From “There’ll Be A Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight” by Dan Quinn to “Whistling Rufus” by Vess Ossman

 (In Which The White Man Steals The Music Of The Black Man… And A Black Woman Working In A Brothel)

As I mentioned in the previous chapter, “brothels played a surprisingly central role in the popular culture of the turn of the century”, and nothing quite underlines the status of the brothel as the epicentre of popular culture in the 1890s than the fact that two of the most popular songs of the decade came out of one brothel, a brothel not in New York, but in St. Louis, Missouri; the epicentre of America.

St Louis in the 1890s was tough.

This, after all, was the St Louis of Stagger Lee, a man who – so legend and countless blues songs has it – shot a man for stealing his hat. Situated right smack-bang in the middle of America, St. Louis was a town you had to pass through if you were coming from The West going east, The East going west, The North going south or The South going north. Wherever folk came from, they arrived in St. Louis after a long trip by train or covered wagon, and they needed a play to stay. A place to have a drink. And there were a lot of establishments from which to choose. St. Louis was a hotbed of brothels and saloons, and for a few years at least, the home of the most vibrant music scene in the land. New York might have the printing presses, the sheet music and the pop tunes, but St. Louis had the rhythm that was not exactly easy to be transcribe in sheet music form. Not to mention lyrics that were too saucy to be sung in polite company.

Many of those saucy lyrics came from one brothel in particular: The Castle.

The Castle was famous across the land, at least amongst wealthy white men who were the only ones allowed to enter. It was famous for having a mirror for a floor, an interior decorating choice made all the more salacious by the girls not wearing any underwear. The Madam - Babe Connor – was equally famous, a mistress of self-promotion and conspicuous consumption. She wore diamonds on her ears, wrists, and ankles, and also in her teeth. She wore a feather boa around her neck. She travelled around St. Louis perched in her open carriage with her white coachman and white lover. It was scandalous. People talked. She made The Castle famous. Rich white people came from miles around, including from the Republican Party, whom – or so it is rumoured – once formulated their party platform there.

And The Castle was also famous for Mama Lou, a short old fat Black woman, possessor of a filthy mouth with which she both sang and insulted the patrons.

Mama Lou dressed in calico and a bandana and was almost always described as “a gnarly voodoo princess.” At least on those occasions that she was described. For she was whispered about and alluded to, but what was said was rarely written down. She was a semi-mythical creature and a woman of contradictions; some said she spoke in a British accent, which doesn’t quite square with the “gnarly voodoo princess” image.

Mama Lou may also have a been a musical genius. Minstrel show songwriters from across the land would visit The Castle to steal her songs - and also to enjoy the mirror-floor show – although they’d usually find that they had to change the lyrics. They never gave her credit. It probably would never have crossed their mind to give a songwriting credit to “a gnarly voodoo princess” who worked in a brothel. They also probably didn’t want to admit they’d been there.

One the songs that Mama Lou sang was a holler about having a rabbit foot to keep the hoodoo away, the kind of lyric that may make you wonder if she was really “a gnarly voodoo princess” after all. The song was titled “There’ll Be A Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight”, and originally the “hot time” was taking place at The Castle itself. But that wasn’t an appropriate topic for a sheet music smash. The minstrel show songwriters who stole the song – Theodore Metz – came up with an alternative origin story, something about sitting on a train, passing through Old Town, and watching some children building a bonfire. They also came up with a different setting for the song. No longer was “There’ll Be A Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight” all about the goings on in a St Louis brothel, it was now set at a revival meeting with the participants having a hot time praising the Lord.*

When it was time to make a record of “Hot Time In The Old Town”, the job went to the chipper tones of Dan Quinn, who sings this song from a St Louis Brothel, transformed into a religious revival meeting stomper, a couple of drunken stumbles back to the spirit of Mama Lou’s version, by leading the lads in a great big – hiccup! – boozy singalong! (Dan’s version of “Hot Time In The Old Town” is a 3) No-one was surprised then when Dan recorded “Glorious Beer” – “beer, beer, glorious beer!” – a couple of years later, by the sound of it after he had consumed large quantities of the malted beverage (“Glorious Beer” is a 2).

Mama Lou also probably wrote “Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay,” which – by the time it was cleaned up for the sheet-music market – was about a girl who was “never forward, never bold, not too hot, not too cold, but the very thing I’m told, that in your arms you’d like to hold.” It’s almost certain that Mama Lou’s original lyrics were far bolder. “Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay” would become famous as part of a minstrel show, one called “Tuxedo”, a show – like most shows of the era, whether minstrel shows or not - with no discernible plot. It’s probably more accurate to say that “Tuxedo” became famous because it included “Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay”, rather than the other way around. 

“Ta-Ra Boom De Ay” – also spelt as “Ta Ra Ra Boom Der E” – became so popular that, in the 1892 Presidential election, both the Republican candidate – Benjamin Harrison – and the Democrat candidate – Grover Cleveland – based campaign songs on the tune. Just in case that wasn’t enough, the success of “Ta-Ra Boom De Ay” led to an answer song, a very specific variety of answer song; one that complains about how popular the song was, and the physical harm the narrator wishes to inflict upon the next people they hear singing the song. This was “If I Was Only Just Behind Her” in which the narrator promises to give the next singer of “Ta-Ra Boom De Ay” a great big ‘Ta-Ra Boom De Ay.” It would be recorded by George H. Diamond a vaudeville singer who had first found fame as a contortionist. When Columbia first convinced him to record, they couldn’t disguise their excitement. He was the closest thing to a celebrity they’d lured into the studio. But his voice didn’t really suit the phonograph, and after several efforts, they just gave up. (George’s version of “If I Was Only Just Behind Her” is a 1)

Mama Lou wasn’t the only Black performer having her songs nicked by minstrel show performers and Tin Pan Alley tunesmiths overhearing a tune and claiming it for themselves. As a show business strategy, travelling around the South and stealing songs was practically foolproof, particularly if the original composer was (a) illiterate, (b) unlikely to ever find out, and (c) had no idea how to hire a lawyer – not to mention having the money to pay them - if they did.

For at least one Tin Pan Alley tunesmith – Kerry Mills - this was his entire business strategy.

Like his compatriots visiting The Castle to steal songs from Mama Lou, Kerry travelled around the South, scrawling down melodies he’d heard, and claiming them for his own. He once came across a Georgia Camp Meeting, documented it, and had a hit with a song literally called “At A Georgia Camp Meeting.” I guess that was his way of giving credit.

Kerry Mills little party-tune was presented almost as a documentary, or a scientific paper, complete with an introduction added to the beginning of the sheet music to prove that he was there:

“This March was not intended to be a part of the Religious Exercises – but when the young folk got together they felt as if they needed some amusement. A Cake Walk was suggested and held in a quiet place nearby… hence this Music.”

The song itself goes into more detail: church is out for the day; it’s time to go home. But the youngsters aren’t tired, and they wish to be inspired, and so they hire a brass band. The pretty music is so gay, there are hats, that they throw away. And then they go to “walking for a big chocolate cake.” The elders – “the sisters” – are of course scandalized, but eventually “the church folk agreed that it’s not a sinful deed” and they “joined in with the rest.” It’s a tale as old as time.

The real-life Georgia Camp Meeting where Kerry heard and stole “At A Georgia Camp Meeting” was probably gloriously fun. When the time came to record it the record companies – both Columbia and Brunswick – went for the chirpiest voice they had access to. They went with Dan Quinn. He had after all done a decent job with that other revival meeting classic “There’ll Be A Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight.”

But no matter how much Dan tries – and he does try! – to capture that glorious fun, he just sounds like a sloppy drunk (Dan’s version of “At A Georgia Camp Meeting” is a 2) Sousa’s Band also did a version, and they too, try to capture that glorious fun. But they can’t help but sound like the stiff marching band they are and quite unlike how that Georgia brass band likely sounded (Sousa’s version is a 4). How did that Georgia brass band sound? We’ll probably never know.

Since “At A Georgia Camp Meeting” had gone so well, Kerry decided to try it again. He’d met a Black man in Alabama who people called Whistling Rufus, and he’d written a song about him based on the tune he liked to whistle. He called it “Whistling Rufus.”

Kerry Mills seemed to do this a lot, although I guess you have to give him credit for giving the original Black composers credit via often unflattering biographies at the top of the sheet music. In the case of Rufus, Kerry tells us that no party in “Alabama was considered worth while attending unless “Whistling Rufus” was engaged to furnish the music”, whistling and playing an old guitar, wearing – if the sheet music caricature is to be believed – a top hat and a polka dot bowtie, whilst Black folk danced a cake-walk in the background.

Less flattering was Kerry Mill’s description an impecunious man called Davis, as described on the sheet music of “Impecunious Davis.” Davis came from Black Creek, north of New Orleans, a “child of nature” who never worked for a living, preferring instead to wait for fate to feed him, his closest thing to an occupation being hanging around “humming quaint, weird, haunting melodies” one of which Kerry nabbed and made a fortune out of. Kerry was another man who wouldn’t work unless he had to, preferring instead to wait for a Black man to feed him quaint, weird, haunting melodies.

“Whistling Rufus” was particularly popular, and particularly on the phonographs, where the most popular version was by a banjo-plunker called Vess Ossman.

Vess had made his first banjo out of a kind of bucket – building a banjo, or any instrument for that matter, out of whatever rubbish was lying around was quite common at the time – a banjo that he plunked away at so much as a child – up to ten hours a day – that it was inevitable that his fellow kids would call him “Plunk.”

By the time national banjo-plunking competitions emerged in the late 1880s, all that plunkin’ practice was beginning to pay off. Although Vess lost the first United States Banjo Contest to his arch-rival Ruby Brooks in 1888, he took the title of American Banjo Champion in a rematch in 1890, and then won the United States Banjo Contest in 1891. When he entered the Edison Phonograph Company recording studio in 1893, he was already the most famous banjo player in America, travelling in vaudeville shows all over “The North.”

For the next decade or so, Vess spend most of his time making records, although not necessarily those with his name on them. If anybody needed banjo accompaniment to their hollering or in the background of their comedic vaudeville skit, Vess was the man to see. Vess had even plunked on a Len Spencer rendition of “There’ll Be A Hot Time In The Old Town Tonight” (that version is a 4).

Vess’ version of “Whistling Rufus” is a brisk banjo-pluckin’ ragtime party. It does however feature a distinct and disappointing lack of whistling (it’s a 6). Presumedly George W. Johnson was unavailable that day.

Partially due to “Whistling Rufus”, Vess Ossman would become one of the biggest Phonograph stars of the late 1890s, and one of the major beneficiaries of another sound that was coming out of the brothels of St. Louis: ragtime.

 

* For America was not only in the middle of The Gilded Age, but The Third Great Awakening, with new vaguely Christianity-based religions regularly popping up all over the country! The ceremonies of some of these new religions were known to be almost as intense a sensual experience as a night in a brothel, so this may not have been too much of a stretch.