definitely my pick at the finish line, Le Boeuf sur le Toit over the ligne d’arrivée, which is the real pièce de resistance of the week. Score by Darius Milhaud, one of the most prolific composers of the 20th century and who was part of Les Six, along with George Auric, Louis Durey, Arthur Honegger, Francis Poulenc and Germaine Taillerre, true musical bêtes noires and heralds of an entire neoclassical uprising against the Wagner’s baroque gesamtkunstwerk as well as the impressionist chromaticism of Ravel and Debussy. Milhaud’s compositions are highly influenced by jazz and Brazilian music. Le Boeuf is an original piece composed as incidental music for any Chaplin film but its title is actually a translation of O boi no Telhado, a Brazilian folklore song.
It turned out to be a ballet staged by Jean Cocteau and would serve as a leitmotif two years later to name the fashionable breuvoir, Le Boeuf sur le Toit was the bar and cabaret where only the finest of all Paris met, opened by Louis Moysés at number 28 Rue Boissy d’Anglas, in the 8th arrondissement. On opening night, pianist Jean Wiéner played Gershwin’s repertoire, accompanied by Milhaud and Cocteau on percussion, to the delight of an audience made up of Picasso and Picabia, Diaghilev and Satie, Chanel and Bathori, among others. The invasion of France by German troops would cause Milhaud and his family (he married his cousin Madeleine and had only one child) to emigrate to America. Thanks to that, he would go on to teach several future musical heavyweights: Glass, Reich, Xenakis and Stockhausen, William Bolcom, Katharine Mulky Warne and Regina Hansen Willman as well as Dave Brubeck and Burt Bacharach. To the latter, legend says, the teacher said to the pupil: “Don’t be afraid of writing something people can remember and whistle. Don’t ever feel discomfited by a melody”. And the student religiously followed his advice…
#staysafe #musicfortheweekend
Eddie Cantor – I Love Her, She Loves Me
Marion Harris – Aggravatin’ Papa
Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra – Oriental Fox Trot
Irving Kaufman – When You and I Were Young Maggie Blues
Lucille Hegamin and Her Blue Flame Syncopators – He May Be Your Man (But He Comes To See Me Sometimes)
Pixinguinha – Os Oito Batutas
Enrico Caruso – Mia Piccirella
Mistinguett – J’en ai marre
Henry Burr – My Buddy
Morris Goldstein – טשיקען (Chicken)
Margaret Young – Lovin’ Sam (The Sheik Of Alabam)
Manuel J. Carvalho – O Fado do 31
Polyphon-Orchester – Meine Lackschuh Sind Kaputt!
Tito Schipa – Princesita
Al Jolson – Toot, Toot, Tootsie (Goo’bye)
Vaughn De Leath – I’m Just Wild About Harry
Billy Murray – Jimbo Jambo
Ferera & Franchini – Rio Nights
Bahiano – Luar de Paquetá
Ethel Waters – Oh Joe Play That Trombone
Lucien Boyer – Tu verras Montmartre!
The Eastman-Dryden Orchestra with Teresa Ringholz – L’Amour, Toujours L’Amour
Charles Penrose – The Laughing Policeman
Kid Ory – Ory’s Creole Trombone
Dolly Kay – I’m Nobody’s Gal
Trixie Smith and The Jazz Masters – My Man Rocks Me (With One Steady Roll)
Duo Hofmann – Tango Du Reve
Billy Jones & Ernest Hare – You Tell Her, I Stutter
Carl Fenton’s Orchestra – Nola
Alberta Hunter – Don’t Pan Me
Ernest L. Stevens Trio – Hot Lips
Peara Saheb – Dadra
Furman And Nash – O-oo Ernest (Are You Earnest With Me)
Vincent Lopez – Parade of the Wooden Soldiers
Harrod’s Jubilee Singers – Hallelu
California Ramblers – Teddy Bear Blues
Shannon Quartet – Sing Brothers, Sing
Ed Gallagher & Al Shean – Mister Gallagher and Mister Shean
Sissle and Blake – Bandana Days
Darius Milhaud- Le Boeuf sur le Toit