NRR Project: The Andrews Sisters sing 'Bei Mir Bistu Shein' (1937)

 

NRR Project: ‘Bei Mir Bistu Shein’

Written by Jacob Jacobs, Sholom Secunda/Sammy Cahn, Saul Chaplin

Performed by the Andrews Sisters

Recorded Nov. 24, 1937

3:10

This amazingly catchy song made the Andrew Sisters’ career; it boasts not one but two origin stories. Its tale is a twisted one.

The song was originally composed by Sholom Secunda and Jacob Jacobs for the 1932 Yiddish musical, I Would If I Could (Men Ken Lebn Nor Men Lost Nisht, or “You Could Live, But They Won’t Let You”.) Though the musical is justly forgotten, this single song from the score meandered through the Jewish-American culture of the day, becoming extremely popular in Jewish resorts and on Jewish bandstands. (“Bei Mir Bistu Shein” translates as “To Me You’re Beautiful”.)ar

However, despite attempts to sell it to big-name entertainers, the songwriters wound up selling the rights for a mere $30. Now, one of two things happened. First, Jenny Grossinger of Grossinger’s Catskills Resort taught to the African-American singing duo Johnnie and George. Then Johnny and George performed it at New York’s Apollo Theater, where songwriter Sammy Cahn heard it and saw its potential.

The second version is that bandleader Vic Schoen discovered the sheet music in a Yiddish music store, then passed it along to music publisher Lou Levy, who passed it to Cahn. Ultimately, Cahn and Saul Chaplin crafted catchy English-language lyrics after record producer Joe Kapp rejected a Yiddish-language recording of the song.

The Andrews Sisters, Patty, Maxene, and LaVerne, had been singing together since they were 7, and had been supporting the family as performers since the age of 12. Up to this point in their careers, they lived in the shadow of America’s first great close-harmony sister act, the Boswell Sisters. However, the Boswells had broken up in 1936. The stage was empty, and the Andrews Ssiters stepped in.

Their approach is jaunty and swinging, with much more of aa rat-tat-tat precision edge in comparison to the Boswells, who had a much smoother, silky finish to their vocals. They pop the delivery and swing hard, backed up by  solid musical ensemble. Saucily, the English lyricists turned the dilemma of adequately translating a foreign song into the central conceit of the song itself. The words are memorable:

“Of all the boys I've known, and I've known some

Until I first met you, I was lonesome
And when you came in sight, dear, my heart grew light
And this old world seemed new to me

You're really swell, I have to admit you
Deserve expressions that really fit you
And so I've racked my brain, hoping to explain
All the things that you do to me

Bei mir bist du schoen, please let me explain
Bei mir bist du schoen means you're grand
Bei mir bist du schoen, again I'll explain
It means you're the fairest in the land

I could say "Bella, bella", even say "Sehr wunderbar"
Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are
I've tried to explain, bei mir bist du schoen
So kiss me and say you understand”

The song was insanely popular. It sold a quarter of a million records, and more than 100,000 copies of sheet music Within three months, at least six other recording artists tackled it. It made the Andrews Sisters career, and they became one of the best-known participants in the Swing Era.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Nest time: The Cradle Will Rock.

NRR Project: Artie Shaw plays 'Begin the Beguine' (1938)

 

NRR Project: ‘Begin the Beguine’

Written by Cole Porter

Performed by Artie Shaw and his Orchestra

Recorded July 24, 1938

3:14

“Begin the Beguine” was the tune that made Artie Shaw’s career. He hated it.

“’Begin the Beguine’ is a pretty nice tune. But not when you have to play it 500 times in a row,” he said.

The great songwriter Cole Porter wrote it while on a cruise ship in the Pacific. (The beguine is a Latin dance somewhat like a slow rumba.) It premiered in October 1935, in the musical Jubilee. It achieved minor notice at the time, and was covered by Xavier Cugat and his orchestra in its original rhythm.

But when Shaw selected the song for his own orchestra, he and arranger Jerry Gray decided to swing it in 4/4 time. The tune was not thought to be a winner; it was released on the B side of a record featuring “Indian Love Call” on the other side.

Its success was undeniable. Above the solid rendition of the melody in the horns, Shaw’s clarinet soars gracefully above it. It’s upbeat and catchy as hell, and the nation went nuts over it. It became the top-selling recording of 1938. The song made Shaw and his band famous, opening the door for them. Soon Shaw was all over the radio, and headlining sold-out concerts around the country.

However, Shaw was not pleased. He was unique in that he continually tried to stretch the boundaries of what was possible musically. Unlike other musical geniuses such as Duke Ellington, Shaw was extremely difficult to deal with. He was not content to simply play popular dance music, forming and re-forming units of musicians in order to work out his ideas.

"I don't attempt to ram hackneyed, insipid tunes down the public's throat,” he wrote, “just because they've been artificially hypoed to the so-called 'hit' class. This policy of trying to maintain some vestige of musical integrity has, naturally, earned me enemies, people who think I'm a longhair, impressed with my own ability. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My faith in dance music — I refuse to call it swing — borders on the fanatic. I have the utmost respect for the many real musicians who are creating a new music as important as the classics . . .”

For instance, in 1935 he created “Interlude in B-flat,” which featured just him, a rhythm section, and a string quartet. In 1940 he formed the Gramercy Five, which included a harpsichord and an electric guitar. He would cut a few sides with a given ensemble, then disbanded, moving on to the formation of yet another group. (He ran through eight wives as well.)

He had a great ear for talent. Among his hires were drummer Buddy Rich, singer Billie Holiday, Lena Horne, Mel Torme, Ray Coniff. With them, he continued to hammer at the idea of making jazz more than just popular fodder. It helped that Shaw was (in my opinion) the greatest clarinetist of the era, looser in approach than Benny Goodman and more robust than Sidney Bechet. He has a beautiful tone, and is an endlessly inventive improviser.

After a tour in 1954, Shaw put down his instrument for decades, citing his insatiable perfectionism as a cause. In fact, it was this and his emotional abusiveness that doomed his marriages and his music-making. He moved on to other concerns; he wrote an excellent autobiography, The Trouble with Cinderella.

Eventually, in his 70s he returned to the instrument and played a bit here and there. He was still a lyrical performer, decades after his first big success.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Nest time: the Andrew Sisters sing ‘Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen’.

NRR Project: The Wisconsin Folksong Collection (1937-1946)

 

NRR Project: The Wisconsin Folksong Collection

Collected by Sidney Robertson and Helene Stratman-Thomas

Collected 1937 - 1946

I could not do better than James P. Leary’s excellent explanatory essay on the selection, which you can read here.

Essentially, two different researchers, Sidney Robertson and Helene Stratman-Thomas, traveled through the state of Wisconsin, recording more than 900 folk songs, many in the languages that immigrants brought with them when they came to America.

Here is the first example I have found of an extensive collection for the Registry which has been digitized and can be searched or leafed through online (find it here). Waltzes, polkas, ballads, laments – it’s all here and available for your perusal.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Nest time: Artie Shaw plays Begin the Beguine.

NRR Project: The Lone Ranger -- 'The Osage Bank Robbery' (Dec. 17, 1937)

 

Earle Graser, the first great impersonator of the Masked Rider of the Plains.

NRR Project: The Lone Ranger – “The Osage Bank Robbery”

Written by Fran Striker

Directed by James Jewell

Broadcast Dec. 17, 1937

“He is simply the best-known hero of the West ever created,” writes radio historian John Dunning, and of course he is right. It is a fact that the one character dramatic radio produced that survived its heyday, and that remains known throughout the culture, is the one and only Lone Ranger.

His creator George W. Trendle referred to him as “the embodiment of answered prayer.” He was the most upright of heroes, a vigilante lawman of the Old West who went masked and never stopped to receive thanks from those he saved from the clutches of evil. He did not drink, or smoke, or curse. According to Fran Striker, the man whose prolific writing brought him to life, the Lone Ranger even had a creed – 

“1. I believe that to have a friend, a man must be one.

2. That all men are created equal and that everyone has within himself the power to make this a better world.

3. That God put the firewood there, but that every man must gather and light it himself.

4. In being prepared physically, mentally, and morally to fight when necessary for that which is right.

5. That a man should make the most of what equipment he has.

6. That ‘this government, of the people, by the people, and for the people,’ shall live always.

7. That men should live by the rule of what is best for the greatest number.

8. That sooner or later... somewhere... somehow... we must settle with the world and make payment for what we have taken.

9. That all things change, but the truth, and the truth alone lives on forever.

10. I believe in my Creator, my country, my fellow man.”

He was incorruptible, honest, utterly and unswervingly dependable. He never had romantic doings with women, that we knew of. He spoke correct English, and never misused it. He fired his pistols expertly, only to disarm, never to wound or kill. He was a saint in cowboy gear.

As the best-known opening narration of the show stated so eloquently:

“With his faithful Indian companion, the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early Western United States. Nowhere in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear. From out of the past come the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver! The Lone Ranger rides again!”

His origin story is mythic. He is one of six Texas Rangers who were ambushed at Bryant’s Gap by the outlaw Butch Cavendish and his gang. Surrounded and outgunned, all the Rangers were killed – save one, John Reid who was mortally wounded and left for dead. Reid is found and nursed back to health by a childhood friend, the Native American, Tonto, who also digs six graves so that no one will know he survived. Reid swears to avenge the death of his fellow Rangers by upholding the principles of truth and justice. He is ready to take on a new identity.

“You lone Ranger now,” comments Tonto. And the man is born.

He was born on Jan. 31, 1933, via station WXYZ in Detroit. The station’s owner, the aforementioned Trendle, left his association with the CBS network, losing access to its shows. He determined to operate independently, and starting searching for a show that would be a hit.

He settled on the idea of a Western series, and then he and several others, some of whom also complained that they were all least partly responsible for the creation of the character, hashed out the details of the show. The outline was then passed on to hack writer extraordinaire, Fran Striker, who is said to have crushed out 60,000 words a WEEK for for various radio shows, magazines, books, and the like. It was Striker who developed and refined the character.

The show was an immediate hit. Promotions that were advertised on the air resulted in thousands of responses. Soon WXYZ could syndicate the show to other stations, eventually creating what came to be known as the Mutual Broadcasting System, which wound up bigger than only NBC and CBS. The Lone Ranger founded a financial dynasty.

The show is still instantly recognizable, as the closing strains of Rossini’s (public domain) overture to his 1829 opera William Tell rang out, ever to be identified as the Lone Ranger’s theme. (It can only be speculated what Rossini might have thought of this.) After the stirring opening narration, each self-contained episode would begin.

There was trouble at the bank, or with ranchers vs. farmers, or bandits, rustlers, crooked sheriffs, and on and on. The conflict was quickly established, as the good and bad characters interacted for the first half of the episode, setting up a confrontation. Then the Lone Ranger would swoop in (frequently Tonto clued him in to what was going on), and through words of wisdom and, if necessary, gunplay, he would put the situation to right.

“The Osage Bank Robbery” is a typical Ranger story. Two grizzled, kindly old prospectors have run out of money and face starvation. Two bandits, merciless killers, hide after a robbery in the abandoned mine the two prospectors had worked. The Ranger brings the prospectors out to the mine under the impression that there was more silver to be mined from it. There they set off a charge that closes the mouth of the mine, leaving the bandits helpless inside. The Ranger lets the prospectors capture them and get the reward, saving their bacon, so to speak. And, of course, before he can be thanked, it’s “Hi-yo, Silver! Awaaay!” And off he and Tonto go.

Director James Jewell had been with the project since the beginning, having already created a repertory acting company for the station, and blessed with a talented and resourceful sound effects department. Upwards of a dozen actors could be called on for a single episode. The Ranger was played primarily by Earle Graser until his tragic death in 1941 – after that, Brace Beemer filled the role. John Todd played Tonto the whole way. Taken all together, this small mob of collaborators created shows that still stand up to a good listening.

Of course, the show was not woke and had its problematic aspects, first of all in the character of Tonto. Although he is portrayed as intelligent and possessed of a will of his own, he speaks in monosyllables that render him frequently as though he were simple-minded. Still, the show avoided ethnic stereotypes – there were no comic Chinese, Black, or Mexican characters, a rarity for the time.

The show had a religious group of fans, and the show persisted through 1954, a 21-year run unmatched in the industry. He was the idol of children and, as they grew up, adults as well. The Ranger was impossibly perfect, but if you’re going to have a hero, why not insist on the best? At his best, the Lone Ranger affirmed that right and wrong existed, and that right can win out over wrong. Not a bad creed to live by.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Nest time: The Wisconsin Folksong Collection.

NRR Project: 'Vic and Sade' - "Decoration Day Parade' (May 28, 1937)

 

NRR Project: Vic and Sade – “Decoration Day Parade”

Written by Paul Rhymer

Broadcast May 28, 1937

The greatest show in the history of network radio was simplicity itself. Using only two to three characters, writer Paul Rhymer evoked an entire eccentric, hilarious world. 

Rhymer was an NBC copywriter with a wicked sense of humor. In 1932, he started the grueling practice of writing a 15-minute comic serial episode every Monday through Friday and getting it on the air, working steadily at it from 1932 through 1946. In the few hundred recorded episodes that survive, his level of comic genius never falters. There's not a so-so bit in the bunch.

He set his mini-sitcom in an unnamed Midwestern town, somewhere south of Chicago. There, in the “small house halfway up in the next block,” dwelt Victor Gook, his wife Sadie, and their teenage son Rush. Victor was an accountant at the Consolidated Kitchenware Company’s Plant Number Fourteen. Sade was a housewife. Together they looked over their boy and went through all the activities that you might expect small-town folks to take part in.

Though they were set in a stereotypical “average home,” the daily vignettes took the listener into a crazy reality where people were named things like Y.Y. Flirch and Rishigan Fishigan of Sishigan, Michigan. There was Fred and Ruthie Stembottom, who Vic and Sade always played cards with. There was Mr. Gumpox, the garbage man. Vic belonged to a lodge, the Drowsy Venus chapter of the Sacred Stars of the Milky Way; when Sade wanted a treat she would scoot down to the Tiny Petite Pheasant Feather Tea Shoppe. Rush would play with his friends, Blue-Tooth Johnson and Smelly Clark, whose uncle Strap worked at the Bright Kentucky Hotel, down by the railroad tracks. He followed the on-screen adventures of Four-Fisted Frank Fuddleman and read books about the indomitable Third Lieutenant Clinton Stanley.

Vic was played by Art van Harvey, an older actor whose nasal tones made him seem always a little befuddled and put out. Sade, played by Bernadine Flynn, was a typical wife and mother, speaking in a broad flat accent that perfectly catches the cadences of Midwestern speech. Billy Idleson played Rush as a curious, warm-hearted, enthusiastic young man. In 1940, added to the cast was Clarence Hartzell as Uncle Fletcher, who was loopy and dense and kept telling outrageous stories about people he slightly knew, such as a man who was a guard at the Missouri State Home for the Tall, “who later died.”

Now, here’s the key – Vic and Sade reveals all this bizarre information through the dialogue among Vic, Sade, and Rush. None of the aforementioned supporting characters ever appeared on the show; we learned about them as the three discussed them. Each installment would be a self-contained little story, on topics such as “R.J. Konk’s Improved Portrait” or “Milton’s Dirt in Fruit Jars.” Using the barest premise, Rhymer would pile absurdity on top of absurdity, making the typical small-town life seem impossibly bracing, fantastic, and mysterious.

The actors always play it straight, like regular folks, unfazed by the bizarro world around them, which makes the jokes even more hysterical. The obvious affection Rhymer has for the Gooks keeps the show from just being a torrent of absurdities. We can identify with the Gooks, who are good people just living their daily lives. It made every listener to the show feel like a warm and friendly guest (and indeed, many prominent Americans stopped everything to tune in to the show at 3 p.m.).

Rhymer is said to have written more than 3,500 Vic and Sade scripts, with no loss of vigor or inventiveness throughout the show’s 14-year run. There are only a few hundred recordings of episodes that survived. One can only imagine what an immensity of laughs are trapped in the pages of Rhymer’s archives (which, fortunately, are extensive – several collections of scripts from the show have been published).

The episode chosen by the National Recording Registry is one of the earliest ones still in existence, and it is a typical hoot. Vic is in charge of the town’s Decoration Day parade, but he has to go out of town and insists that the mayor take over his elaborate set of plans for the day’s events. “Don’t they just line up at 10 a.m. and walk to the cemetery?” asks Rush, provoking a scoff from Vic. Vic’s grand scheme is doomed to failure, and he will definitely not get the respect that he thinks he deserves.

Vic and Sade set an example of what radio could do, and where comedy could go. Its influence is subtle but pervasive. Billy Idelson went on to become a prominent TV actor, writer, director, and producer, giving us shows such as The Bob Newhart Show and Love, American Style. The quirky observational humor, and the divine absurdities evoked, still set a gold standard for American comedy.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Nest time: The Lone Ranger.

NRR Project: The destruction of the Hindenburg (May 6, 1937)

NRR Project: The destruction of the Hindenburg

Reported by Herbert Morrison

May 6, 1937

It’s one of the most iconic recordings of all time, instantly recognizable, a byword for disaster. When the zeppelin Hindenburg caught fire and fell to earth, killing 36, it was the end of an era for this peculiar method of transportation. It also demonstrated the value of radio in capturing historic events as they happened.

The zeppelin was created in Germany in the late 19^th century. It is an immense rigid airship, consisting of several bags of lighter-than-air gas trapped in an aluminum shell in cigar shape, from which depend engines, propellers, and compartments for passengers and crew. It was a prestigious and unique way to travel, and many cross-Atlantic flights took place in zeppelins during the early part of the 20^th century.

The zeppelin was designed to be filled with inert helium gas, but the United States controlled the supply, so flammable hydrogen gas was used instead. On May 6, 1937, the Hindenburg was scheduled to come to rest in Lakehurst, New Jersey. As the craft was preparing to land, it caught fire and plunged to the ground. The fire was spectacular; the ship was completely consumed in less than a minute.

In addition to the newsreel cameras, reporter Herbert Morrison was covering the landing live for radio. His famous eyewitness report gives us an indelible impression of destruction and dismay. Morrison was there to interview passengers arriving in America from the Hindenburg, and only happened to be recording to a disc when the airship exploded. His voice cracked with emotion, Morrison stuck to his microphone and gave us an indelible record of the incident.

Stations did not normally play recorded pieces; usually, all reporting was done live. However, this recording broke that tradition. Soon, recorded pieces from all over the world would begin to make their way onto the airwaves, enriching the listeners’ understanding.

After this incident, the impetus that drove the development and use of zeppelins ended abruptly. The footage was just too intense. Other zeppelins were retired. Would-be travelers had their fares refunded. From this point on, the history of aviation focused on the use and evolution of the fixed-wing airplane.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Nest time: Vic and Sade.

NRR Project: 'The Fall of the City' (1938)

 

NRR Project: ‘The Fall of the City’

Written by Archibald MacLeish

Directed by Irving Reis

Performed on the Columbia Workshop, CBS Radio

Premiered April 11, 1937

30 min.

Commercial radio, at its conception, was thought of as mere entertainment (although much “elevating” classical music was featured on the airways in early years). Comedies, soap operas, detective shows, horror – genre shows were the norm, and network ambitions did not stretch beyond their confines.

However, there were a few people in radio who could see its potentiality as an aesthetic medium – one the virtues of which could be exploited in a new and unique way, to enlist the listener in the creation of imaginary landscapes and situations that could only be conjured by sound alone.

Such a man was Irving Reis, a former engineer who came to CBS with the idea for a 30-minute sustaining (meaning network-sustained, commercial-free) program that experimented with radio’s possibilities, both technically and dramatically. In July 1936, the Columbia Workshop was born.

CBS was always the more adventurous network. NBC had been established earlier, was more popular, and had gathered all the stars of radio into its schedules. (Such was its dominance that there were two NBC networks, NBC Red and NBC Blue – Blue was sold off and became ABC in 1942.) So CBS had to try harder, to attempt risky material and push the boundaries of the medium. Anyone who listens extensively to old-time American radio will find that CBS productions were sharper, from the writing all the way down to the sound effects.

Columbia Workshop brought the medium to the threshold of artistic significance with this production, mounted live on April 11, 1937. The drama, the first in verse on the radio, was crafted by the Pulitzer-winning poet and dramatist Archibald MacLeish.

“The Fall of the City” was inspired by the rapid takeover of weaker territories by fascist governments in the 1930s, most notably by Italy and Germany. MacLeish was also thinking of the overthrow of the city of Tenochtitlan by Hernan Cortes in 1521. It’s the story of a great city that capitulates to fear, abasing itself eagerly before a conqueror who is not as he seems. (The parallels with today’s American dilemma are not lost on this writer.)

The show was special – the production called for the sound of great crowds, mingling with a score by the great Bernard Herrmann. To stage it, CBS took over the Seventh Regiment Armory in New York City, needing the reverberations its cavernous space could provide. A young Orson Welles, then rocketing to fame, took the part of the Narrator, working out of an isolation booth; a then-unknown Burgess Meredith held a key role as well. Two hundred extras, augmented by four taped crowd noises played at the same time, gave the impression of a huge, milling crowd in a sunbaked central city square.

The show almost didn’t come off. Tennis players wanted to use the space the day of the broadcast; so did the National Guard. Somehow the producers dissuaded these interlopers, and the show went off.

It’s a remarkable creation, very assured for all its being the first of its kind. The tension mounts as the Narrator describes the growing panic of the city as the conqueror approaches. A woman rises from the dead and declares “The city of masterless men/Will take a master./There will be shouting then:/Blood after!” Speakers rise up and decry the surrender of the citizens to fear, to no avail. The conqueror enters, clad in armor; the crowd falls to the ground. The conqueror raises his visor; there is nothing inside. “The people invent their oppressors,/Thet wish to believe in them./They wish to be free of their freedom/Released from their liberty/The long labor of liberty ended.”

The show was an amazing success, and proved that listeners had a hunger for more than mere entertainment. Orson Welles took note of this success, and it moved him and others to create The Mercury Theater on the Air a year later. Another young and ambitious radio writer, Norman Corwin, would take heart as well, and would soon be known as the resident bard of dramatic radio.

With the death of commercial radio in the late 1950s, the idea of producing content strictly for radio went by the by. (It continued in England, where radio drama and aesthetic innovation thrives to this day.) Still, “The Fall of the City” showed everyone what only radio could do – create, with the help of the listeners’ imaginations, fantastic and compelling new worlds.

The National Recording Registry Project tracks one writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording Registry in chronological order. Nest time: the crash of the Hindenburg.